Post by Marcelius on Sept 11, 2013 0:36:35 GMT -5
(OoC: This is a training thread to describe the development of Hierro Resonancia. This will also act as a training thread to help Marc master said technique.)
Skin like iron. Both a blessing and a curse. A shield that fits perfectly to it’s barer’s shape, contouring to every flex and motion. It was if he had been cast from a mold, one filled with the most miraculous and flexible metal. Scraping across his figure could produce no scratch or mark. Accidents were no longer a threat, and could be forgotten after the passing of a single step. He had come to learn this was called Hierro. Iron. It was the protection that his race had been offered in their design. There were others’ who could use such a thing to terrible effect. Wading through the blades of their enemies without the slightest indication of concern. Marcelius was nothing like them. His Hierro was not up to par. It was not specialized. If an Arrancar could have a problem, then this was the one to have. It all spawned from his lackluster spirit. From his raw power he had developed quite a dense collection of Reiatsu. What was missing, was ambition. The same ambition he had as a Hollow, to be on top of the pile. Without that drive, he could never learn to focus his Reiatsu to the same degree as his fellow Hollows. Sadly, he belonged to a world that thrived on strength. Without it, you were worthless and easily discarded. If he were to continue in this world, and enjoying it's splendours, he would have to toughen up.
Others might expose themselves to harm and pain, in order to grow as a warrior. This was always difficult for Marcelius, even when he had the ferocity of a Hollow, he was wise enough to plan and prepare his fights. What he lacked in power, he always made up for in awareness and cunning. Now he had the mind and the ability to grow in power, by fighting smarter. His Hierro would become proof of this. To start, he watched others employ the same technique he was trying to improve. When someone like Marcelius watches, deepest secrets and strategies may rise to the surface. From the very first thought, not attack or even motion, Marcelius was analyzing the outcome of the events to follow. Luckily for his current studies, Las Noches was never lacking hostile inhabitants.
Fights broke out almost daily, as his brothers and sisters fought to prove superiority. It went all the way up to the Espada. Even though it caused Marc no shortage of embarrassment or grief, he needed to observe the youngsters tearing at each other. Watching their exchange of force, and the reactions of their metallic epidermis. Besides the horrors of supposed allies fighting, getting to see two Hierros respond and resist the other was quite the entertaining event. Searching was over quick, Marcelius had found exactly the situation he needed. It seems two Hollows were having difficulty agreeing...as per the norm. Seems like you could set a watch by the aggressive outbursts of his people. Two Arrancar, Numeros without title or purpose, stood waiting for each to strike. They were eager, childish souls, ready to write a name for themselves out of the blood of a dead competitor. Marcelius watched, with every ounce his being wanting to intervene. To stop them, before they caused any harm to themselves or others. The reality was, it would be wrong for him to stop fights. Doing so would result in himself becoming a target, thus adding to the toll of those injured. What he might stop today, would simply wait till tomorrow to pick up. This was the challenge his attempts at leadership would fail under. Arrogance. There was a tool for overcoming arrogance, with Arrancar at least, but it was equally as distasteful.
Fear could be exploited, crushing the will and hearts of the aggressors, but they would eventually outgrow his suggestions. Rules could be mentioned, but in Las Noches, rules were even less powerful than suggestions. The Espada had shown a tremendous ability to lasso in the rowdy ones, by creating a fear that was more lasting. Why did it always have to resort to fear in these cases? Not just fear specifically, but power that brought fear. Marc did not want to encourage his fellow Hollows by with threats. Until he learned to do that, or perfected a way to tutor their aggression in another way, his kin would just have to keep fighting. Words were always they start of these fights, the two young Broken Masked, exchanging hate filled insults and challenges. Soon they had both drawn their swords, but neither attacked. They each looked to be waiting on the other, almost as if they were too nervous to begin. Marcelius knew for sure what it was, the blend of anticipation and the subtle gleam of fear...these Arrancar were new to being Maskless. No mastery of their swords, or even total control over the new bodies they had been given. Marcelius could sympathize with their plight.
