We Share A Nightmare [R, NDE, Hard]

[Kashmir De-Mona]

Name: [We Share A Nightmare]

Participants: [3 RPCs maximum, one of which is Marcelius]

Location: [Peaceful Town of Fukamori]

Difficulty Level: [Hard]

Setting: [NDE]

Plotline: [For all of time, it has been there. For over six thousand years, there has been this beaten down shack in one single location. No one has ever attempted to dismantle it. The elements have never torn it apart. For all times, it has remained there. It has always appeared out of place. No matter when it was seen, it looked as if it came from a different time. No one goes near it. No one goes into it. Some teenage couples have fornicated in there, only to die horrible deaths later. A factory burned down near it. A family once renovated and lived in it not long ago, which allowed it to remain intact after so long. The family disappeared years ago. This place has, for the duration of all time, had a foreboding reiatsu surrounding it. The reiatsu has simply grown so faint over time that none have investigated it. Chance, and whatever reasons for which you are in this peaceful town greatly resembling Karakura, are all that will lead you to this shack.

Estimated Enemy Strength: [4-1]

Estimated Time Until Completion: [5 pages]

Starts: [Now]

Special Conditions: [No conditions]

In my dream. . .

The world had suffered a terrible disaster.

A black haze shut out the sun.

The darkness was alive with the moans and screams of wounded people.

Suddenly, a small light glowed, a candle flickered into life, a symbol of hope for millions, a single tiny candle shining in the ugly dark.

I laughed...and blew it out...

[Zeich Yajuu]

This place…

Amber eyes swept over the area, revealing nothing new in their latest sweep. A town in the middle of nowhere stood off to one side, leaving a wide-open and very empty plain. Off by itself, however, separate from the town, was a small shack. A house owned by some hermit who refused social contact, no doubt, yet there was something about the building that was just… off. Staring at the rickety building, Zeich stood at the edge of town, wondering just what it was that bothered him about the building. It was simple and unassuming; though it had the look of being refurbished at least once, time had taken its toll, leaving a decrepit remain that somehow remained standing. There was nothing at a glance that would suggest something strange about it, yet it drew the eye.

It makes me uncomfortable…

Part of it was the strange Reiatsu that floated about the area. It was weak, faded with time, yet it still remained. Zeich, whose ability to sense energy was only moderately refined, could feel it like the tingle of static electricity across his skin. The sensation caused the hair on one’s neck to rise, gave a sense of unease, yet there was nothing definitive or strong there. It was because of this sensation that Zeich stood without approaching, staring at the building not far away. He wasn’t afraid, but at the same time his body screamed of wariness for no real reason. Yet the Third Seat had not lived as long as he had by ignoring his instincts either, so for now he simply sat and observed; only when logic and instinct came together to form a conclusion would he act.

Zeich’s arrival in the area had been a pure coincidence; of late, he had been venturing out of Soul Society more often when he was not on duty, just to get away from the place. It wasn’t that Seireitei was stifling or that work was difficult, because neither were true. However, of late the dark stirrings in the Shinigami’s soul had become more prominent, and the feelings of hatred, the allures of bloodshed, and the desire for destruction all loomed over his shoulder like a dark shadow whispering in his ear. Zeich knew the origin of these feelings, as they were not his own; indeed, a Shadow of sorts had been plaguing his soul for some time now, and it was from that Shadow that the hatred of all things possessing an existence of their own came.

Because of those feelings and the risk of possession that came along with them, Zeich had taken to traveling to remote areas to a repeat of the scene that had occurred between him and the Vice Captain of Squad 10, Irudai Izumi. In that fight, the Shadow had seized upon the Third Seat’s frustration, anger, and determination to wrest control of his body away from him. It had been a brief possession, one that had only left minimal injuries on the capable Vice Captain, but the results could have been much worse. The Shadow was a bloodthirsty and hateful creature that desired death, destruction, and consumption; it wanted nothing more than to feast on misery and pain. If they had been in a more populated area… Zeich shuddered to think what could have happened had Irudai not been on hand to keep things under control.

In places of calm, Zeich had discovered that the Shadow’s constant whispers were muted, and sometimes even silenced completely when there was no conflict to cause it to stir. The World of the Living had many such places, small towns away from anything important. This little town in the middle of nowhere had been one such place, one stumbled on by pure chance. Zeich had been pleased with the spot and had immediately set up a camp for himself outside the town’s walls. He had a Gigai on him and could talk with the villagers freely to trade or gather news of the outside, but for the most part the Third Seat kept to himself and allowed himself to rest and meditate, to think on recent events. It was amazing what the peace and calm had done for his mood of late, leaving him physically and emotionally relaxed.

But now all sense of peace was gone, replaced by curiosity tinged with wariness and paranoia. Strange Reiatsu signatures in the middle of a backwoods town usually meant nothing, but something about it felt… oppressive? No, that wasn’t the word for it. All Zeich knew was that he was uncomfortable with it, and so he had spoken with the villagers about it. There were many stories of accidents, deaths and disappearances around the shack, making it into another site of urban legends, yet this feeling about it made Zeich wonder if there wasn’t something more. To those outside of the spiritual realm, such stories were nothing but empty words. But for those within it, those who could sense the energies lingering around this place… it was possible that the rumors had more than a hint of truth about them.

What is this place…?

Logic dictated that Zeich should report the area and the stories that came with it, in addition to noting the strange Reiatsu in the air. Logic stated that the Third Seat should not involve himself with the shack’s mysteries, stated that he should simply leave. Yet despite that, something about the site drew Zeich’s interest, made him want to discover more for himself. Of late he had been thinking more independently, performing his job’s duties as usual but also pursuing certain goals of his own free choice outside of Shinigami-related duties. This was one of those times, leaving the Third Seat to wonder at his choice of actions. Should he do the smart thing and report the mystery, allowing an advance squad to investigate more thoroughly, or should he step forward himself to see what lay within?

After a moment of consideration, Zeich stepped forward, and started across the distance towards the shack.

