Post by Marcelius on Jul 18, 2013 0:27:51 GMT -5
(OoC: CTP Training)
-Caulderbain-
The Halls of Las Noches, teem with power and anxiety. What should be a massive network of communication and socialized growth, is a warzone. The battlefield is spread over hundreds of floors, writhing as one long, aggressive conflict amidst the thousands of rooms and corridors. Though the massive structure, to which this ongoing struggle resides, is called a palace. The term palace is a curious one. There is indeed a king that resides within the walls, but the other occupants do not seem to heed any orders or rules. Every Hollow within Las Noches, is in a constant climb of power. Instead of coordinating growth as unified teamwork, each of the denizens seeks to consume one another for consolidated power. It is the dark side of Las Noches, the lower levels. It is the portion of the kingdom, that Marcelius was not privy to explore, before signing his life to the service of the King. Only after his rebirth as an Arrancar, and his inclusion into the community, did he learn the dark secrets she possessed.
Sadly, there was no turning back from his decision. He had made an oath, and he was far too weak to try and go back on it now. His shattered mask had sealed him off from most of his strength. In fact, since his revival, he felt more weak than ever. He was assured, that his powers had not been robbed from him. He was told to train, to learn his new body and grow with it. The sword that now imprisoned his old self, it was to be a tool for him to regain his former glory. There was no arguing any of these facts. Marc was wise enough, to feel his old power singing inside of the blade. It was quiet, and muffled, and in all honesty...he liked it that way. It wasn’t until he saw the underbelly of his new home, that he grasped the hilt of his new weapon with purpose. Seeing the Hollows, pinned in to make hunting one another easier...it was not what he had envisioned for the future. He would save his kind from continuing this process of self destruction. He would save his people from this fate.
That was the first discovery he made with gifted rationality. Becoming an Arrancar, having his mental torments sealed into a separate object, he had been given clarity. Hollows were his people, his own kind. They live by feasting on one another for great power, except the ones who are released from the beast like existence and become Arrancar. The Broken Masks. That is what needed to happen to all Hollows. Without a mask, a Hollow could have an identity. With identity comes reason and understanding. A Broken Mask could be trained to grow stronger, while not having to live like a cannibal. Hollows should not be farmed as they were, in Las Noches. They should not be locked within walls and forced to fight and kill one another to live. It was called breeding, and strengthening. Like gladiators in an area, earning freedom with victory. even for someone as old as Marcelius, this was an outdated notion. Beings grow better with support, than out of necessity. The same could be said for societies, that they need to be supported instead of challenged, in order to grow. So Despres resolved to begin with the structure of this new Hollow society. He would start at the bottom, where the weak were forced to battle for power. There is a reason, why most philosophers never succeed with the improvements they concoct. Idealism is powerful in thought, but often impossible in practice.
Marcelius had greatly overestimated the task he had assigned himself. He didn’t even know where to begin. The information he had gathered on this new Kingdom was very limited. The one who knew the most, the King himself, was never available for audience. Especially to a Hollow who refused a ranking or assignment when first questioned. He would need a title if he was to approach the King. He would need a high title if he was to make requests or issue pleads. Unfortunately, the upper echelons of this Hollow regime, required strength to attain. In order to have position in the Arrancar, you had to prove you strength. Marcelius’ capabilities had become little more than a shadow of his former self. So it would seem, his own goals would be aligned with those of the King. He was expected to learn and grow strong, and so he would. It would be easy to claim, he was training to become a weapon. He would appear, on the surface, to be doing everything expected of him as a soldier. In reality, he would be expanding his own powers to their former potential, while learning all he could about his superiors. He would be weighing each of them, determining their qualities and their strengths. He would determine and conclude, which of them was the least fit for their position. He would not base his decision off of power, as all of the leaders were strong. No, he would have to isolate the weakest member, by their character. Which of the Espada, the strongest of Arrancar, was not serving the greater interests of Las Noches as a whole. if this meant he would have to pursue the strongest Espada of all, the so be it. Hueco Mundo needs strength, but it also needs leadership.
This is the time when Caulderbain first entered into Marcelius’ life. The Adjuchas was chosen by Marc, to be his trainer and guide to life within Las Noches. This arrancar would educate the newcomer: in how to live as an Arrancar, to fight with a sword, to utilize one’s gifts, to follow orders when given, but nothing of manners. Caulder’s responsibility was to Marc, but his allegiance was to himself and the King. Despres was going to be a slow learner, as he was one of the first Arrancar to have difficulty adjusting to their new body. Marc’s movements were slow and uncoordinated, he barely had the means to stand for extended periods. All of these factors meant little to Caulder. Being a cruel man, born of the same suffering as Marc and every other Hollow, Caulder gave no leniency to his student. Strenuous routines were developed, each of them designed test marcelius knowledge of his body. If he wanted to live, he could not continue his life feeling like a stranger in his own skin.
”Despite claiming to be a Vasto Lorde, have consumed more Hollows than the Primera, who is older older than the King himself, you can not even stand up straight!” The angered Arrancar struck upon Marcelius’ back. Each blow took Marc’s feet out from under him. Impatience grew within the instructor, who bellowed his disapproval each time his student went tumbling to the sand. After a few times, he simply grew tired of waiting for results. Caulder struck at Marc again and again, until he rose back up. Each time the Arrancar scrambled to his feet, the barrage would pause long enough for him to notice, before starting over again. Marcelius was allowed a moment to feel without pain, so he could not grow used to his beatings. Marc tried to struggle, he even offered his malicious tutor a taste of Cero. The far more experienced Hollow simply interceded with sudden jabs, capable of redirecting the concentrated blast. There was skill here that, Marc, and his supposed superiority, could not undo.