To make matters worse, their uneasy attitude was buffered by fear of appearing weak. Not only were they experiencing difficulty with both the physical, and mental aspects of this conflict they began. Their spirits; however, were as loud and bright as they could be. All the passion in the world, yet the restraint of uncertainty. They appeared, so human at times like this. Nothing like the mindless animals they might have been before. This all added to his shame, when Marc simply sat back k and prepared to watch the show. With a quick flick of the wrist, the younger of the two set out to make the first move. Youth, once again, forcing a hasty decisions. Their blades met in the crashing in a cascade of sparks. Like the fires of their juvenile hearts, the clanging metal of their blades produced a most captivating visual display. Despite being untrained, both you Arrancar displayed impressive skill with their weapons. His kind were quite the fast learned, something to be commended. It must be that fast learning that reinforces the stubbornness. Such a twisted double-edged sword their condition was. Whatever the circumstances, the two of them were displaying real talent in the art of swordplay. Neither one of them was making contact with the other's Hierro. Marcelius was learning nothing from such a demonstration.
He could see the vibrations coming from their dense weapons. Each impact was a burst of light and motion. Always quick to dissipate in the open air. It was interesting to watch such a powerful force go screeching through the openness of the atmosphere, losing energy a rapid pace. Not all of the energy when to the emptiness between them. Much of the created motion went up through their arms, a sensation that Marcelius was all too familiar with. Inspecting this aspect, and the way their Hierro took the energy coming in from the shaking sword, Marc could see how Hierro handled pressure. Once any form of resistance came against the iron flesh, it was quickly forced back by sheer density. The low level of strength going into each blow, barely had enough force to make it up the arm.
So now he had a fundamental start point. The issue he had to overcome was the force of an attack. He saw that regular Hierro relied on an sturdy structure. If it could be reinforced beyond the measure of the assault. It could only survive by means of the strictest superiority. There was no intelligent design, no precision of craft...Hierro was like all things Arrancar. Might is right. This did not help Marc, this was not what he wanted to see. He had spent too long now, watching angry children strike at each other, only to learn a fact he did not wish to know. Having grow ill from the experience, he stood from his seat and left the great hall and all the brawl behind. There had to be another way to improve the quality. Someway for Marcelius to overcome his poor spiritual condition, so that he may rival the rest of the "strongest". Nothing in life could not be exploited or used more appropriately. Hierro, Iron....what secrets were there. How was regular iron improved, maybe there was a fundamental solution? Yes, this was a discussion of spiritual energies and mechanics, but seeing as they were all built on the same resources..."Maybe..."
Sitting outside now, among the nearby sands, Marcelius pondered what was missing from his formula. Raking his finger across his skin, spending time practicing both activating and releasing his Hierro. It was like the tingling one feels in a moment of shock. One second his skin was soft, and pulled when he tried to claw at it. The next, shivering cold with goosebumps throughout, this is when his skin denied is nail. Back and forth he went with this, shifting his energy to and from the outer limits of his body. It was surprisingly easy to switch on and off, it flowed as easily as a thought. Marcelius believed he could harden his skin in the same moment that he felt threatened, like a reaction or instinct. Yes, he had become quite the master over this ability....and yet he could not strengthen it. How much good did it do him then, to know as much as he did? The spirits inside him happily agreed with his pessimistic revelation. It seems Marcelius was doomed to live as an exposed, weakened Hollow. Unable to suffer the same trial and suffering of his stronger siblings. Maybe it was a good thing for him. An excuse. The thinness of his Hierro, the unreliability of his age...he was not meant to be on the front lines anyways.
Pacing now, in the cool desert night, he let himself slip in a small pocket of depression. Not fighting or struggling, merely accepting his failure for the day for what it was. His body felt heavy because of it, the weight pulling down on his heart was also tugging the rest of his limbs down with it. Under the burden of his gloom, his feet sunk deep into the sandy floor beneath him. Kicking up the grains as he walked, tossing them about without the slightest care. Selfishly disturbing the peace on account of his bad mood. His thoughts were never productive when he was like this, worse still, he was aware of it. He was accomplishing more in kicking about the sand, than he was on solving his problem. If he could have only gotten a breakthrough, something to stir his heart and rekindle his faith. Any idea would do, anything at all. Alas, nothing came to him. Giving in to the great tug of grief, he allowed himself to plop down onto the sand. Making himself as comfy as he could, stretching out his muscles for some much needed rest. He sat, just for the sake of sitting. His eyes wandering, just as restless as his legs were. Such a shame there was not much to look at while out here, nothing to distract from the looming presence of defeat.
