Bedside Manners (Joint Training, R, NDE)

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

(OOC: From this point on, this has transitioned into an NDE fight.)

Myza was able to feel Marcelius coming, his energy just barely registering as he walked into the dome. When he finally arrived, she would be quiet a moment longer, still simply enjoying the artificial sunlight. She would lazily open her eyes only when Marcelius spoke, a slight smile on her face. "Terms and conditions, hmmm? Very well then. Neither of us will aim to kill. We may injure, or attempt to injure, but not kill. " She grabbed one of the hooks on her Zanpakuto at that point, and with a quick flick of her wrist, unwrapped it from around herself.

She would settle into a spinning rythm with both ends rather quickly after drawing it, occasionally sending up a small puff of sand as her chain scraped the ground beneath her. That small smile was still on her face, and Marc would be able to feel a strange combination of anticipation and curiousity from the Septima. "Now then, Marcelius... Let us see what seperates you from me."

The female Espada would rush forward at that point, running quickly across the sands at speeds that virtually nothing alive could compete with. It may have been slower than Marcelius himself, but it was definitely not what one could call slow. This was very much counter to the current standing opinion of what the Septima was capable of, and any rumors that he may have gathered of her before would have portrayed her as powerful, but slow.

It was as she was running forward that Marcelius would discover one of the many advantages that Myzaraphiston's less than typical weapon held. She was 10 feet away from him when she swung with her chain, loosening the grasp she had on the right side so that it would go out further. The blunt end of one of the hooks was arcing towards his head, aiming to simply hit him on the temple. It was a simple enough attack, though if the older Arrancar was familiar with chain weapons at all, he'd know it would take much effort on the Septima's behalf to suddenly change the direction of her attack. In short, Chain weapons could subvert his analytical capabilities entirely without any trouble, and Myza's in particular had an absolutely huge amount of reach around her. Even worse, Marc's usual style of parrying wouldn't be nearly as effective against Myza's Zanpakuto, since its flexible nature would simple ensure that it would coil around his own sword. This was simply his first test: to see how he reacted to what was undeniably an unconventional weapon among Arrancar.

SPOILER: Click to show

Strength - 300 (150) Points

Speed - 400 Points

Spiritual Pressure - 300 (600) Points

Reiatsu Strength - 400 (800) Points

Light Aura - 5 Points

Dark Aura - 95 Points

Instinct - 140 Points

Senses - 110 Points

Energy sensory - 110 (330) Points

Healing Expertise - 0 Points


Total SP: 1760 Points

SPOILER: Click to show

Strength of Will 2


Battle Focus 2


Pain Tolerance 2


Weapon (Chain) 2


Memory 1


Battle Analysis 3


Illusion Resist 2


Learning 2

[Marcelius]

It was that calm, which compelled the Septima, that Marcelius would miss. A feeling of carelessness; which in she could lower her guard. Evident by the almost sleepy way she opened her eyes. Marc wanted moments such as that to define his life, to occupy every waking moment. Maybe then, with life more like an enduring dream, he could enjoy a modicum of peace. All of this speculation, came with his initial discoveries of the waiting Espada. Having been set on wits end, he was unable to restrict himself from studiously breaking her down. Shamefully enough, it almost cost him her message. For his old ears which were far less useful than his rivals, he had to strain both focus and concern...in order to hear her words. It would prove worth it for him, however, given the context of her speech. It was her intent, if only by vow of voice, to not relieve him of his mortal coil.

Too swiftly, did he let these ease the tensions of his mind. Though it may not be wise to believe her claims, given his little knowledge of her character. What was heard, could have well been a lie...as much as it could have been sarcasm. After all, trying to establish rules or politeness within a Las Noches' battle...well, obviously it is a very silly notion. It was in Marcelius' nature to trust, so that is what he did. He needed to believe she was sincere. For within, he harbored that fear which Mei shared with him long before. Being here, in the theater of the battlefield, did little to quell his anxieties. Knowing that his competitor was a liar would benefit his caution; while crippling his morale. After all, he wanted so badly for Las Noches to be devoid of liars. If not completely, at least within the ranks of their elite and leadership. My, what a dreamer he really was. What was not a dream, was the young woman cross from him. She was preparing, and he needed to watch...