There was little hope of Marc learning to run, as Caulder demanded, before he could walk. So instead, a new lesson plan was chosen. The subject matter would be a crucial one for any Arrancar, and yet, it did not require Marc to stand. Hierro. The armor-like skin of any Broken Mask. Caulderbain was too eventually teach Marc about this technique, so the timing could not be better. After dropping the Lorde back to sands once more, Caulder focused his Reiatsu into a fine blow. Marc, who desperately tried to raise his arm to shield himself, found that his bones quite broken by the strike. More so, his skin appeared cracked instead of bruised, like his arm were white ceramic instead of pale skin. The shock of pain, and the surprise of the wounds appearance, caused Marcelius to let loose an awful scream. Caulder felt good to be a teacher, for the first time today.
No opportunity was given to heal. Instead, Marc sacrificed his remaining defense to clench his ailing appendage. His mentor punished him for his carelessness, by increasing the number of his attacks. The, now exposed, body of the Arrancar, took every hit with little retaliation. Through his unbridled joy, Caulder resumed his role as professor. "You do not have the luxury of a mighty body anymore, mi Lorde. Now you have something better than layers of thick skin and muscle. You have skin, like iron, that laughs at blades which try to cut it! Only your iron is soft, and weak. If you want it stronger, you must focus! Pull your mind together, and feel the power coursing through your body...then hold that power at the edge of your flesh. Since you can not stand like a man, you can at least be a stubborn animal. Maybe you'll even tire your killer out, so that one of your kin can avenge you. Maybe it will be one of your kin who attacks you, the least you could do is make yourself a tough meal to swallow!"
Marcelius had to listen to his teacher's words. Even over the sound of the sheathed sword clashing against his ribs. Having a very accurate extra sense, he could hear the words being spoke as if they were painted onto the very grey matter of his mind. The words might have been, if his instructor had chosen to test the thickness of his skull, instead of his ribs. Still, with the lesson being explained through the magnificent filter of Noise, Marcelius could imagine exactly what was expected of him. Soon the Lords began pressing outward, building up the vibrations in his soul, till their symphony was more clamour than song. He could feel, the blows of his opponent begin to wane. It seemed at first, as of his mentor was withdrawing from the demonstration, altogether. Seeing as this proposal was absurd, considering Caulder's love of inflicting injury, it had to be something else.
Looking to his arm, which he had clutched safely to his breast, he now saw that his skin was whole again. His arm still hurt from the broken bone, but the skin was fine. Rolling towards his attacker once more, he saw that the Arrancar had not eased up his efforts one bit. In fact, now that their eyes locked again, Caulder had become relentless. Marc received each clash, but felt none of them. He crawled to his feet, and stood up once more. Caulder ceased his drive, and allowed the pupil to stand. Aware of the toughness that Marc's spiritual energy could bestow on his skin, Caulder knew it was pointless to try and hurt him. He smiled at Marc, nodding his head in affirmation of the lesson learned. Without a word, Caulder tripped his student once more. Falling back onto the ground, Caulderbain drew his zanpakuto and placed it to the armored neck of the fallen. "Do not be like those fools, who think they are unstoppable...just because they're harder to hurt." The instructions continued, now the cold, sharp edge of a sword crashing upon him.Now that he had learned the basics of Hierro, Caulder had use of him.
Spending much of his early lessons as nothing more than a mere dummy, deflecting and surviving the sword practice of his master. He had to build endurance first, standing by the strength of his legs and back, while chastised ruthlessly. He was never told to draw his sword during these practices. Marc wasn't learning how to kill yet, first he needed to know how his kind survived. Once he had an acceptable understanding of his new gifts, then he could invest effort into rekindling his old power. In truth, Hierro may have been the best lesson to receive first. While Caulder swiped at him again and again, threatening to collect whatever limbs came off, Marc experienced what all of his past victims must have gone through. He felt so sour inside, his heart sinking deep at the thought of those he killed. Was their deaths similar to what he was experiencing now? A madman, coming at them with such rage in his eyes. It was a chilling notion. Walking in his victims steps, only gave Marc more zeal for his newly acquired dogma.
Marc's studies were made more excruciating by the fervor in which his teacher conducted them. Despres was aware his mentor did not want to be responsible for him learning, and as such, was carrying out his aggressions on the untrained. Everyday, was seemingly a fight for his life. Things had not changed, since that time before his transformation. Perro, it had been so long since Marc last saw her. To this day, he still hated himself for what he did. Worse still, he could nor speak about the event with anyone. There is not an empathetic ear in all of Las Noches. Considering all of the residents had their own great tragedies to tell, no one ever shared. Caulder was the best example Marcelius had. In every swing of his arm or sound from his mouth, they all cried of hidden pain. Even when his master said nothing, Marc was listening well.
Returning to las Noches, a time for rest and recovery, Marc was quickly found in his room among the palace. Word had been spread, that his arm had been broken as a part of the eventful lesson plan of the day. To his room, two Arrancar were sent. Both of them happened to be female, and they claimed to be with a medical group. This surprised Marcelius. A place like Las Noches, with it’s claim of kingdom, needed to be well organized. It was only fitting, that a group of it’s citizens were devoted to the maintaining the well being of the others. Still, to imagine Hollows tending wounds for one another. It was so strange and foreign. There was no complaint from Marc, however, as the two attendants sent to see him, were quickly able to set and mend the bones. They used Noise to perform their work. They raised the vibrations within themselves, and poured them into his body. It was a warm feeling, gratifying and comforting. This palace of Arrancar may have it’s dark secrets, but it has it’s wonderful ones as well. Before they could go, Marcelius begged them to teach him the same tricks they used to heal him. They did not want to, he could see it in the color of their Noise. He did what he could to persuade the two nurses, to teach him anything, but his attempts at conversation failed. Left alone in his room, the Lorde added a new item to his ambitions. He would learn the secret arts of healing, at some point in his life. He would use them, not only on Hollows, but whomever he could. To Despres, the ability to heal was the means for redeeming his past crimes. In the meantime, his arm was feeling absolutely fantastic.