SPOILER: Click to show

Stats (Rank 2 Soldier: Seated Officer Class 2+):

Stats

Strength - [250 x 0.6] (150) Points

Speed - [400 x 1.75] (700) Points

Spiritual Pressure - [250] (250) Points

Reiatsu Strength - [150] (150) Points

Light Aura - [50] Points

Dark Aura - [50] Points

Instinct - [100] Points

Senses - [150] Points

Energy sensory - [100] Points

Healing Expertise - [0] Points


Total SP: [1400] points

SPOILER: Click to show

Current Skills: (16 SKP)

• [Street Fighting] 2
  
  
• [Weapons - Katana] 2
  
  
• [Strength of Will] 2
  
  
• [Martial Arts - Hakuda] 3
  
  
• [Stealth] 1
  
  
• [Calm Mind] 3
  
  
• [Acrobatics] 1
  
  
• [Battle Analysis] 2

[Marcelius]

What was the definition of day? Was it that glorious time that some great god had set aside, where night and darkness were driven from the world? Was it a time for life, for neighbors to go and greet one another either in labor or in play? Was it those precious hours when light could warm the heart and the soul, as a reminded to all that they should be happy? Such definitions had not been true, no...not for some time. Day was not what it once was, having fallen from greatness. Shadows had set upon the world. Sunshine was lost somewhere in a stranglehold of clouds. It was not simply a weather phenomenon, the sky merely reflected the condition of the world. No, it was in the hearts of the people.

In every direction -as far as one could imagine- unhappiness held dominion. Like some creul new tyrant, which now controlled the lives of the subjugated masses. This was the scene which was set for him, upon his arrival. A dim, and depressing vista...that felt as if it had no end. Was the world of the living...becoming something else? A great scape devoid of light or joy? Were the days to continue fading, till nothing but the night remained? Was the ground to dry up, and all life receed? Would Silence and Darkness come to claim the remains of this world...and make it as Hueco Mundo? Seemed unfair, that such a realm of vibrance could display such potential. But alas, this was the seen that Marcelius was too arrive. Dingy and deserted.

What had called him to the Realm of the Living, was a continued search for more Hollows. Individuals who could be saved and returned to Las Noches, there to be given another opportunity at life. In his search for more of his kin, he became drawn to a deep and welling collection of blackened power. It was idle, motionless. The kind of thing that drew Masks such as him like moths to a depressing flame. With neither heart nor mind, could he reject the mysterious calling. There was a need, in his very bones, to seek it out. Along the way, he did not doubt the chance to see many of his kind, being pulled towards this source in much the same fashion.

For him; however, there would be a much greater distance to travel. His ability to sense such anomalies, was quite keen and expansive. It would draw him from some distant place, to this most peculiar town. At a glance, it mirrored that of Karakura. Builds built in the same fashion, streets aligned in similar pattern. Here, the density of sadness felt greatest. Whatever plague that had washed the color from the world...this place had contracted it the fullest. Yet, for all the life that should be present in such a place...all the souls that should sing so loudly in youth and life...there was a profound quiet. A stillness, a hush, so powerful that Marcelius lost all distraction and sensitivity to the environment itself. The Choir was awake.

Voices upon voices. Names, memories, identities, thoughts...more than just singers, they were people. They came to him whenever his focus faltered to far. When his own emotions dropped their guard. Singing songs beyond comprehension, but in a constant and unchanging tone. This mournful mass, was composed of every individual he had ever eaten. Upon their consumption, and addition, to the horde, they were given a place in the orchestra in which to perform. Once a part of the chorus, they would sing of their death and failures. Why would they do such a thing? To remind their host, who graciously provided them with time to perform, of his own involvement in their lyrics. They would never let him forget their death, and forever fill his thoughts with their final glimpses of life. There were times, when he devoured his own brethren, that multitudes of new musicians would be placed upon his mental stage.

As Remorse, he could never be allowed to forget. The best he could ever hope for, was the sweet distractions of life. Seeing others, living and writing their destinies...overcoming challenges and succeeding. Playing witness to victories and joious triumphs, would free him from the shackles of regret and guilt. It's why finding Las Noches was the greatest day of his immense life. It is why he scours for more Hollows, constantly. But in this place, where there was nothing except the looming dread, he had no such fixation to save him. To fight back the surge of conscience, and surpress the persecutors, he summoned the same strength of will...that allows Gillians to keep their names. Having done this for so long, so many times, it was becoming easier each time. So long as he did not add any more members to the entourage, that is.

With a deep, fulfilling breath...Marcelius would dismiss the voices which had arisen. The absence of players did not mean the stage could belong to them, so Marc reclaimed his focus. With his heart cleared and freed, he stepped to the building's edge. From his vantage point, he could peer into the distance beyond the city centre. It was out beyond civilization, where the uncertanties of the world might lurk, that he could make out the shape of a distraught, little shack. Outside the city, but distinct from the wilds. Truly, no other visage looked so misplaced. Like the moon in daytime, or a oasis a vast desert...it simply did not belong.

Age had been harsh, tearing and rotting with cruel and merciless efficiency. It did not mix with the structures of the near, modern metropolis. Yet, it was still an artificial construction...fashioned in contrast to nature, and unclaimed by it. No beasts nor plants would dare approach this sickened shack. It was in a depression all it's own. Forever pulling such beings as Hollows with a siren's call. Having located it himself, Marcelius immediately set out. His age made him wary of rushing foolishly, so his approach would be slow. It would give him time enough, to ponder the significance of this place and the aura which surrounded it. What he find when he arrived there? What could he learn?

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.

[Pavel Fedoseev]

[OOC] Reserving a place. Post coming when I come home.

[Kashmir De-Mona]

SPOILER: Click to show

The shack stood humble, an homage to days long passed and to a future that had yet to come. The shack stood humble, an homage to days of peace, or to days of turmoil. The shack stood humble, an homage to a future that had yet to come, a future of slaughter. It stood as a single rickety wooden building, originally small enough to be only two rooms or three on the interior, of average size each. Later years and inhabitants had built it up and made it larger. Later years and inhabitants had built it up, giving it four or five rooms in total. The shack was well built. The shack was well built, and had a strong foundation. It had been crafted to keep standing for many years. How long it had stood was beyond expectation. How long it had stood was beyond expectations, but it stood nonetheless.