It would be all he would have time for, as his opponent quickly unwound her weapon. "Oh dear...a chain." It would seem the mighty hooks which lingered at either end of the lengthy formation, were not in fact her arsenal. Already, Marcelius stomach was beginning to feel ill. A weapon such as this, was more than a flexible tool. Surprise was the tool's ultimate power. Such an exotic implement had few common counters. Truly it required a creative soul to wield such a device...and an even craftier one to defend against it. Just by watching her twirl the wicked line around and around, he feared what mastery she might have attained with it. What was she capable of? What might she attempt?

With his left hand reached across his body, hovering just above his own blade's grip...he suddenly stopped. Hesitating, he did not bother to complete his draw. Instead his hand went back to his side. Once more he regained his calm, stout pose. What he sensed, as she stood churning up the desert sands, was her substantial reiatsu density. It was nothing new to him. With the birth of her earlier Bala, he knew precisely how powerful her spirit was. He was totally outmatched. If he were to use his weapon, he would only be putting it in risk's path. No, that would have to wait. Wait, for...his eyes lifted back to her own. A question, one quite futile, tore his attention off of her malicious armament. "Separates...you from I?" The idea captured his mind, and tore him from his focus. As she set off to make her first advance, he retreated into deepened thought.

Why did it have to be, why the two of them differed? What was so important about individuality? Ever since his arrival, Marcelius had pondered such a thought countless times. It seemed like some rampant fad. In Las Noches, each and every citizen was obsessed with their identity...and why it was separate. The power they all so notoriously craved, was nothing more than a means to rise above the anonymous masses. To be known and recognized, played just as much a part of being the strongest as did actual strength. With his dreams of community, prosperity...and belonging to a family; Marcelius did not comprehend such desires. Now here, at a time such as this, the Espada would remind him of such trife. Oh, such answers which came to mind.

One, was the clear difference in rank. She a mighty Espada, and he a lowly Fraccion. Given that she was not his Espada, he was not worthy to shine her boot. Beyond that, the next most important quality in an Arrancar. The great structure, and power, of her Reiatsu. When compared to her force, he was a willowy nuisance. Any Arrancar could glance upon them both, and establish her outstanding superiority. Beyong titles and prowess, there were their differences in ideals. She valued abilities, he cherished attitudes. Where her perfect world was filled with the Chosen People, triumphant over natures lesser subjects...his was a passive existence of balanced coexistence. There was no short supply of differences between them. Marc could only guess which the Septima craved. For him, only the answers that could save his life mattered.

Like a storm, stretching to cover the vast sky, Myza came hard upon him. Through his view, an alternative perspective more certain and true, he should have been able to read her intent. By devoting such curiosity to her attack, her mind illuminated with it's every detail and subversion. If only proper care had been placed into his inspection, his safety would have been a guarantee. Instead, he dawdled within the depths of his philosophical tendencies. Foolish. Supremely so, in the midst of conflict. However, Marcelius was like all Hollows...a beast of adaption. Having long been the victim of idle focus, the old Arrancar had developed an solution.

Several layers of concentration, which all rested happily on top of on another. When one becomes preoccupied, there are more to gather the slack. It was because of these auxiliary processes, that his eyes never left the target. In fact, never left any of them. The first being of the grandest importance. The scape upon which their exchange was to take place. A rolling, sandy terrain...which was flat, but populated by subtle lifts and sinks. Stepping in any direction might raise or lower one's position, but never more than a half a meter or so. Such gentle shifts would help both of them great many -much needed- near misses. Given her weapon of choice, he would need every advantage he could consider. Which brings the topic to his second target, Myza herself.