Marc would like to recall times, where his instructor put aside the lessons and carried on conversation with him, but these times never existed. Some find friends in those who teach them, but this Hollow was not so lucky. The time he did get to rest, was only when his tutor grew tired and chose not to continue. Mostly, Marc's studies were trials in tolerance. He had to endure physical pain, while coping with mental dissections. It forced his body to grow, yes, but it was his mind that prospered most. He began reading his struggles, for more than their face value. Sure he was being toughened up, but he was also being shaped and sharpened. He began to see patterns in his opponent, learning to read movements before they would happen. When the time came for Caulder to train his cero techniques, Marcelius developed sense enough, to never be surprised. The world was beginning to sing again, much like it had before he joined the ranks of the Broken Masks.
Marcelius was become competent, slowly, and had learned the proper posture to maintain in his Arrancar form. He had learned how to walk correctly, and even how to run. Seeing the small progress that his charge was making, Caulder decided to give his sword arm a vacation. Marc was still a poor fighter, unwilling to strike when the opportunities were presented. To Caulderbain, his lessons were a waste, as they were being squandered on a man who was sure to die in true conflict. To protect the investment he was making, the foul mouthed professor crafted a scheme. "Any fight would be a final one for you. This is incurable, as you still do not wish to hurt your opponent. However, you can not be allowed to die. My time has been used by you, which means you owe me and the world, a great debt. So, you will learn to flee, like all the cowards should. You'll run until the day my training sinks in, and you can be man enough to face down those who oppose. So get up..." Kicking at his feet, throwing Marcelius off his balance once again.
Soinido, the secret motion of Arrancar. Caulder delivered a history lesson, for a change. He mentioned the Hollows oldest, and strongest rivals, the Shinigami. For centuries they have trained students in an art known as Shunpo. It would allow them to travel great distances, in the blink of an eye. It was excellent from travel, but far greater for attaining position advantage. Demonstrating the technique, Caulder stepped behind Marcelius without much effort at all. When the blade came to his back, Marc was unpleasantly not surprised. He had felt, not only the energy that his teacher had raised, but also where it was aimed. Sonido, to Marcelius, was like a polyphonic duet. There was one song that started, bit there after another joined in elsewhere. Even though it was amazing what Caulder had accomplished, Marcelius' previously broken arm, did not allow the instructor to receive any praise.
After showing his skills, Caulder sought to explain them further. "Though it is very similar to Shunpo, we Arrancar call or Sonido. You may have noticed, that our version produces a noticeable sound. Do not let audibility fool you, it is a deadly trick for ambushing your opponents as well as outpacing them. You, will use it for escape. Let's start." Caulder laid down the basics, and for a time, Marc was finally able to exceed his instructions. When told how to cast himself to a distant location, to feel his energy launching him like a sling, he did so flawlessly. When expected to leap from one white dune to the other, he did so quickly. Marcelius was well aware of his abilities. He knew he could jump where he was told, or go well beyond, or dart to several stops in one motion. Marc kept all of his awareness and talent hidden. He performed only what was asked, and sought to never surprise his teacher. It was enjoyable, to be good at something. Caulder did not let him enjoy his accomplishments without first being audience to harsh criticism... But Despres did not care.
Sonido was, wonderful. When he received time to himself, Marcelius practiced the technique as a means to relax. He indulged his fancy for math and sightseeing, by plotting out a trip to each of Las Noches' best views. He would practice traveling the gargantuan structure, in the fewest steps possible. It became a game for him, one he could play by himself without the cursing or ridicule of other Hollows. Unfortunately, when he realized his enjoyment of solitude, he grew quickly discontent. This place he had found, was supposed to be different. He had been here for some time now, and yet the Hollows had not shown him anything new. This kingdom of Arrancar was just an organized battle royale, Hueco Mundo with matching outfits and a ranking system. There was no kindness exchanged between citizens. No happiness thrived, save for the joys of those who were successful in gathering more power. Why were his people this way...were they truly hopeless? He did not desire these thoughts. They reflected a reality which he would not accept. Marcelius would find a way to help his kind grow.
Time came, for more Caulder approved education. Marc had succeeded in every test of Sonido that could be conducted. When asked to strike upon exiting his step, he did. When asked to strike and then retreat with his step, he did. Even when expected to stage multiple strikes, using Sonido to move between various positions, he was flawless. This Lorde had the abilities of a runner, as if it were a calling. Caulderbain despised these aspects, and made that fact clear to his student. However, there was some positivity, as Caulder confessed his happiness in the fact Marc could flee before death. Maybe the lessons they shared, would not have to go to waste on a corpse, after all. With this triumph of mobility, it only seemed fitting to move on to other techniques. Something more aggressive, to liven up Caulder's desire to perform his assigned duties.
Cero! Such a feared ability that is the envy of all other races. Hollows possessed stronger power than all other competitors, it was only fitting they have some way of flaunting it. Marc had tried to display his capacity for this ability, when Caulder wailed on him in their first exchanges as student and teacher. Being a very difficult person to impress, Caulderbain demanded more demonstrations of a Lorde's raw power. For the first time, Marc was given the chance to display his prowess first. He was, of course, prepared for the inevitable mocking. Still, Marcelius readied himself and gathered the all the noise he could. The skies of Hueco Mundo erupted with light, a light that sank Las Noches into contrast. Marcelius had used the full brunt of his power to begin with, holding nothing back. This was expected of him. Despite his insight into others, Marcelius was often quite predictable himself.