It was in between a rotting oak color and a dark, charcoal gray color. The ominous aura seeped out more and more. The ominous aura seeped out more and more with each passing second. It seeped out more and more with each passing second upon which it was gazed at. The shack did not cease in it's aura. The shack did not cease in it's aura, which did not diminish any further. It did not diminish any further, despite being very weak. Despite being very weak, it was very present. It was very present, for the longer that one looked at it, the more powerful the aura seemed to grow. The more one looked at it, the more that it seemed to pulse. The more one looked at it, the the more that it seemed to pulse, and the closer that it seemed to become.

Even without approaching it, it was like approaching it when it was looked at. By approaching it, the effect only grew more powerful. The effect only grew more powerful, but not so for those who could calm themselves. Not so for those who could calm themselves, for those with skills in this ability of calm would be able to take their eyes from it. When one took their eyes from the shack, all of the aura strength that had accumulated disappeared. All of the aura strength that had been accumulated disappeared, and the aura returned to its original and weak output. However, it became more powerful in the eye of the beholder. The mind was challenged. The more that the mind analyzed it, the more powerful that it became.

This seems an adequate time to stop the music. Stop the music.

As Zeich arrived at the edge of the town on a rooftop, he was greeted. As Zeich arrived at the edge of town which would take him further toward the shack, reiatsu came into sensory range. As reiatsu came into sensory range, a figure came out next to him. A figure came out next to him, clad in black. Clad in black, it was a Shinigami. The Shinigami that appeared for Zeich was short. He was short, low to the ground, but muscular. His shoulders were large, in the build of a football player, and he had very rounded muscles. He had very rounded muscles, and his hair was a puffed out sphere at the top of his head. His gray eyes and spherical hair were comedic to look at. They were comedic to look at, for he had no eyebrows.

The newcomer wore a black robe like Zeich's. The newcomer wore a black robe like Zeich's, and had no indicator of rank. He spoke first upon arriving. "It incites your curiosity, doesn't it? That beaten down old shack..." he mused the rest to himself in wonder. In wonder, he spoke his own thoughts out loud. "What could have transpired there for something so unsightly to have appeared...? Hm...." With that final hum from before, he ended the train of thought. He ended the train of thought, doing so on a sage nod. His brow was furrowed, or perhaps seemed to be, were it not for his lack of eyebrows. He must have realized his impoliteness. He must have realized his impoliteness, for he abruptly turned to Zeich to introduce himself.

"Sorry, where are my manners?" he asked. He asked this question, and then gave a curt bow. He gave a curt bow, and then continued to speak. "I'm Uzumaki Zennosuke. Sixth Seat, Third Division." Though they were both seated, would they know one another? They were both from separate divisions. They were both from separate divisions, and they were also three seats apart. Higher seats did not interact with middle seats very often unless in training exercises. Higher seats did not interact with middle seats very often, and also they were in divisions which seldom interacted. After any response which Zeich gave, Zennosuke provided another response, with a glance in the shack's direction. "I've been there before. You don't really want to go there. There's nothing there, and it's depressing. We've got a really nice town here before us, and it's more pleasant to visit."

However, now is a good opportunity to resume the music. Resume it.

Meanwhile, Marcelius had a great many sensory abilities. He had a great many sensory abilities, which allowed much for him. Even from afar, approaching the shack himself, he had it. Even from afar, the conversation transferred from the two spirits. Two Shinigami were less than a mile away. One had just introduced himself. One had just introduced himself, and the other had yet to. Both were neutral. Both were neutral, yet had come here for different purposes. One had come as a mission. It was his mission to watch over the town and kill Hollows. It was his mission, as it had been for the past five years. He had been transferred here as his first assignment as a Shinigami. He had been transferred here as his first assignment as a Shinigami, but not much longer.

Soon he would transfer to a large district in Paris. Soon he would transfer to a large district in Paris, where more Hollows existed. Where more Hollows existed, there was to be greater pay. The Sixth Seat of the Third Division would soon be paid more money for his services. Upon his transfer, he was also to be given more vacation days. He was to be given more vacation days, enough to allow him to marry his fiancee upon return. The wedding was scheduled to be in a month. The wedding was scheduled to be in a month, for the shift ended in a week. The second one had not introduced himself. He had not introduced himself, but his motives floated through his soul. He was troubled by inner turmoil and lack of peace. He was troubled by chaos.

He was troubled by chaos, which danced in his soul. It danced in his soul, and it burned him. He fought to suppress something. He fought to suppress something powerful. Whatever it was, it was starting to win. In his neutral soul was something evil. In his neutral soul was something which could make even Arrancar shiver. Deeper analysis of the soul, if the Shinigami were to approach, would reveal a voice speaking, or perhaps a voice which was merely thinking. You can't suppress me...I know you want it too, and soon you'll have it...Kill...KILL...KIIIILLLLLLL.... Whether the voice came from the presence in one of the Shinigami or from another source could not be discerned. However, soon another anomaly presented itself.

"Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh...." Rasping, like from vocal chords which never saw use. Vocal chords which never saw use, yet now were trying to scream, and could not. Could not, but could rasp. A snake slithering. The kiss of a dementor. The opposite of Byron's vision of God, and the most sacrilegious of things. Unholy and terrifying. It gasped for the sweetest nectar in the air, and drank the oxygen like ambrosia liquidate. It crawled forth, half man, and nothing more but monster. It was quite literally half man, a disembodied torso crawling forward on its stomach with gnarled arms. The skin was white and scaly, the hair gray and in wisps, beginning to fall out. It had ears, dry and cracked lips, and sharp teeth, yet no eyes. There were no eyes on the monster crawling toward Marcelius.

From within it's mind, there were voices. There were many voices from within it's mind. There were the sounds of a child crying. There were the sounds of a beating, and the screams of a parent. There were the sounds of a couple fucking, and a husband strangling a wife. There was the laughter of a malicious being, and black eyes gazing down from pale white skin and a face which was blurred even in the memory of the creature. In the memory of the creature there was nothing but pain and figment. In the figment was nothing but mystery. The creature continued to rasp and crawl forward on its belly. It continued to rasp and crawl forward on its belly, and left a trail of brown sludge or some form of blood behind in its wake, a smear on the already tainted ground.