Already she was exhibiting her breathtaking speed. Explaining and defending her value as both a warrior and an Espada...the Septima glided gracefully over the grainy sediment. Confident in her stride, light on her feet. She kept her eyes forward and on him, the entire time. Doing the same, as before in the infirmary, seemed only polite. Maybe she was quick witted enough to note this detail, and the vast importance it held. Regardless, the time for her swing had come...and his sword was still sheathed. Nothing rose to greet the sweeping hook, and it's blunted crash. Instead, moving by instinct alone, the elder stepped back. Stroking his left leg through the sand, withdrawing his body -and her goal- from her current trajectory. Her target was his temple, the broadside of his skull? She could not be allowed to connect...not without paying a price. That is why his hunter's guile made the retreat. What he expected, well...what he wanted, was for her to loosen her left hand's hold.

She had a chain, one with impressive scale and reach. In the open air of their playground, she could call all the shots. Attacking without fear of response, keeping her distance without having to bestow mercy or pause in her attacks. So what he wanted, was for her to devote the full measure of her weapon to this attack. It would cast a mold for him, knowledge of her limits. Not that he could not count the links and estimate her range...no, what he wanted was a feel for it. Something more natural than math. Something his muscles could remember. Alas, there was chance he would not get what he wanted. After all, Myza did not appear the giving type. That was fine, as he did not donate any real energy into the pursuit of his prize. Maybe she would be tricky? Try to surprise him? Mmm...that is why he watched her, and let instincts tend to the chain's lash. In her, the answer would come forth. Next time, with her response, he would be freed from his musings.

This was as much the ploy, as sizing up his prey. To build an understanding of how she worked...and why she worked that way. To see if she was as predictable as any other animal. Or to discover her identity was something more spontaneous, and superb. With more than just his eyes watching, her secrets could be read. Was she the type to pull her punches and approach coyly? Instead of the easiest, least exhausting answer...would she endeavor for more complexity? Considering he dropped only one leg behind, to pull his head back from danger, she might grow irritated? Irritated that he appeared so careless in his movements? Or would she remember his reaction in the medical center... where he passionately threw himself between Mei and a suspected blast? Had she any ability to sense fear, and motivation? Would he have to be guarded in those ways as well? Yes...there were quite a many answers he sought. Separations between him an her, on which he placed merits. Seems...one more, he was no better than those he sought to understand. For the sake of his safety, and hers...he hoped he found his solutions quickly.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stats}
Strength - 700 Points (350 Originally)

Speed - 600 Points (300 Originally)

Spiritual Pressure - 150 Points (300 Points Originally)

Reiatsu Strength - 300 Points

Light Aura - 51 Points

Dark Aura - 49 Points

Instinct - 300 Points

Senses - 50 Points

Energy sensory - 900 (300 Originally)

Healing Expertise - 0 Points

Total SP: 1900 Points

SPOILER: Click to show

{Skills}
Analyzing - 3: He is more of a Watson.

Force of Will - 3: For the entirety of Marc's life, before becoming a Hollow, he has sought to master his mind. Now that he must suffer the grief of his defeated foes, he needs it more than ever.

Weapons (Parry) - 3: Highly focused mastery over defensive maneuvers and techniques, and zero aggression with this guy. His ability to counter with blocks is unrivaled, as his study and practice into the matter is unparalleled.

Charisma - 3: 800 years of silence, mixed with several months of Elocution lessons...from other Arrancar.

Mental Skill, Multitask - 3: For each level in this charming ability, the user may split their focus onto an additional task. 1, allows 2 simultaneous functions at once. 2, allows 3 tasks. 3, allows 4 tasks.

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza was actually rather pleased that the older Arrancar actually dodged the attack. There was no way that his Hierro could even hope to stand against her attacks, which meant that the standard "Stand still and take it" defense that a great many Arrancar seemed fond of wouldn't even have a prayer of working against her. Still, it wasn't anything to be terribly impressed by yet. After all, she wasn't really trying all that hard herself yet.

As for the chain itself, there would be no redirection, no followup. She just let the attack go over the older Hollow before yanking it back to her side and spinning it once again. "A good enough dodge, Marcelius. Though I could have still taken advantage of it had I so chosen. Then again, I'm rather sure that you know that." She smiled at him, to show that she meant no ill will, no degredation on his part. For her, it was simply a fact that she had stated. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Now then. Before I continue with my trial, I would like to bring up something that you may find intriguing. Did you know that for a short while when I first came to Los Noches, Lord Kuroi was considering taking me in as his Fraccion?" She paused for a moment, waiting to see if the older Arrancar had any response to that. "Ah, that was a truly inspiring time. To walk in fresh from the desert, and have four of the Espada interested in claiming you. It was exhilirating."