Maybe a new Hierro was needed all together? The old one was too much of an instinctual manifestation, and a more enlightened version would need to exist. Yes, this seemed right to him. A more adaptive and proactive Hierro, one that behaved as he did. Instead of building a rigid form, something more fluid that could handle incoming pressure more effectively based off of knowledge. It seemed so simple in his head. His enthusiasm even took a turn for the better. As he had postulated before, Hierro was called as such due to the form it took on the skin. Improving Iron requires a the removal of impurities, but as far as Marc could tell, the spirit contained no faults. It happened in an instant, and formed perfectly every time. There was nothing impure to be diluted from the equation. Which means his new Hierro would not need to be a completely new, just a revisioning of the prexisting formula. It needed to be used differently, as it was already a masterpiece. How could he use something so simple, differently. Then a thought brought him back to the fight he witnessed before. All the energy released from each strike of the sword diapered in one of two ways. Either it traveled down the sturdy blade, to the Hierro on the arm, and vibrated into nothing. The air around the various strikes, also absorbed the motion, dispersing it over a much wider area, with a softer sound. That was it. The secret that was not hidden.
Hierros limits were determined by it's ability to diffuse incoming energy. Marcelius stood now, and prepared a Bala. Nothing special, typical size and power. He fired into a nearby rock, and measured the destruction. Specifically, the vibrations it made. Doing this several more times, he perfected a simple training Bala. One he would know the exact proportions of as soon as it was created. With something like this, he could perform tests and make progress based off of what he learned. For the likes of Marc, and his renowned understanding of spiritual potential, this was the simplest of tasks.Holding it up in his hand, he slowly turned it towards his own chest. His Hierro would be severely cracked by this attached, at this proximity. Unless his plan worked. Following the pressure that formed his Hierro while it coursed through his body, where it spread out it's protection equally. So, without delay, he slapped his chest with the bullet.
As the heat set in, the force of the Bala crashing against him, he flexed his spiritual pressure in synchronized fashion with the incoming blast. Like two voices finding harmony, the reiatsu inside of his Hierro graciously accepted the accompaniment given to it. His body did not try to resist, his iron was no longer iron. He had turned the spiritual particles that hardened his flesh, into water that diluted all threats. His skin could not be cut now. Not without unbelievable force. He would have to be struck so tremendously, that the energy entering his body, would create so many ripples...that the ripples themselves would become solid through tension. The vibrations running through his skin and bones, would happily absorb and reduce the attack of any blade seeking to trespass into his body. The ringing created by his constantly moving, fluxuating reiatsu, created quite the charming tune. All in all, this discovery was a success, one he was eager to begin improving.
Skin like iron. Both a blessing and a curse. A shield that fits perfectly to it’s barer’s shape, contouring to every flex and motion. It was if he had been cast from a mold, one filled with the most miraculous and flexible metal. Scraping across his figure could produce no scratch or mark. Accidents were no longer a threat, and could be forgotten after the passing of a single step. He had come to learn this was called Hierro. Iron. It was the protection that his race had been offered in their design. There were others’ who could use such a thing to terrible effect. Wading through the blades of their enemies without the slightest indication of concern. Marcelius was nothing like them. His Hierro was not up to par. It was not specialized. If an Arrancar could have a problem, then this was the one to have. It all spawned from his lackluster spirit. From his raw power he had developed quite a dense collection of Reiatsu. What was missing, was ambition. The same ambition he had as a Hollow, to be on top of the pile. Without that drive, he could never learn to focus his Reiatsu to the same degree as his fellow Hollows. Sadly, he belonged to a world that thrived on strength. Without it, you were worthless and easily discarded. If he were to continue in this world, and enjoying it's splendours, he would have to toughen up.
Others might expose themselves to harm and pain, in order to grow as a warrior. This was always difficult for Marcelius, even when he had the ferocity of a Hollow, he was wise enough to plan and prepare his fights. What he lacked in power, he always made up for in awareness and cunning. Now he had the mind and the ability to grow in power, by fighting smarter. His Hierro would become proof of this. To start, he watched others employ the same technique he was trying to improve. When someone like Marcelius watches, deepest secrets and strategies may rise to the surface. From the very first thought, not attack or even motion, Marcelius was analyzing the outcome of the events to follow. Luckily for his current studies, Las Noches was never lacking hostile inhabitants.