[Zeich Yajuu]

Zeich’s body immediately tensed at the arrival of another figure, and Haiiro was immediately drawn out of reflex. It took a sparse moment to identify the Reiatsu signature as that of a Shinigami, allowing him to relax slightly, but the blade still found itself placed at the man’s throat for but a few moments while the Third Seat let the adrenaline die down. The weapon was sheathed in a moment, and Zeich’s amber eyes met with the man’s own gray ones. Though the combination of his hair and lack of eyebrows might have seemed comical to others, to Zeich it was a passing observation that had no value to him. Rather than being amused, the Third Seat simply ignored his companion’s features and instead focused on his words.

“It does indeed draw the attention.” Zeich left it at that, rather than elaborating further on his thoughts and ideas. He wondered just what had happened at the shack, what created the strange Reiatsu about it, but it seemed that the other Shinigami had little information on it as well, judging by his own questions. Had he not investigated himself? Odds were that, since Zeich was from out of town, this other man was the town’s resident Shinigami. Many others were sent out to numerous towns and cities throughout the world, to keep the Hollow populace down while assisting souls in moving onto the next stage in the cycle, and that made Zeich’s companion the protector of the local area. So why didn’t he know more about the shack and the Reiatsu around it? Surely the man would have done some investigations and made some reports for Seireitei…

Introductions were brief, identifying the local Shinigami as Sixth Seat Uzumaki of Squad Three. Zeich had never met the man before or even heard of him, but he gave his name and rank all the same. “Zeich Yajuu, Third Seat of the Squad Seven.” He said nothing else, leaving his companion to continue, finally admitting that he had been there previously as well and that he didn’t recommend anyone else doing the same. All because it was “depressing;” to Zeich, that was no reason to avoid a full investigation on the strange Reiatsu lingering about the shack. Though it had likely shown itself as no threat up to this point, judging by the Shinigami’s lack of concern with it, the Third Seat felt a strange… attraction to it. It drew him in, drew his curiosity and his interest.

“I appreciate the advice, Sixth Seat.” Zeich used the man’s title to make a point; he was talking to a superior, even if their squads were different, and while the suggestion was heard, it was denied; the Third Seat wanted more information. “If you’ll excuse me, however, I will start an investigation anyway. You yourself have suggested that you have no idea what has happened in the area to create such an unsettling aura, and so I will take it upon myself to deal with it myself. You are excused to resume your vigil on the town; I suggest you return to your patrol and leave this to me.” Without waiting for a response, Zeich immediately started strolling across the open area again, grass rustling beneath his feet as he made his way towards the shack again.

As he closed the distance, however, that uncanny feeling assaulted him again, the sense of oppression, of strange wrongness. It was enough to cause Zeich to loosen Haiiro in its sheath again, his eyes narrowing as his body tensed. And, in the back of his head, he could hear a cackling laugh as the dark being in his soul enjoyed the slow building of his fear.

[Kashmir De-Mona]

As Zeich left Uzumaki, there would be a feeling. There would be a feeling which Marcelius from afar could detect. This feeling was disapproval at the nature of the third seat. Images flashed through the mind of Uzumaki Zennosuke. Images of his academy days flashed through his mind. There were the moments when he had met the woman who would become his fiancee, as were ingrained into his subconscious. More importantly, there were the lessons of the class. There were the lessons of the class which stated that Shinigami must work together. They must work together, yet this third seat did not understand what it meant to cooperate as comrades. What the third seat did not understand was that for the moment of blade to throat contact, a small cut had formed, and a single drop of blood was on his weapon. They were attracted to it.

As he ventured out of the town, it grew more ominous. As he ventured out of the town, the shack began to loom on Zeich once more. It began to loom on Zeich once more with it's mighty shadow casting over him. The sun was blotted out the more that he looked at it. The building grew larger. The aura became more powerful. Everything was closing in. Everything was closing in, and some moments, Zeich was inside of the shack already. Zeich was inside of the shack already without even reaching it. It was a matter of mind. It was as musty as would be expected. It was decayed and decrepit. It had creaking floors and little decoration. However Zeich was a mere child of the age of ten, and a belt flew down onto his face as his father savagely beat him.

But he was not a child. He was a Shinigami. He was a Shinigami, but then he was also a young woman, a teenager at best. His legs were wide open, and a savage brute of a man penetrated him. A savage brute of a man penetrated him, raping the woman, or Zeich, or perhaps Zeich was the young woman being raped by her uncle. The pain was very real, both emotional and physical. It transpired in that shack as well, where Zeich's eyes fell. Where Zeich's eyes fell, he was raped. Something spoke inside of his mind. It spoke inside of his mind, but it was not his Hollow. Or perhaps it was his Hollow. Or perhaps it was something else. It was malevolent, indiscernible. Was it his Hollow? Or was it not? It was a truly dark voice. You sicken me...

At last, as he truly gained more proximity, and was almost there, though not yet close enough to sense or reach either Marcelius or the monstrosity, a Hollow roared behind him in the background. A Hollow roared in the background, loudly enough to be heard from miles all around. It was an average Hollow's sound, no doubt that Uzumaki could take care of it. It was followed by a second Hollow's sound at a different location. It was followed by a second Hollow's sound at a different location mere moments later, and was then joined by the sound of a third Hollow, present in the same place as the second. Zeich could continue his private investigations of the shack, or he could go and assist in killing the Hollows.

[Marcelius]

(OoC: Greetings!!! My sincerest apologies for my absence, I have been away on vacation! I am back now...so allow me to keep this skull-shivering adventure going! Avante!)

Nearing the edge of town, one often feels a sudden segregation. It is a common feeling, found within most animals -such as humans- which thrive in the comforts of groups or societies. Ever since the first grouping of houses came to for a village, the souls of humans have allowed fears to connect with the outskirts of such settlements. "Only the evil or unlawful venture to the outskirts. Those unwelcome and untrusted must live outside. Evil lurks, beyond the boundaries...and we mustn't go there." In this moment, such superstitious parables held quite there significance. To Marcelius, the closer he came to that shack...which lay beyond the boundaries, the more it twisted his insides. Like Pandora's box, small and unassuming, it wreaked of all the combined, foul smelling possibilities which lurked within it's weathered walls.

However. Something new had made itself clear, through the fog of darkness and misery. It was a light, warm and alive. It was a Shinigami, possessing great strength of will and spirit. The shack's oppression was what obscured his eyeing of the Death God sooner. Even now, the glow with which the soul's life shimmered...seem to be sinking into the pitch of blackness that awaited it. The Arrancar may have even lost sight of the distant candle, had another flame not been added to the sconce. A second Shinigami? Yes, one of less power and purpose. So now there were two, and in their gathering, thoughts began to stir. With greater acuity, Marc's mind could now interpret their own. Conversation, no matter how brief, was always the best stimulus. Such a shame then, that it only worked well...for one.