She frowned some after that, disappointment crossing her face. "Sadly, Kuroi saw fit to deem me as not worthy of being his Fraccion after I let Cierro cut my cheek as an opening move in our fight." She glowered some at that for a bit, her emotions showing just a tad bit of resentment at that. "Still, all turned out fine in the end. Most Fit Adalo saw fit to take me in as his Fraccion, which was reward enough. Though admittedly I still have a score to settle with that idiot Cierro because of it. And for... certain other actions."

She went back to smiling after that, waving her hand slightly. "Ah, but I digress. That was a nice basic defense on your part, but defense is something that comes easier to the Chosen People than it does others." She would stop spinning her chain, and stand with arms extended for a moment. "Now, Marcelius. Let us see how you can attack. Hit me with whatever you possess. I can take it."

[Marcelius]

As it had been suspected, his slight counter proved an adequate defense. In addition, the Septima showcased her own cunning with both her eyes...and her words. To start, a compliment issued in his favor. Manners dictated, that he reply quickly...to express his gratitude. "Thank you Septima, for such kind words." There was no need to consider the assertion of her control over the fight, for she was right. There were ample ways for her to take advantage of each decision he made. It was his, as every enemy she might ever face, responsibilty to have answers to her actions. Steps upon steps of preparation, for every moment.

This were facts she was equally aware of...surely, being an Espada. Still, she had complimented him. Giving him credit for his decision to at least try and elude her powerful attacks. Having expected the battle to continue for a few moments more, a few more swings devoted to the effort, it was a relief to watch her halt her advances. Having prepared himself for what might follow up her initial strike, did not mean he was looking forward to it. After all, brazen assaults are often tiring for both parties involved. Marcelius new the weight of fatigue better than most, given his old age.

Stamina was the treasure of youth, one he traded for wisdom a long time ago. Had she pressed him more, it would have become almost immediately apparent...his heart just was not meant for conflict any more. Regardless of his plans, or her reactions, his exhaustion would be the only certainty. Fortunately, she did not yet push him to such a state. The Fraccion could maintain his dignity, if only for a few moments longer. All in all, it was a highly desirable alternative. Had his surety into this, was doubly confirmed, when she began to speak to him once more. Not with aggression or body language, but with calm and pleasant words. Truly, this was a delight...there was never enough talking when conflict was concerned. Or...so at least Marc believed.

The story would recount the Septima's arrival to Las Noches, and the excitement of her earlier years. She was most certainly trying to establish a bond between the two of them. His own situation, and it's several similarities to her former one. Indeed, he felt as she...that his earliest time spent at Las Noches would be one of excitement. When she spoke, he paid close attention. Obviously there was a lot to listen too. Not simply her words, but the music of her soul, as well. Beyond these two sources of information...even more subtle supplies existed. From the expression of her face, to the tone of her words. Even the gleam of life which flashed within the depths of her eyes.

These facts, all equally important to Marc, were meticulously observed. For one with her wit, surely she would take note...that his eyes always carried the look of deliberation. It was hard to imagine, that they ever received a reprieve from the constant study. Fortunately, his etiquette had yet to slip. Still smiling pleasantly, and still listening respectfully, he was supremely intrigued to hear the details of her beginnings. The one expectation that fell through, was the discovery of her former application to be the Segunda's Fraccion. As fascinating and powerful as she was...it would have been unthinkable that Kuroi would not have vetted special interest into her. With the revelation that she had been denied entry, all on account of a minor wound delivered from some man named Cierro...well, that caused quite the stir.