Fights broke out almost daily, as his brothers and sisters fought to prove superiority. It went all the way up to the Espada. Even though it caused Marc no shortage of embarrassment or grief, he needed to observe the youngsters tearing at each other. Watching their exchange of force, and the reactions of their metallic epidermis. Besides the horrors of supposed allies fighting, getting to see two Hierros respond and resist the other was quite the entertaining event. Searching was over quick, Marcelius had found exactly the situation he needed. It seems two Hollows were having difficulty agreeing...as per the norm. Seems like you could set a watch by the aggressive outbursts of his people. Two Arrancar, Numeros without title or purpose, stood waiting for each to strike. They were eager, childish souls, ready to write a name for themselves out of the blood of a dead competitor. Marcelius watched, with every ounce his being wanting to intervene. To stop them, before they caused any harm to themselves or others. The reality was, it would be wrong for him to stop fights. Doing so would result in himself becoming a target, thus adding to the toll of those injured. What he might stop today, would simply wait till tomorrow to pick up. This was the challenge his attempts at leadership would fail under. Arrogance. There was a tool for overcoming arrogance, with Arrancar at least, but it was equally as distasteful.
Fear could be exploited, crushing the will and hearts of the aggressors, but they would eventually outgrow his suggestions. Rules could be mentioned, but in Las Noches, rules were even less powerful than suggestions. The Espada had shown a tremendous ability to lasso in the rowdy ones, by creating a fear that was more lasting. Why did it always have to resort to fear in these cases? Not just fear specifically, but power that brought fear. Marc did not want to encourage his fellow Hollows by with threats. Until he learned to do that, or perfected a way to tutor their aggression in another way, his kin would just have to keep fighting. Words were always they start of these fights, the two young Broken Masked, exchanging hate filled insults and challenges. Soon they had both drawn their swords, but neither attacked. They each looked to be waiting on the other, almost as if they were too nervous to begin. Marcelius knew for sure what it was, the blend of anticipation and the subtle gleam of fear...these Arrancar were new to being Maskless. No mastery of their swords, or even total control over the new bodies they had been given. Marcelius could sympathize with their plight.
To make matters worse, their uneasy attitude was buffered by fear of appearing weak. Not only were they experiencing difficulty with both the physical, and mental aspects of this conflict they began. Their spirits; however, were as loud and bright as they could be. All the passion in the world, yet the restraint of uncertainty. They appeared, so human at times like this. Nothing like the mindless animals they might have been before. This all added to his shame, when Marc simply sat back k and prepared to watch the show. With a quick flick of the wrist, the younger of the two set out to make the first move. Youth, once again, forcing a hasty decisions. Their blades met in the crashing in a cascade of sparks. Like the fires of their juvenile hearts, the clanging metal of their blades produced a most captivating visual display. Despite being untrained, both you Arrancar displayed impressive skill with their weapons. His kind were quite the fast learned, something to be commended. It must be that fast learning that reinforces the stubbornness. Such a twisted double-edged sword their condition was. Whatever the circumstances, the two of them were displaying real talent in the art of swordplay. Neither one of them was making contact with the other's Hierro. Marcelius was learning nothing from such a demonstration.
He could see the vibrations coming from their dense weapons. Each impact was a burst of light and motion. Always quick to dissipate in the open air. It was interesting to watch such a powerful force go screeching through the openness of the atmosphere, losing energy a rapid pace. Not all of the energy when to the emptiness between them. Much of the created motion went up through their arms, a sensation that Marcelius was all too familiar with. Inspecting this aspect, and the way their Hierro took the energy coming in from the shaking sword, Marc could see how Hierro handled pressure. Once any form of resistance came against the iron flesh, it was quickly forced back by sheer density. The low level of strength going into each blow, barely had enough force to make it up the arm.
So now he had a fundamental start point. The issue he had to overcome was the force of an attack. He saw that regular Hierro relied on an sturdy structure. If it could be reinforced beyond the measure of the assault. It could only survive by means of the strictest superiority. There was no intelligent design, no precision of craft...Hierro was like all things Arrancar. Might is right. This did not help Marc, this was not what he wanted to see. He had spent too long now, watching angry children strike at each other, only to learn a fact he did not wish to know. Having grow ill from the experience, he stood from his seat and left the great hall and all the brawl behind. There had to be another way to improve the quality. Someway for Marcelius to overcome his poor spiritual condition, so that he may rival the rest of the "strongest". Nothing in life could not be exploited or used more appropriately. Hierro, Iron....what secrets were there. How was regular iron improved, maybe there was a fundamental solution? Yes, this was a discussion of spiritual energies and mechanics, but seeing as they were all built on the same resources..."Maybe..."