Uzamaki Zennosuke, an officer of humble rank. Assigned to the city, as guardian against spiritual disturbances. Leaving. Soon he would be transferred far away, to the much more appealing location. This transfer, the reward of his upcoming marriage perhaps? A dowry in the form of promotion? How fortunate for this soul, how fortunate indeed. To this, Marc gave a cheerful smile. Unfortunately, his delight would end there. For in the mind of the other, the superior Reaper...there were barriers. Emotional walls, built on foundations of will and training. Stoic walls that not only resisted Marc's entry, but his away those most valuable aspects of identity...feelings. This was something the Arrancar had seen, countless times.

A resolve like iron, cold and unconcerned. This man had a mind, like Arrancar's skin. Still...Marcelius could not be locked out entirely. Suppression is just that, a subjugation. Though he could push down his emotions, beating them into a corner...into submission...they could not be killed. Caged within him, gnashing and thrashing like a beast, an immense cumulation of vehemence. Quite the commotion was gathering in this Shinigami, possibly a mental breakdown? Those do so often occur with people such as this, that much is widely known. Considering that this young man now lingered in the old Hollow's path...he truly, truly hoped that some sort of understanding could be established. Truly he did not wish fo...

"What sort of pitiful creature is this..." Not with his gift, but with his eyes he stared into the bleak wretchedness of some detestable soul. Without need for divination, or analysis...he could read the borrow to which this being suffered. The very sight of this visage, beaten and defiled, crawling along without limb or balance...made his heart fall to the darkest of places. In every scream, which embodied the mass the approaching horror, he could remember a life within himself. The cry of a child following the wrath and lash of their parent. The passion and depravity of a husband, performing a duet with the betrayed, broken gasp of his spouse's last breath. Within Marc there were rivals to these sounds, parallels.

His jaw went slack, as the sudden wail of the Choir erupted within him. A man impaled upon a splinted post; beaten and burned by a jovial gathering of spectators. A hopeless soul dragging a cold razor across the wrist, in the bedroom over their lover...who sleeps soundly with his real wife. A child, starving and alone, witnessing his only sibling hauled away...legs tied to a horse and flesh ripping on the ground. Why was his own pasts singing so loudly, clamoring for him to remember the pain they endured before joining him? It was the eyes. The eyes that stared at him, piercing his heart with their disgusted gaze. Eyes that spoke of all the tragedy he had sewn and seen...and his failures to prevent any of it. It was they eyes, that did not exist upon the horrendous effigy...which reminded of himself.

A will of monumental resolve was required, to force down the wailing chorus within him...but he could succeed. To the thing that approached him, he extended a mercy. If this creature harbored any violent intent, Marc would sense it. Given that it's mind was without thought, only broken fragments of something that once existed, it was beyond recovery. Such a life that it endured, was far more terrible than any death this existence could devise. To pass on to the next life, fading into the cycle of rebirth...that would be it's greatest relief. So his hand outstretched, and into his palm reiatsu piled. In a flash, a yellow hue would engulf this spawn.

A light, warm and comforting. A Bala, but none like any other Hollow could ever create. This was Modo Bala. Before it broke against the trudging form, it would fill that spirit with utter joy. If what Marc felt from this being were true, it had the capacity to feel more than pain or stimulation. So before it's passing, he intended to bless it with a momentary reprieve from all of that suffering...to which he himself was well accustomed. It was the only fair exchange he could offer, before dismissing it to whatever new life fate would assign it. Already it seems, this evening was to be a foul an awful thing. Then there came the cries of brothers...

[Zeich Yajuu]

Where Uzumaki had thought back to his days in the Academy and had remembered their lessons on teamwork and cooperation, Zeich had left those behind long ago. He knew how to cooperate when a unit required it, and he knew how to coordinate his motions and attacks with other Shinigami; it wasn't that he was unable to perform in a situation requiring teamwork, but that he chose not to unless it became imperative. As it was, the Sixth Seat was hardly necessary; though Zeich placed little emphasis on rank, the Third Seat knew his own powers and was confident that he would not require assistance just yet. If it came to that point, a Hell Butterfly would summon Uzumaki, and they would deal with the situation from there. For now, Zeich continued on alone, making his way across the distance between the town and the shack.

Suddenly the world seemed to shift beneath his feet. The Third Seat staggered for a moment as his perspective changed. A sense of feeling diminutive, submissive; he felt weak, childish, inferior. Fear struck across his senses like lightning, breaking through before he could even begin to put up his emotional barriers. He flinched, the sensation of looming pain flickering through his thoughts, and for a moment his mind shifted to thoughts of past injuries, of similar treatment. The idea of a beating flickered into his thoughts briefly, causing the boy—the Shinigami? Identity flickered like a candle in a roaring gust—to whimper, to shield his head from the injury about to befall him.

A boy? Confusion flickered through Zeich's mind. He wasn't a boy, he was a grown man, one who had been a Shinigami for a long while now. Where had he gotten the impression he was a boy? The memories flickered away, lost in a moment, before others overtook him. He—no, she—was a young woman, confused, afraid, hurt. Pinned down, legs spread, she was afraid, she was angry. There was a man looming over her, staring down at her. Broken teeth, breath that smelled of booze, a single brown eye while the other was covered in an opaque film; these were thoughts that loomed as she—he?—felt the pain of violation, both physically and emotionally. There was pain, physical pain, raw and jagged, like flame. But then there was emotional injury, and that was far worse; recognition burned and added shame to pain, and tears streamed down the young woman's eyes.

Young woman? No, Zeich was male. Another strange thought, a strange sensation, but he was left with the feeling of being dirty, violated. It was an ugly and unfamiliar sensation, one that gave him paused, causing a shiver down the Third Seat's spine. Still he continued forward, fought through the wave of revulsion and horror that filled him. What was wrong with him? This was unlike him, and Zeich knew it. Emotions were not unheard of, and he had been upset, he had been angry, and he had been afraid in the past, but the degree and reasoning behind each were unfamiliar and without cause. Logic dictated that there was no reason to feel pain, to feel fear, or to feel revulsion. So what was wrong with him?