Marcelius had not considered how fortunate he was to be accepted as a Fraccion, nor how easily he could be removed. There was hope yet, however. Reason not to dwell on anxiety. Myza herself had instead been placed under another soul, one named "Most Fit Adalo". Seems this was beneficial for her, given that she now held the rank of Espada...instead of Fraccion. Despite such success, a seething rage still occupied her sound. It turned her aura red, and seemed to cringe over the sounds of that name...Cierro. Funny, despite how well she concentrated on this strange man who vexed her, Marcelius could not envision the look of his face. Instead, all he received was the hazy figure of the number "8". Now...that was alarming. Could this strange man without a face, be the Octava.

No time was given for questions. This had been story time, not true discussion. More so, it was over now...and there was still business to attend to. Namely; the Septima's trial. It would seem she had been pleased with his reaction, but certainly, she expected no less from one of their breed. Marc was twice flattered by this statement, both for himself and his people. Sadly the flatter would disperse, with the words of an odd request. It seemed, this was less of a real fight than he had expected. She did not ask him to engage her, she wanted a demonstration. A display of his raw power? Now how should he reply to such a request? What could possibly showcase his worth in the most appropriate of ways? Lifting his heavy eyes to look into her own, a small laugh to accompany his gentle smile.

"I have no doubts, that I could not harm someone like you. That is, in fact, the problem with your request." Pausing for a moment, he straightened himself back out...feet now should width apart once more. "Looking at me, you can see that I am not a warrior. It has been such a long time, since I last needed to kill for my survival. Those long years have had more effect than I care to confess." Chuckling again, this time, at his own expense. Reaching now, with his left hand once more. He took hold of the grip which hung from his waist. Unsheathing the blade slowly, obviously without intention to threaten; he showed her the edge-less length of steel. The odd blade was even devoid a point at the end, it simply ceased with a flat and polished cap. It could not cut, it could not impale. It was nothing but a shortened, heavy bar of metal.

"As I implied, I may not have much to show. But, maybe I can manage a worthwhile presentation...as long as your standards are not too unreasonable." Drawing back the edge, his blade lay flat so as to better cut through the air. He took his time drawing back, unafraid or reprisal. Obviously, she had given him go ahead...and secondly, he could not be surprised. "Pardon..." His voice was so soft, and considerate. Even the coarse qualities of it's typical sound, seemed smoothed. At that moment, his arm exploded with speed that clearly equaled her own...no faster, no slower. Driving his weapon at her exact speed meant she could follow it without issue. This was important, for he wanted her to notice, his blade suddenly twisting in flight. With a flicker like lightning's strike, the broad of the sword aimed towards her.

The wide face of his steel, instantly captured a heap of drag. The air and dense spiritual particles, all of it, resisting the flow of the metal. Yet, his strength appeared to be great enough, to ignore such features of their environment. Then, with the inevitable clap of thunder, the displace air caused a clamor of noise. His target had not been the Espada herself, as there was no need for it. She would witness his qualities...regardless. Instead he struck the earth and sand at her feet. Causing a tremendous devout within the sands. Millions of grains were usurped from their sleep, bursting outwards towards each of the spectators. Despite the obstruction of the cloud, the answer was clear enough. Marcelius possessed speed comparable to her own, but even more strength than that. Still, as sparse as his reiatsu density was...such force lacked the capacity to cut the average Arrancar's Hierro.

That did not say anything of his ability to crush the contents within. With the debris finally settled, mere seconds after the force blew most of it away...the result would be the older Arrancar fighting to maintain his stance. Though he still smiled slightly, his nostrils were clearly taking much longer, more evident breathes. Such shows of force where not common for him. Already, his body was disapproving of his exertion. "Hopefully...that is adequate. If I may be completely open, I must assert that I rarely push myself thus. Instead, I much more prefer exploiting fatigue. I know better than most, what exhaustion can do typo the body. So I wait, till my opponent gives out or losses interest. Either or...both suit me just fine."