Sitting outside now, among the nearby sands, Marcelius pondered what was missing from his formula. Raking his finger across his skin, spending time practicing both activating and releasing his Hierro. It was like the tingling one feels in a moment of shock. One second his skin was soft, and pulled when he tried to claw at it. The next, shivering cold with goosebumps throughout, this is when his skin denied is nail. Back and forth he went with this, shifting his energy to and from the outer limits of his body. It was surprisingly easy to switch on and off, it flowed as easily as a thought. Marcelius believed he could harden his skin in the same moment that he felt threatened, like a reaction or instinct. Yes, he had become quite the master over this ability....and yet he could not strengthen it. How much good did it do him then, to know as much as he did? The spirits inside him happily agreed with his pessimistic revelation. It seems Marcelius was doomed to live as an exposed, weakened Hollow. Unable to suffer the same trial and suffering of his stronger siblings. Maybe it was a good thing for him. An excuse. The thinness of his Hierro, the unreliability of his age...he was not meant to be on the front lines anyways.
Pacing now, in the cool desert night, he let himself slip in a small pocket of depression. Not fighting or struggling, merely accepting his failure for the day for what it was. His body felt heavy because of it, the weight pulling down on his heart was also tugging the rest of his limbs down with it. Under the burden of his gloom, his feet sunk deep into the sandy floor beneath him. Kicking up the grains as he walked, tossing them about without the slightest care. Selfishly disturbing the peace on account of his bad mood. His thoughts were never productive when he was like this, worse still, he was aware of it. He was accomplishing more in kicking about the sand, than he was on solving his problem. If he could have only gotten a breakthrough, something to stir his heart and rekindle his faith. Any idea would do, anything at all. Alas, nothing came to him. Giving in to the great tug of grief, he allowed himself to plop down onto the sand. Making himself as comfy as he could, stretching out his muscles for some much needed rest. He sat, just for the sake of sitting. His eyes wandering, just as restless as his legs were. Such a shame there was not much to look at while out here, nothing to distract from the looming presence of defeat.
Maybe a new Hierro was needed all together? The old one was too much of an instinctual manifestation, and a more enlightened version would need to exist. Yes, this seemed right to him. A more adaptive and proactive Hierro, one that behaved as he did. Instead of building a rigid form, something more fluid that could handle incoming pressure more effectively based off of knowledge. It seemed so simple in his head. His enthusiasm even took a turn for the better. As he had postulated before, Hierro was called as such due to the form it took on the skin. Improving Iron requires a the removal of impurities, but as far as Marc could tell, the spirit contained no faults. It happened in an instant, and formed perfectly every time. There was nothing impure to be diluted from the equation. Which means his new Hierro would not need to be a completely new, just a revisioning of the prexisting formula. It needed to be used differently, as it was already a masterpiece. How could he use something so simple, differently. Then a thought brought him back to the fight he witnessed before. All the energy released from each strike of the sword diapered in one of two ways. Either it traveled down the sturdy blade, to the Hierro on the arm, and vibrated into nothing. The air around the various strikes, also absorbed the motion, dispersing it over a much wider area, with a softer sound. That was it. The secret that was not hidden.
Hierros limits were determined by it's ability to diffuse incoming energy. Marcelius stood now, and prepared a Bala. Nothing special, typical size and power. He fired into a nearby rock, and measured the destruction. Specifically, the vibrations it made. Doing this several more times, he perfected a simple training Bala. One he would know the exact proportions of as soon as it was created. With something like this, he could perform tests and make progress based off of what he learned. For the likes of Marc, and his renowned understanding of spiritual potential, this was the simplest of tasks.Holding it up in his hand, he slowly turned it towards his own chest. His Hierro would be severely cracked by this attached, at this proximity. Unless his plan worked. Following the pressure that formed his Hierro while it coursed through his body, where it spread out it's protection equally. So, without delay, he slapped his chest with the bullet.
As the heat set in, the force of the Bala crashing against him, he flexed his spiritual pressure in synchronized fashion with the incoming blast. Like two voices finding harmony, the reiatsu inside of his Hierro graciously accepted the accompaniment given to it. His body did not try to resist, his iron was no longer iron. He had turned the spiritual particles that hardened his flesh, into water that diluted all threats. His skin could not be cut now. Not without unbelievable force. He would have to be struck so tremendously, that the energy entering his body, would create so many ripples...that the ripples themselves would become solid through tension. The vibrations running through his skin and bones, would happily absorb and reduce the attack of any blade seeking to trespass into his body. The ringing created by his constantly moving, fluxuating reiatsu, created quite the charming tune. All in all, this discovery was a success, one he was eager to begin improving.