Before he could dwell on it too long, however, there was the roar of a Hollow. Zeich recognized it immediately, and Haiiro was finally drawn in reflex. However, the cries were distant, a threat that was not immediate. There was no hesitation, however; the Third Seat knew his duty, and quickly left the shack behind. It could wait; his role as a Shinigami was to protect the humans of the World of the Living and slay Hollows in order to free the souls that had become monsters, chained by their despair and jealousy of the living. There was no time for an investigation into an unknown phenomenon when a known threat was present; the latter took priority. Quickly Zeich turned and left the shack behind; instead he charged towards the call of two Hollows, sending a Hell Butterfly ahead to order Uzumaki to take the lone one. He had a job to do.

[Kashmir De-Mona]

OOC: I would like to commend Z on the descriptions of the memories of pain. They were brief, but I felt that they were very well thought out.

IC:

SPOILER: Click to show

Marcelius may experience a thankfulness perhaps. He may have experienced it when it was all over. When it was all over, it was as if that pathetic creature thanked him with it's emotions. The creature died there. It died there in peace and joy. Happiness, a feeling long forgotten to the creature, was rekindled. It was ignited. It was ignited and given to one that had not even been able to recall the words which justified it. It felt grateful. This was in it's last moments, before it was extinguished forever. In doing so Marcelius turned darkness into a light. It was a brief puff of light, and then it was gone. It was gone, extinguished and made one with the darkness. Only the most trace fragments of memories were available in it's last seconds.

Indeed, there was pain. There was pain, there was agony. There was agony, there was regret. There was regret, there was true sorrow. There was despair. There was anger. It was an angry, pathetic creature. It had once been a young boy that had been abused. It had also once been a father who had lost his son in a war. It had been a great many things. It was not unlike a Hollow. It was not unlike a Hollow, but something had been wrong. It had come out in a disgusting form. It had been putrid, and smelled of urine and feces. It was not a Hollow. It was something far more pathetic. The last thing in it's memories, a large white smile, and a sadistic and mocking laughter. A malevolent aura which even experienced indirectly by memory would cause flinching in the unprepared.

A phone began to ring nearby. It was likely a very old phone, using the ring tone of those from the 60s. However, there was no phone in sight. Marcelius surely had no phone. There were no people in sight. There were no people in sight, and thus none who could have a phone. There were no phone booths in sight, and thus no actual phones were present outside. Marcelius himself was an Arrancar, and thus was unlikely to possess his own cell phone. It would be guessed only that the ringing was coming from inside of the shack. Someone was calling the shack, which had a phone. It had a phone, and that phone was ringing. Did Marcelius wish to check the shack? He did have choice. He could ignore the phone, or go inside and answer.

SPOILER: Click to show

Zeich was just in time. He was just in time to arrive before two Hollows looming on a young Plus. The young Plus was merely a little girl in a blue flowery dress with wide brown eyes and locks of black hair. She was very young, and filled with fear. She was filled with fear, and close to tears. Her white Japanese skin must have looked delicious to the Hollows. The young girl had been running for a long time. She had been running for a long time, trying to escape the one Hollow first. The second one came after that. It had been lurking, already eating a meal. Then it had realized that there was another one coming it's way. It could split that with the other. There would be some cooperation between Hollows every now and then.

The first Hollow was stupid and bestial. It had a spider's abdomen as the lower half of it's body, but had only six legs. It's upper body was a very long human torso with a hole in the heart. It had two spindly arms. It had two spindly arms, each with scythe blades. In total it was perhaps only nine feet tall. It was small for a Hollow, and it was not foreboding. This was a regular Hollow. This was a regular Hollow, and it made for a routine kill. This routine kill would take only seconds for a Shinigami as powerful as a third seat. There was nothing to worry about. Not even the second Hollow was a worry. It was intelligent, evident by the way it had been cautiously stalking the young girl. It could probably speak as well.

It could probably speak, though it did not to the girl. It was on all fours, clawed hands and feet which were red, with green fur. It had a moving red tendril on top of it's head. The second Hollow was twice the size of the first. There were two Hollows, but it would not be a difficult job. When Zeich arrived, the girl had been cornered. The more intelligent Hollow sensed Zeich's arrival. Allowing the smaller to take the small fry, the larger of the two turned. It turned, and prepared. It turned and prepared, and it was ready to devour Zeich. "Ahhh..." it spoke, though it's mouth did not move. "A Shinigami...you will make for a much tastier meal... Come here...come and fill me with your reiatsu..." The larger Hollow advanced on Zeich.

SPOILER: Click to show

Class 7. 650 SP. No Type.

Strength: 250

Speed: 100

Reiatsu Strength: 100

Spiritual Pressure: 100

Instinct: 100

Senses: 150

Energy Sensory: 50

Healing Expertise: 0

Total SP: 850

Reference picture

SPOILER: Click to show

Class 7. 950 SP. No Type.

Strength: 150

Speed: 300

Reiatsu Strength: 100

Spiritual Pressure: 100

Instinct: 100

Senses: 100

Energy Sensory: 100

Healing Expertise: 0

Total SP: 950

Reference picture

[Zeich Yajuu]

Two Hollows; Zeich could spot them as soon as he came into the area, amber eyes quickly analyzing the two of them. One was smaller, barely half again the size of a tall human or Shinigami, and even with two bladed legs it hardly seemed a threat. The other one was twice as tall, towering over Zeich at nearly twenty feet in height, but the Third Seat was unconcerned with height; instead he focused on their spiritual presences, which were diminutive, unimpressive. There would be no problem with these two Hollows; they were small-fry, basic creatures that could be slain without any work at all. The Third Seat wouldn't even need to draw Haiiro in order to slay the creatures, except for the fact that purification of a Hollow came from destroying it with a Zanpaktou; his sword would be necessary in order to perform his duty. Both duties, actually: Purification and salvation came hand-in-hand when it came to Pluses and Hollows.