In the aftermath of the blast, there was a sound of clapping. It came from Caulderbain. There was an expression of respect that accompanied the gesture, but sadly, Marc was gifted with truer sight. Caulder clapped, but he did so in contempt. He was not impressed, for his Noise said envious. With his mood, came a new venom to his words. "Powerful. You may just be a Lorde after all. The way you expelled that cero, it reminded me of my own. The attack was uncontrolled, very brutal and raw. None of these traits are yours, and as such, the attack itself was not suitable. We are none of us, capable of fighting in a way that is not our own. Those who fight like other people would, are doomed to fail. This applies to everything, not just a sword. You will learn to use your cero, as it suits you." There were moments, where Caulder could show a truly wise side of himself...he just drowned them put with endless profanities and impatience.
Caulder began the lesson anew, by firing his own Cero back at Marc. Having felt the powerful attack, boiling up from within his teacher's reiatsu, he was more than able to dodge the blast with a simple Sonido. He was not as prepared for the second or third waves that charged in his direction. With each new Cero, the world grew darker instead of brighter. Marcelius was being driven blind by all the Noise that each attack created. He tried to use Sonido, to step away from the conflict altogether. It became too much, his senses were gone. Dodging was becoming impossible, as the landscape slowly turned to charred scars of it's former self. Finally, one of the explosions caught him. Feeling the heat course over his body, the pain from it’s force exploding along every nerve...Marc collapsed, but survived.
Caulder appeared before the exhausted Hollow, and continued his teaching. "Cero is powerful. It can destroy whatever it touches, but as you've shown, catching an enemy with one is difficult. You were fortunate, as I do not possess a superior ability to use Cero. I simply do not have the stamina. There are enemies who do have such power, and they will not tire before you do. Next time I expect you to respond with more than just speed. You will either have to subvert the assault, with one of your own. Or determine the enemies potential energy, and devise a method to put last them. The greatest answer, of course, being both. Learning your opponents limits, so that you can strike when they are exhausted." His speech concluded, rather typically, with a hearty strike against Marc's Hierro.
Laying in the charred sand, the pale grains turned black with the mentor’s attack, Marcelius groaned in agony for his injuries. Looking up as his teacher, seeing the Arrancar hovering over him like a superior, filled Marc with grief. Had this man not been a teacher, charged with strengthening Marcelius, this would be the part where he would be eaten and forgotten forever. In fact, it was strange sometimes, that Caulderbain never took advantage of the situation. Marcelius wondered, could Arrancar consume other Hollows for increased power? If they could, what was keeping Caulder from making a meal of his protege? The expectations of the King perhaps? Simply too many questions for one line of thought. His wounds sang again, the pain spiking as the mentor’s foot came pressing down against them. ”Will you just lay there, and wait for the enemy to end your life? Get up, show your existence still has some value!” harsh words, but yet again, they stoked Despres’ passion to rise.
Crawling up to his feet, the feeling of a boot crashing against his Hierro every inch of the way. Once he was on his feet again, Marc turned to his instructor and corrected his posture. The world had become a bright flare, when all of those Ceros were crashing through the sky. He could hear again as well, the tremendous noise had subsided. ”I may have...”, hesitation, he was not sure if saying anything was wise, ”...those Cero, they blinded me.” Getting little more than a look of surprise, Caulder began questioning Marc on exactly how he was blinded. The Lorde explained, the way he often saw the world, with sounds and lights. He continued, that when there was ever a surge of energy, reiatsu as Caulder had been calling it, that it makes the world very bright and noisy. The surprise from before, turned into quite contemplation. No cold words, no short tempered condemnation...when Marc had a real problem, Caulder silently pondered and solution. The surprise from before returned, but this time, it was Marcelius who carried it.
The Cero lesson had to end early. The two Hollows began their march back towards Las Noches, no words exchanged between them the entire way. Reaching the walls of their home, Caulder dismissed his student. Not much choice was given, as the Adjuchas simply left with Sonido. Still hurting from his exposure to the Cero, not sure what to make of his instructor’s mysterious actions, the situation had become quite unpleasant. Examining his body, he needed medical attention. Last time he was fortunate, aid came straight to his room like a paid service. He was not sure if this time would be the same as last. Someone had to have told the medical group last time, could it have possibly been Caulderbain? What did it matter, Marc had time to himself now. He would simply seek out the medical group, instead of expecting someone else to do it for him. It should not be too difficult, the Noises could guide him to his goal. Closing his eyes, shutting out the distractions as best he could, he let the darkness fill with light once more. The information came like a tsunami. Light and noise was everywhere in Las Noches, when Marc took the time to listen. It was nearly impossible to decipher. Eyes opening, a disheartened look coming with them. He resolved to approach this from another route.
”Can you tell me where the medical group resides?” Going from one Arrancar to another, asking each he came across. If his mood was damaged by his inability to navigate through the Noise effectively, hearing all of his kin deny him any aid was worse. Most of them didn’t even acknowledge him, or his question. Their actions could be seen as rude, had Marc not heard the Noise that accompanied their responses. His kind was scared of him, they didn’t want to even look at him. that old paranoia returned, after being gone so long. Now, all Marcelius could think about, was how hated he must be. His past actions were monstrous, he knew this. It was in a place such as this palace, where he expected some leniency on his origins. These people, these Arrancar, were all supposed to be the same as him. Could it be, his was more despicable to them? Was his unique story more terrifying, or even disgusting? He wandered the corridors for several hours, at least, obsessively lost in his own mind.