Through the course of his words, he surveyed her reactions and thoughts. Her feelings were an indicator of her intentions, as much as they were clues into their conversational compatibility. Once more, a value almost exclusively cherished by the old codger. Ah, but the Septima's trial had not yet finished. His answer, whether it fulfilled her desires or not...was not all he wished to say. For he had other reasons to be here, besides her amusmenet or request. There was still so much more to learn about her...and he did not want to pass up the opportunity. So, he took his first steps towards her. There was what, ten feet or so to clear? His stride could clear that quickly enough. "You have been gracious with your time, Septima. I am truly grateful..." Yes he had come out of fear for himself and Mei, but it was becoming increasingly evident he had no such reason for alarm. "To share that gratitude, I would like to continue with your trial. After all, it would warm my old souls to have the approval of an Espada...or at least, to know where I stand." With his broadsword turning back out again during his approach, he made it clear he wished to continue their bout. This time, with added vigor.

...maybe, it was all those compliments she gave him?


Spiritual Exhaustion - 0/4
Physical Exhaustion - 0/8

Remaining Reiatsu - 1500/1500

[Marcelius]

Hours had passed now, since he last left the Medical Facility. It was well beyond the time that visitors were allowed inside. Especially ones on a permanent ban. Now; however, he was in no mood to heed the rules. Too beaten and worn to possibly care what threats might be waiting for him. Stepping through that imposing archway that often formed an unassailable border. Oh, but there were guards waiting to greet him. The servants of Saradore; eager to turn him away. All of those young men and women who worked to treat the injured and wounded, the only soups in all of Las Noches that could be considered innocents. The last souls that he would ever want to impose upon. The first he would break...if they dare said a word to him. This time, they knew it. Those belonging to the infirmary quickly began drawing away from the Fraccion. They gave him the sort of berth that would be customary for an Espada.

Wherever his aura touched. Wherever his Reiatsu could linger. The wary souls fled. Those without better judgement were either drug away, or...worse. Worse being the fate afforded those who did not leave his presence. Those who allowed his spirit to envelope, and overrun them. To those unfortunate beings, there would be no pleasant sunrise. Not for a while...possibly a lifetime. For his Reiatsu did not crush lesser souls in an instant. No. It crushed them, but does so slowly. Agonizingly, inescapably, slowly. The Aspect of Remorse replaces whatever existence might have been there before. Whatever emotions or thoughts, erased by a wash of grief and failure. The life once lived, unchanged, but doomed to live within the shadows of misery until recompense might one day bring freedom. These such individuals, would spend every waking moment dreaming of their pasts. Every sleeping hour screaming to awaken to a different life. Remorse binds them to their failures, forcing them to recount their mistakes. Endlessly.

Long after they have learned from them, do they continue to suffer all of the shame and embarrassment of their earlier days. When the droning of their defeats turns them numb, that is when the future reveals itself. Open and pure, untouched by the horrors they have known thus far. It, and all it's hopes, nothing more than a lie. The fresh breath that comes before a mighty fall. A sight of what could have been, were it not for what was. The truly endless element to Remorse. The eternal grind of "if". "If only I had been stronger. If only I had been wiser. If only I had been someone else." The rhetoric which obliterates all values and self worth...until there is nothing but heartless dust remaining. This is the penalty of remaining in the presence of True Remorse.

Though the occupant was without sight, she could feel what lurked beyond. A presence which hastily approached the solemn door of the blind tenant. With each step the creature took, the floor and walls shook. It was not from power, physical or otherwise, which caused these tremors. It was something deeper...internal. It caused the emotions to sway, and the world to crumble. Something so compelling, that it shattered what reality laid within the mind. There was only the viewer, and the viewed. The obstacles were gone. All surrounding foundations and confinements, lost to the emptiness that separated her thoughts from his. It was now, in this darkened space, that Mei could see the real soul behind her rescuer. The lives that inhabited him. The stories that defined him. She could see every loss which broke him, as well as the many strands of hope that still bound him together. Though there was no physical form to it. No body or substance to provide detail. Mei simply knew it. Felt it, like a wound on her void of a heart.