Before the first Hollow had gotten half of its first sentence out, Zeich had darted forward in an impressive display of speed that had him racing past the creature, making his way to the second. At his speed, he didn't even require a Shunpo in order to close the gap, and with a seven-fold advantage on the smaller Hollow the creature didn't even stand a chance, failing to even turn around. Haiiro slashed through the air with hardly a hiss of sound as it carved into the Hollow's body, the wide slash severing an upraised arm and sending the scythe-like blade crashing to the ground even as the creature's head was torn from its body. Haiiro didn't even pause as it sliced through the being, the sword's gray metal flashing in the light as it emerged from the far side of the being's body, black blood staining its edge. Turning to face the second Hollow, Zeich briefly allowed himself a moment to stab his sword backwards into the slain Hollow's head, piercing the mask and shattering it completely to purify the creature and send its essence to Soul Society, to reborn as a new Plus.

Once the immediate danger to the Plus was handled, Zeich sped forward again, once more keeping ahead of the creature's speed by a fair margin. He lunged at the Hollow, Haiiro's blade outstretched, only to find the monster's head whipping around and sending the tendril on its head flying towards the Third Seat. It was an easy evasion, one that Zeich could do with little thought, and indeed he gave a half-jump, pushing him just above the tentacle-like appendage. His Zanpaktou sliced downwards in a quick, whip-like motion that had it severing the length without a moment's pause. The Third Seat landed even as the heavy appendage hit the ground, darting forward after only a second as the Hollow roared in pain. That roar was the last sound it made as Zeich stopped before it, bending at the knees before springing up and slicing Haiiro through the creature's mask in a powerful upwards slash. The bone fragments fell to the floor, shattering on impact, and soon the creature faded away, losing cohesion as its soul was sent to the other side.

The threats dissipated, Zeich quickly sheathed Haiiro after flicking away the black blood that remained on its edge, leaving the Zanpaktou clean as its blade was hidden away. Turning to the Plus that had nearly been devoured, the Third Seat pulled his Zanpaktou from its belt completely, flipping it into a backhand grip that would allow him to press the pommel to the young girl's forehead and release her to Soul Society. His eyes were as cold as ever, but there was a hint of softness in them, a slight melting to the ice in his gaze. He understood the fear of death, the terror of the unknown after the ending of a life, and he knew that this child was probably terrified, being attacked so soon after the transition, especially at her age. “Don't be afraid, I am here to help send you on your way. Spirits do not belong in the Land of the Living; instead, we have a place for you on the other side. Be at peace, and know that you are going somewhere far better than this.”

With that, the Shinigami would press the pommel of his sword to the girl's forehead, using the power of the Konso to send the child's soul to Soul Society, where it would become another Plus, one that would forget the troubles of a living body and instead enjoy the peace of the Rukongai. She would be a better place.

Well, that's that. I guess I should go back to the shack and let Uzumaki handle the remaining Hollow...

[Marcelius]

Issuing death, was note a delight of his. It stirred no passion. It fulfilled no ambition. Such an act as killing, always felt as murder. It was his curse, born from the knowledge he possessed. Secret knowledge. Hidden knowledge. When life flickered like a flame, just before being blown out, he felt the shifting sensation of the coming breeze. The emotions which course through the final beat of the heart, he'd felt them all. From those he killed, and from those he was simply a witness. Now was no different. The death he dispensed was as kind as he could produce, filled with joy and relief. Still, death is death. The ending of a life can be proud and heroic, but it still will end. Yes he had given joy, but there was still sorrow. Instinctual, something to quick for emotion to grasp. It fills the mind with a chill and sets the bones to quiver. That is what he felt. It was painful. It was familiar. Times beyond the counting, he had felt it before. But no matter the exposure, no tolerance would ever develop. This was the sad truth. Snuffing out the flame of life, would always burn.

Lowering his hand, the deed was done. Suddenly, a twist knotted his stomach. It doubled him over, and silenced the world around him. His eyes might as well have been numbed like his ears, for they could perceive an evil grin. Teeth, large and white. Appearing pure while the grin gleamed with sinisterly sheen. It was a face Marc had seen before, many times. It was a beast, ready to eat. A monster that comes to find those who are weak. Like a Hollow, come to rid the world of one's soul. To bite, to chew. Breaking and testing until the spirit is gone and the abomination remains. In his kind there were untold numbers of would, once Hollows...now consumed. In each of their songs, a vpsimilar verse existed. It sang of their fear, when the Hollow came. Their weakness, when the Mask took hold. The shame when they gave in, and chose to forever hide their face behind it. It was the lyric that made him cringe...stealing his breath away. It was like the voice that had lingered in the young Shinigami from before. It is the only thing all Hollows fear.

With a shake of his head, he lifted himself upright. What he had seen, was not The Hollow. It was the face of monster, one very similar...but not the same. Whatever it was, it had made quite the impression on that dragging corpse. Perhaps, it was the one that mangled the body. Plucking out the eyes, and removing tyenlegs...leaving the freshly carved mongrel to crawl through it's own leaking filth. Such triumphs of cruelty made Marc's tongue numb. For no words or prayer could bring solace to such a fate...or the sight of it. Fortunately, he was not religious...and had no faith to begin doubting. Drawing in his splayed focus, he took up his previous desires. That shack that lay ahead...he still wished to see it more closely. It had been his goal from the start, and that was not about to change. If anything, this development was all the more reason to examine the wooden hut.

Before he could begin with his first step, a strange noise filled the world. Loud and obnoxious...like it was calling out for any to hear. Tracing the source slowly, discovery planted it's flag somewhere in the shack. Mmm, all the more reason to go. There would not be anything to dissuade him now. The sounds of Hollows he heard before, had been driven from his thoughts. In the realm of the living, Hollows had more freedom to make their own mistakes. Mistakes, such as picking needless fights with Shinigami. To that end, he could forgive himself for leaving them to their fates. This was his chance to approach the cabin, without having to tussle with the Reapers himself. Once more, unto the breach...step by step he left the cityscape behind. Towards that looming, unwholesome place he went. The dfoor seemed a fixture of pure aesthetic. The slightest breeze seemed enough to blow it up, and yet it stayed sealed. Reaching his hand out, against the stripped material.