When his attitude was drug down to it’s lowest depths, his thoughts turning into hatred for himself, he considered simply leaving Las Noches. Weakened as he was, he must not have much use from the King who resided here. Against his early impressions, the leader of Las Noches, now appeared to be the only member of the Kingdom who desired cooperation. seeing as their leader was of a different race, a Shinigami, his support of organization meant very little. A Hollow should be leading them, or at least, one of the stronger Hollows should be a better example. The heart that had ached all evening, was beginning to dance once again. Marcelius’ original plan, to attain a higher office among the Arrancar and beseech the King for a change in policies, it was viable again. Just as he found a skip for his step, his chest and arm began to burn once more. His Cero wound was keeping this moment from being perfect. Groaning a bit, he shook his head and told himself to be stronger. Stronger, stronger, and stronger still. Letting out a violent shout, which echoed through the halls and stairways about him...he caused the very walls of Las Noches to shiver
The building was not the only one to tremble at the exuberant clamour that Marc released. Unknown to the Lorde, there was an observer that he has cornered in the narrow passage he stopped in. A young hollow, a scrawny boy who looked more like a kid. The two of them met, eye to eye, and neither one of them was able to move. Marcelius could see, the boy was terrified to be spotted by him. Marc himself, turned to stone by his embarrassment...having been caught making such a barbaric display such as that scream. The two stood, in silence. Staring at one another, unable to make the first move. Finally the wait ended, as Marcelius lifted one of his hands to wave at the onlooker. The boy drew back, ducking into the open doorway he was standing in. Lowering his hand back down, Marc looked around to see if there were any other Hollows around. He needed someone else to diffuse the tension and allow one of these two to leave. Of course, there was no one around in any direction. Once again, Despres was left to his own solutions. So, to start, he placed both of his hands into his pockets. Smiling at the boy, he carefully turned his gaze and began to walk away, he started up a happy tune. Whistling as he went, he simply passed the boy and kept moving on.
Still searching through the never ending walkways of the enormous palace. He had begun counting doorways and turns. He was mapping out the interior of his home, down to every last turn. it gave him something to occupy his time with, instead of letting his mind simply wander while he scurried about. He was doing well, he had set up a pattern, and was now searching the floors in grids. it shouldn’t be long, hopefully, before he would come across the room, or rooms, he sought. His math was thrown off, unfortunately, without him creating any sort of written diagram of this process. The sound of footsteps, echoed through the air behind him. Paranoia still lingered on him from earlier, so he was not coy in his response to the follower. He turned quickly, his fist raised abrasively. he confronted, yet again, that small boy who had blocked his path just before. Dropping his hand, his alarm fading away. He dropped his shoulders, heart pounding and breathes shortened from the excitement. Staring at the child, turning his head to look all around once more to see if there were any other Hollow about.
Once again, strangely so, they were the only two around. Something strange was going on now, it was too coincidental to not be orchestrated. His eyes examined the young man closely, it took him a few moments to look past the exterior...to the real problem with this child. His Noise, it was barely audible. Straightening his form, he squared off with the peculiar youth. He pried with his senses, exploring the source of this boy’s power and sound. What he found, was a core so dark, and so cold....that light and sound could not even escape it. This boy’s soul was a black hole, it trapped whatever was caught by it, in an empty pit with no escape. Marcelius spine, not only had chills, it was frozen solid. Now he knew why he could not run from this boy before, he wasn’t held by surprise, it was fear. Now he was in the same predicament. Only now, there was no shrugging off his feelings, and moving on unphased.
Silence dominated the area. Not from lack of life or trying, but because of the soul of the child. It was a vacuum that allowed not one vibration was given free reign. Marc opened his mouth, as if to speak. When he tried, nothing came out. For the first time...in centuries, he was scared truly senseless. To make matters truly extraordinary, this was the first time he could remember being afraid of something except himself. ”Wha...who are you?” There was no response, to Marc’s shakey inquiry. the boy remained quiet, and observant. It felt like he was prying Marcelius apart with his look. Despres realised what this was, the boy was shared Marcelius ability to see things differently. Alter perception, a second view on life. While this discovery should have brought joy, right now it was only wrought concern.
Still trying to make sense of the entire situation, being followed and a boy who shared unique sight, Marcelius did not pay mind to the boy’s slow approach. Soon he felt a cold touch, more chilly than death, gripping his hand. The young man had ahold of him Marc’s hand, much like a handshake. while they were physically connected, Despres was given a much wider view of the soul which occupied the unassuming form before him. He saw that this creature was old, ancient. Against the suggestions of his appearance, he was many thousands of years old. He had been a Hollow for most of his life, and in that time, committed more atrocity than Marcelius could have ever claimed.
While they held hands, the older Hollow could see the entirety of his companions complex history. Marc played audience to the horrors of the past, he could hear a voice speaking within the confines of his own mind. This formless sound, spoke of all the event that were being displayed. Through the haunting tone of the faceless speaker, Despres began to feel a great sympathy for this being. There was fear, and loathing...but beyond all of that, through the view of his unique perception, he saw common ground between this aberration and himself. By the time the viewing had concluded, the guilt within Marc had grown tremendously. How could he dare feel a connection to this monster? Was it not an equal crime, to empathize with such evil?
His vision blurred to the visions being offered to him, and soon his sights returned to the real world he occupied. He shook his head, trying to adjust to the brightness of reality once more, only to he was standing outside of the medical bay. A large archway, devoid of doors that would bar him out, and a beautifully carved sign that announced this place as the infirmary. Looking around, he was alone...save for the many Arrancar rushing busily about inside the hospital corridor. That creature, that wore a guise of a boy, was gone now. Looking to his hand, still able to feel the chill where it touched the other’s, Marcelius was assured his memory was not all fantasy.
Finally. He had come to the infirmary. Though he was unsure how he’d been lead here, more frightened to explore the possibilities honestly, he was relieved to have finally arrived. Greeted by a single female Arrancar, he was asked to display his injury and explain what had happened. Uncovering the wounds on his arm and shoulder, his explanation of cause was made irrelevant. The woman then turned and requested that he follow her, to which he did with no struggle at all. Delighted by the tone that came from his attendant, she spoke with authority and without any sign of fear. though she did not speak much as they walked, Marcelius did his best to listen closely to her sound. She was an Adjuchas, strong, but nothing phenomenal. Without regard to any difference in power or authority, she carried herself with a tune of absolute surety.