All that he was, was stolen. Bonded together lives and miseries. Held in place with tears, shed by those who came and died before. Even now, it was not thought which brought him back to her room. It was merely compulsion. Like water drawn to itself, "he" simply migrated to wherever there was guilt. Wherever pain of failure still remained. So, to her he came. Now here he stood. Looming above her, shapeless and empty. "M-m...", words faltering in stuttered fashion. Though it might seem reminiscent of fear, it was far from it. Her reasons to be fearful were many. Living in a den of monsters and beasts such as this...without strength to fight, or sight to flee with. What she did not have, was a reason to fear him. Not yet. Not till now. And it was this lack of reason or motive, that left her mute. What was there to say, when one is so wholly baffled? What point is there in calling out, when so hopelessly lost? So she did not speak. Could not speak. Left to stare into the uncertainty which now cloaked her would be savior. Waiting for reassurance to come...knowing it would never return again.

Time would pass, in the eternal sands. Nothing of consequence for the land. For those who lived upon it, the story was not the same. Marcelius, Fraccion to the Segunda, was recovered from the medical facility early one morning. The night before, he had entered the premises while released into his Resurreccion. During such time, he placed over twelve members of staff and patients into catatonic state. Exposure to his Reiatsu, having corrupted their existence. While they showed signs of mental trauma, the truth was, not one part of their existence went untampered. Their bodies were broken and torn. Every tendon snapped. Every muscle flayed. Bones crack and splintered. Teeth crushed and nail uprooted. All at their own doing. It was as if their bodies tried to tear themselves apart. However, their auras were most alarming. None of those afflicted by this ghastly Reiatsu, retained the frequency of their prior selves. None of them, "felt", like the person they were before. It was if their thoughts had altered, and personalities shifted at the very core. They were not anyone else, but they were not themselves either. This was the case for all of them, except one. One patient had been excluded this fate, despite unquestionable contact.

The blind Arrancar, known as Mei. Marc had been found in her room, resealed and incapacitated. While the male had succumbed to many injuries, and his blood dripped with poison; he had managed to survive the night. Mei, on the other hand, could not be recovered. There was simply, nothing left of her. No evidence to construct the facts. No witnesses to support a story. No truths whatsoever to establish just what the Fraccion had done to her. Were it not for his affiliation to the Espada, Marcelius would have been given a quick death for this event. Insurance that it never happened again. Saradore's vehement rage was apparent, but it did not keep her from losing her cool. Instead, she turned that passionate fury into a calm, malicious contempt. Having the Fraccion removed from the facility as a "risk", leaving him in his own room to die off. With his great age, several wounds, and contaminated blood...it was a fair assumption that he would die. Saradore, being the healer that she was, knew otherwise. She knew he would live, and that the Septima had intentionally spared him the fatal blows. It was that Espada's nature to avoid the killing of their kind, and it was the nature of their kind to survive. The thorn would continue to exist, but at least it was gone from her side. Such consolation was the best she could hope for.

It would be days before the scarecrow might wake up again. Days of motionless torment, as sore muscles suffered the consequences of toxic inhabitation. Though he would sleep much of this time, there would be no rest. The healing of his body, was nothing, compared to the healing of his mind. For something dreadful had happened in his fight with the Septima. A hand forced beyond it's comfortable reach. In the passion of the struggle, he had allowed something to escape from the hollow space within him. Resurreccion had been unleashed, but not by design. Something pushed it out. Clawed and drew it to the surface, like a corpse buried long ago. It was nothing like his fight with Miho. There were no reins or control. Acting no better than an animal, he engaged with the mighty Espada. Beaten by her, in his unbridled condition.

A thrashing which should have meant more than it did. Unfortunately, there would be no learning from these mistakes. No guilt for these errors. For the first time in so very long, Marc was unable to remember. The man who could recall every face and thought which ever passed through another's heart...could no longer recollect his actions. Whatever it was that opened up his mind, and allowed Resurreccion to escape; had taken memories as it's hostage. In place of those lost visions, nightmares remained. Taunting and tormenting the elder, as he wrestled with crippled sleep. In time, when he would arise again; he would find that the aching in his chest...had grown. The Hole which identified his sorrow and emptiness, more immense than ever before. The days ahead, would be dark indeed...

(OoC: Given the circumstances, I'm going to call this Joint Training as done. Which is way sadder to do than I thought it would be.)

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

+480 for the Training
+320 for the PvP