It was hard not to admire her Noise, so much so, that Marc was made completely oblivious to the stunning physical beauty she maintained as well. He was taken and assigned a bay, told that he would be treated once someone was available to do so. Before he could ask any questions or even speak a word, the attendant had left him to his issued plot. There he sat, not sure what to do and with no idea of what was to transpire next. He remained at his spot, contemplating the events in the hallway. He was still rather shaken by his experience, and even more curious as to who that character was. It might be some time before Marc would dare venture boldly into the unknown sections of Las Noches.
It did not feel like long, before people came to visit him at his bedside. Several Arrancar, yet again, all of them female. They wore masks now, but the markings of their uniforms confirmed their medical professions. Why was it that the healing staff was occupied by only one gender? Time for pondering would have to wait, the visitors set upon him. They removed his coat, which was quickly tossed for incineration. though they examined his body with steady hands, his senses saw down to the anxiety that filled each of them. Each motion was being handled with care and precision, they were wise to what mistakes would hurt or cause reaction, and they avoided them all. Soon, a harmonious melody rose up to be heard. The tune was soft and it’s sound was relaxing, and the source was each of the separate pools of reiatsu that surrounded him. Just as before, the energy of the healers was blended with his own. It brought the same warmth and comfort as the first time.
Watching with true enthusiasm, Marc could not be made to hold back his words. ”This technique, can you teach it? Is it something you can share?” The sudden Noise of surprise filled the bay, an alto sound that causes those who hear it to cringe.Each of the nurses looked to him, then to each other, before setting back to work on his injuries. Only one of them chose to speak up, and only after Marcelius’ had raised more anxiety by his unshaken patience for an answer. She confessed it was a ability that all Hollow are capable of, but very few can understand. It was possible to teach it, but very rarely do the lessons sink in and produce results.
She told him more, of Hollows natural ability to restore themselves from injury. Just as the healing, all Hollows were capable of performing it, except it was far easier to grasp. It seems even the powers of Hollows, were as selfish as their masters. Marc thanked her for her explanation, and requested the training she had mentioned before. Once his healing was completed, he was simply told that he may leave when he was ready. Not sure if he had offended the other Arrancar in some way, he did what was offered and stood to leave. Approaching his exit, Marc saw once more, that woman who greeted him originally. Unsatisfied in the answer, or lack of, that his question had received, he sought a second opinion. Having enjoyed simply being in the presence of this bold female Arrancar, lessons in healing made for a perfect excuse to extend his time near her.
She stopped him before he could speak. The sounds of her soul, made it clear that she was far from surprised by his approach. Turning to him, she began the conversation by skipping to the end. ”No. We can not instruct you to become a healer. You have already been given a designation and duty, and though I do not know what those are, they are not to the infirmary. As you are not assigned to this detail, time will not be wasted on training you. No please leave, and return only if you have require medical aid.” For a second time today, Marcelius’ spine was left completely frozen. He was far too embarrassed to voice his complaints or even formulate them. He simply nodded his head, and quickly turned to exit the hospital. It would seem his hopes for redemption were fluttering away. He did not want to give up on the healing technique, learning and practicing it, but the opposition to his desires was quite fierce.
His duties were to get stronger, so once again, it seemed he had no other choice. However, if his responsibilities were to end, after he regained his power...”No.” He was allowing himself to become distracted by fantasies again. His goals were greater than learning a single technique. If he were to regain his past strength, he was to use it to guide Hollows to prosperity once more. He could not use his strength to simply mend the wounds of others, especially if his abilities could have been used to prevent those wounds in the first place. That woman, with the beautiful sound...those healing arts, and their wonderful possibilities...these were all distractions that Marc could not afford. Instead, he would map his way back to his room, and catch up on the rest he was ordered to take.
Dreams were haunted now. Having witnessed the history of, what was arguably, the most cruel being in Hueco Mundo. In his dreams the boy returned to him. He spoke to him, with that otherworldly voice, and told him of even more of his past evils. It felt like a confession, where the sinner brought all of their evil and their guilt into the light, just so that someone else could be aware of their burden besides themselves. In his heart, Marc saw that he had shared his history with the other creature as well. He was not aware he had done this, it was simply something that had happened.
The two of them spoke, with Despres playing the listener more often than not. Though the communication felt like the beginnings of a friendship, both of them knew there was no accepting the other. All the common ground in the world, could not build a bridge to cover the expanse between them. This all felt so normal to Marc, he had feelings like these since he first became a Vasto Lorde. Things were different now, as he was not the one who stood alone. The boy had replaced Marc. It did not bring any comfort to the Hollow, but instead, seemed to increase his shame. There was such a soul, who suffered as this child did...and Marc had only ever thought of himself. Even when reminded his life was not so bad, guilt could carve out the joy. There might never be a victory, on such an all consuming enemy.
The waking world, was a pleasant sight. Marc’s forehead lay beaded with sweat from his poor sleep. Looking to his arm, and his shoulder, he was thrilled to see his body completely healed. Though he had resolved to put aside his pursuit of the healing arts, he was still very much amazed by their power. Rising from his bed, he quickly dressed himself for the day. It was not always easy to tell time, with Las Noches fake sky, but Marc felt sure he had woken up early. Since there was no point in wasting this extra hours he had been granted, he began making his way through the familiar corridors and out to the training grounds beyond Las Noches walls. He was not sure, if Caulder would be waiting for him or not. It was quite early. In fact, Marcelius had heard nothing from Caulderbain since the day before. Having confessed the Cero training, left him blind and deaf, he seemed to have spooked Caulder. The lessons had ended early, and ever since, he had not seen nor heard any sign of his mentor. He hoped to learn the reasons behind Caulder,s behavior today, while also being cursed and attacked. With the help of the new trick of sonido, Marc was able to quickly travel to his classroom beneath the moon of Hueco Mundo. In the ring made of stone and sand, Caulder stood with an impatient scowl.
When marc had finally made his way into the ring, Caulder’s tempered voice burst for like sparks from a kiln. ”Why was I standing here alone?” There was a pause, as if an answer was expected. Before any form of statement could be issued, ”If a Cero, could leave me blind and deaf, I would not use a single breath except to discover why, lest i be made dumb by them as well. I had hoped, when I dismissed you, that you would pursue some sort of solution yourself. That you would be wise enough to understand, the grave danger you’re peculiar affliction possess. Instead, I have been told that you spent the whole of your free time...wandering through daydreams. You went missing for quite some time, only to end up in the hospital to have your wounds licked by the pussy patrol. I would assume you spent the rest of the evening lounging in your room, wishing you’d gotten one of them to come with you.” By this point, Marcelius was in a rage. So much discreditation, for having done nothing wrong. He’d never been shown the ways through Las Noches properly. He was never taught to heal his own wounds, nor ever would be. He was dismissed, given no instruction, and yet still expectations were placed on him? This was an absurdity.
”Liste...” His retort was cut short, by the sound of building reiatsu. He lept to the side, just as a condensed rush of energy screamed past him. His eyes had gone white, his ears were ringing. His nerves still worked, for they felt the heat of the Cero, as well as the following kick from Caulder’s boot. His vision was on the mend, when he saw his teacher holding up his arm into the sky. When his ears stopped ringing, he heard the sound of reiatsu being gathered once more. He tried to stand, he even tried to intervene, but he was not quick enough. A loud screeching, tore open the sky. Caulder’s Cero were far more intense now, each one of them burned as brightly as the sun...and sounded like thunder trapped in a cave. Marcelius felt no burn on his skin, the attack had been intentionally directed away. He did feel the constant strikes of a sword, unsheathed and shaking with anger from the hand that gripped it. Again and again, horrible sensations overpowered his senses...each time followed by a volley of painful blows to his body.
Torture and pain, this was always Caulder’s approach. Each new rotation of Cero and punishment, left Marc with a better view of his situation. The kicks and the sword, had all but lost their edge. Hierro was keeping his body well protected from the attacks. His vision and hearing, were fighting back as well, learning to shield themselves from the awful energy that caused such great harm. This was the best idea that Caulder’s mind could come up with. Marcelius would either find a way to overcome such an odd, and truly devastating flaw, or Caulderbain would indulge his sadistic tendencies for hours to come. Since Marc often contemplated sacrificing his life for the greater good, the threat of death was not as prevalent...however, Caulder getting something he wanted, filled Marc’s mind with loathing determination.
Standing wearily to his feet, arms raised to block away incoming feet and edges, Marc opened his eyes to endure the glare. Focusing his mind, and using his wits, Marcelius quickly discovered the truth. It was not the sensitivity of his eyes or ears that caused him pain, it was his sensitivity to the Noise. When Caulder released his energy in such a catastrophic way, it produced vibrations of the most painful frequency. Each time, no matter how he shut his eyes or covered his ears, the sound would get through. At the same time, every Cero that Caulder launched, grew less and less effective against Marc’s second sight. he was learning how to block out the harmful Noise, and only listen to the useful information. Caulder...was the worst, best teacher alive.
Marc was moving again, advancing and clashing with the incoming, educational assault. His wrists were blocking and redirecting his teacher's strikes as best he could. Ceros still filled the sky like explosive celebrations, it could have been considered fitting, as Marc did have reason to celebrate. His mind had become focused, he had learned he could keep resist the effects of Cero through careful practice. It would be difficult to master such a thing, as it required intense self control...but of anyone knew how to find intensity in something, it was Caulder. Even as Marc fought back, empowered by his discoveries, his teacher was not about to let his ego fly free.
Marc's focus was so set on the Ceros being launched, that he could not anticipate Caulderbain's motions. A swift strike scraped across Marcelius' knee. Slicing his hakama and drawing blood from iron. With a significant cry of pain, the Lorde gave out one leg. Crumbling to the ground, dropped his defenses and left him bitterly exposed. Being a teacher first, of only for the time being, Caulder saw this as a great opportunity to instruct. Placing his hand next to Despres' ear, he charged, and released, a mighty Cero over his students shoulder. Even though Caulder was unaware that Marc's weakness was not based in typical senses, the closeness of the blast served his desired purposes all the same. Once again, Marc's mind exploded with sound and light. He failed to tune any of it out, having been preoccupied with a possible bleeding tendon.
Waking up once more, Marcelius found himself laying on the rise of a sand dune. He quickly rose up from the ground, and examined his body. He found that his leg had been bandaged, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Caulder was sitting next time, keeping watch it seemed. When the student roused from his slumber, the teacher made out a point to notice. "Well good morning sweetheart. I know now how you stay so pretty, all that beauty sleep does wonders. Still, as bad as you look...I'd hate to see you after skipping out on rest." Marc couldn't help but chuckle, hearing Caulder speak without anger was quite hilarious. "Your leg is fine, though you're lucky I did not wish you permanent harm. It took me almost an hour to realize you had passed out, which is pathetic by the way, so you have a few other sores on you. If I were a real opponent...ah, what does it matter, you don't care to die." To Marc, hearing all of these words was simply odd. Caulder's words and his Noise were all out of sorts. He wondered what was causing this all, did something happen while Marc had been dismissed? Whatever it was that changed in Caulder, it had no effect on his desires to hurt people. Marcelius' body ached all over, he could never again pass out in front of the professor.
Caulder stood, drawing his sword. In the soft light of the moon, he carefully examined the blade from tip to crossguard. Turning to Marc, he told him to draw his blade as well. Standing up, whining in pain from the slice at his knee, the Hills grabbed his weapon and freed of from the scabbard. Caulder, almost immediately, struck out at the brandished cutlery. Marc barely had time to block, before he was struck hard to the ground again. Caulderbain kept with his motion, and forced the Lorde down further. "It would be pointless to lecture on exploiting injuries, you sensible enough to know those basics. So instead, we shall practice on making wounds and advantage." His instructor was a madman, there was no denying it. But until now, most of the advice that Marc had picked up, was quite sound and usable. Perhaps there was yet more method to the mania of Caulder.
Marc was allowed to stand again, told to present himself honorably, as any condemned man should. Caulder began to elaborate his words. Craftiness was the true secret, devious planning that could turn any supposed fault into a step of triumph. When facing an enemy wounded, there are two disadvantages to overcome. The first being obvious, an injured fighter must work hard for the same physical results...as well as being more limited in motion or options. The second obstacle, would be the enemies confidence. Even the most cautious of enemies are empowered when fighting a wounded rival. The master hunter, whom has learned of the true ferocity of an injured predator, will devise a strategy to exploit their prey's weakness. When a fighter becomes injured, he can expect his challenger to try an use this as advantage. Effectively, becoming wounded provides a capable warrior with the means to predict the future.
The enemy will always desire to make use of the wound, and will expect the hurt one to focus on protecting against those desires. Caulder demonstrated, by making an aggressive advance on Marc's injured side. Normally, a trained response would be to defend against this gesture and rebuff. Caulder suggested skipping a step. Catch the attack in the middle of their predicted motion, striking the openings they allow themselves for power advantage. When they come at the injured side, flow with their hostility and offer them the already damaged goods. While they feel cherish the success of their battle advantage, their exposure becomes a disadvantage to even the field. Leveling the odds, is much better than defending against stacked dice.
They did several dances, where Caulder utilized his expertise to elaborate possible attacks against Marc's weakened defenses. Marcelius was challenged to devise increasingly creative counters, that would benefit most from his short reach, defensive movements. Marc was learning to exercise the pommel of his weapon, very efficiently. Caulder was gifted with both refined skill and raw power, yet Marcelius' simplistic techniques were quite successful in holding up the swordmaster. Back and forth they moved through the sand, all the while, Marc sent unnoticing his leg. Instead his focus was occupied on Caulder, whose enjoyment was quite apparent. This Hollow loved armed combat, the pleasant sounds of clashing metal and the enjoyment of competing with someone else for life itself. Marc was seeing all of these facts, as clear as day, shining from Caulderbain's Noise. Marc could never imagine having such joy in moments such as these fights, but it was fun seeing another person so happy.
It was not easy to say, just how much time had passed. Crawling back to the gates of Las Noches, Marcelius hobbling on one good leg and Caulderbain keeping him upright. The two were covered in several nicks and scars, all of which would inevitably heal away. They had swiped at one another till exhaustion claimed them both. Caulder had become drunk with joy, having been unable to indulge his desire for conflict in weeks. Marcelius was simply exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to find a bed. The two of them, were actually laughing. Caulder's typical exterior of harsh, unrelenting sociopath...was gone. Caulder had a friendly side to him, it was just buried beneath hundreds of tiny cuts. Marcelius now believed, if someone as distasteful as Caulder could become a delight, maybe all Hollows could. He even went as far as to share this though with Caulder, who simply broke out with laughter. "For that idea to work, you would have to find more people like me...and I assure you, there are no more people like me." Once again, there was great truth in Caulder's words. This time, Marcelius happily ignored them.
As the pair of Hollows trekked through the hallways of Las Noches, the darkness of night made their trip more difficult than it ought to have been. Caulder was little help, he was far to focused on the conversation started by Marc. He was bewildered that such a Hollow as Marc, could have survived in Hueco Mundo. He was even a bit offended that such a soft heart could have ascended to Vasto Lorde. Marc tried to explain, that he was a different person in his past, who behaved in a more appropriate Hollow fashion. Caulder laughed, and teased that he would rather be training that "hard ass", where ever he was. Marc kept quiet, no topic involving his former self or actions was ever pleasant to invest in. Besides, Marc was still nervous about traveling the hallways like they were. After his run in with that at range boy, he was not sure if he would ever venture freely through Las Notches again.
Caulder was having to play cartographer, mapping their advances through the winding walkways. They might have made faster progress, had Marc's leg been tended by one of the nurses. When Marc asked why his tutor would not take him to receive aid, Caulder made it clear. Marc had already had all the time with the girls he was allowed, and that Caulder would have his go at them next time. They both laughed at these jests. The two of them, seemed like they could be friends. Hopefully, this bond would survive even after Caulder lost his cheerful demeanor.
It had been quite the long day, full of insults and epiphanies. Caulder was kind enough to get his student back to his room in one piece, and there he left him. Marc crawled back into his bed, and quickly fell into the loving arms of Mister Sandman. That night, his dreams were plagued once more. The sequence began with Marc training with Caulder, the two of them acting much like they had at the end of the previous day. They were happy and friendly, and all around enjoying life. As the combat continued, it began to grow more intense and hostile. Words stopped, and each of them fought as hard as they could to crush the other. Marc was forced into a corner, and in his desperation, released the power residing in his zankpakuto. Once in his Resurreccion, he overwhelmed his opponent...and consumed him. As he came finally, to feast on his cohorts head, that it spewed blood from the lips and cried guttural agony. Marcelius was left to wake in a nervous haze.