Pressing in, he revealed the hidden scene beyond. In truth, he expected horror...and nothing less. Given the events just passed, he prepared his mental standing. With grand expectations and a calm readiness, his will was cast of purest iron. What was it...that made this shack seem such a wretched place. What loathesome secrets did it contain within it's tiny walls. What...difference did it make? Having sated his curiosity within the first good look, his conscience felt a sudden sting. It was like the clarity after an adulterous act. Once desire clouded the mind and inhibition, but now abandoned one to the suffering of revelation. What caused such an epiphany? It was the sound of a Hollow being cut down, destroyed. What he had decided before, about leaving them to suffer the effects of their choices, he could not stand by it. Turning now, scoping out the world around, able to find his dying brothers very quickly. If possible from there, he would speed himself to their location. He would try to save whichever he one he could.

[Kashmir De-Mona]

SPOILER: Click to show

Zeich had no trouble in killing either of the Hollows. He had no trouble in killing either of the Hollows, for they were low level and weak things. Marcelius would not even be finished entering the shack by the time both reiatsus disappeared. There was no doubt that they were ordinary Hollows. There was no doubt that they were ordinary, for even the reiatsu a ways away disappeared. The Hollow reiatsu a mile away also dissipated, meaning that Uzumaki had killed it. No, there was no problem regarding either of the Hollows. They were routine. They were routine, and they were easy to take down. They were routine, and they were easy to take down, and nothing should have spurred any confusion or suspicions. It was not until afterward that Zeich would have trouble.

"Don't be afraid," Zeich told the little girl. "Who are you?" she asked him in a timid voice. Her demeanor was shaky. Her demeanor was shaky, for she was afraid. She was afraid because she had just been attacked by enormous monsters, and observed them murdered by a stranger with a sword. "I am here to help send you on your way," were the words which she received, to which she responded equally timidly. She responded equally timidly, and with perhaps more fright than before. It was not a warm day. "On my way? Where?" Yes, where. Heaven? Hell? Or both? Purgatory? "Spirits do not belong in the Land of the Living; instead, we have a place for you on the other side. Be at peace, and know that you are going somewhere far better than this.” Better indeed.

As the butt of Zeich's sword touched her forehead and glowed, and the Konso was prepared so that she may be sent off to another world, she closed her eyes. As the butt of Zeich's sword glowed and touched her forehead, and the Konso was prepared, everything seemed routine. This was until the glow faded. This was until the glow faded, indicating a successful burial. It indicated a successful burial, yet it was not successful. Nothing happened. The glow stopped. The glow stopped, and the little girl remained there. She had not been transported to Soul Society. She had not been transported to Soul Society or anywhere else. She stood there still before Zeich. Soul Burial had failed. She opened her eyes.

"When...when do I go?" she asked him. A strange thing, for it to have failed. It was unusual, and moreover, after several seconds of stunned silence, Zeich would experience. The ominous presence of the shack had left him the second he had turned his back on it. The ominous presence had left him when he left it, however now something else daunted him. It was brief. It was momentary. Perhaps it never even happened. Perhaps it never even happened, and the whole thing was imagined. For the slightest of moments, a white smile could be seen in his mind. It was sinister, and it was pure evil. It chuckled. It could have been his Hollow sneering in his conscious. It could have been his Hollow sneering in his conscious, or something else. However, the issue remained. Konso had failed.

In the area where Marcelius dwelt, he had entered the shack. He had entered the shack, and would be faced with something surprising. It had creaky wooden floors, musty and covered with dust and occasional bugs. It was covered with occasional bugs, though even these seemed to stay out. It had probably once been a rich brown color floor, but instead had become a dull, faded gray. It had become a dull, faded gray to match the walls which had become dreary green and were covered in cobwebs and more dust. It was small, with only three rooms inside. There was a kitchen, a bedroom with two beds, and a living room with a 90s television with a cracked screen. There was nothing unusual. It was old and broken down.

The voices could still be heard within the shack. The voices could still be heard within the shack of what had happened there. The farther in Marcelius went, the more it would be felt. The young boy, arms raised in fear as the belt came down on his body. The teenage girl, blood on her inner thighs and legs agape as a man missing several teeth kneaded her breasts and violated her, as if enjoying her tears. A young girl, come home to find her dog and it's 6 puppies had been drowned by her vindictive aunt. Many tragedies had transpired here. Still the voices could be heard, and their emotions could be experienced. There was a central voice in all of these memories. All of the victims shared one line. You sicken me....

As Marcelius found the source of the sound, the old ringing phone from the 60s era, and answered it, no questions would be answered. No questions would be answered, for they could not be. No questions would be answered, for they could not be, but new ones would arise. On the other end, a voice spoke. "In my dream, the world had suffered a terrible disaster. A black haze shut out the sun. The darkness was alive with the moans and screams of wounded people. Suddenly, a small light glowed. A candle flickered into life, a symbol of hope for millions, a single tiny candle shining in the ugly dark. I laughed...and blew it out..." There was laughter on the other end of the phone, and then it hung up.

When Marcelius again left the shack, it would be clear that the Hollows had all been slain. They had all been slain, and it would be too late to save them. In the shack however had been a clue. Empty beer bottles on a wooden table had had many receipts near them, all from the same place. The alcohol had all come from the same place. Perhaps it had been frequented by one of the residents of the shack. The alcohol had come from an establishment called Sonkei, so perhaps this would be a place to visit first. Perhaps this would be a place to visit first. Perhaps it would be a start. He could learn something about it. However, Marcelius was in a spiritual form. First, he would need to secure an Arrancar-enabled Gigai.

[Zeich Yajuu]

Zeich felt the glow of Konso surround the young girl as the purification took hold, cleansing the young woman and sending her way onto Soul Society, where she would live among other souls. She wouldn't be alone, as she was in the World of the Living, and her life would not be in constant danger from Hollows; it was a far better experience than remaining in the World of the Living. Zeich could almost envy her; how easy it was on the other side, as a Plus. As a Shinigami, his life was constant turmoil and danger as he sought to defend the peace and balance of both worlds, and as a result he could not enjoy the ease of living that those souls who were not Rukongai got to experience. Still, that was their life, and this was his; his was the life of conflict and battle, one that he would exist in for the rest of his life.

As the glow faded, however, the child was still present. Surprised, Zeich's eyes narrowed as he considered the Plus, wondering why the Konso hadn't taken effect. He had felt the aura that always accompanied it, the feeling of transcendence, but the Plus was still standing before him rather than disappearing as she passed on to dwell in Soul Society. What was going on? The Konso was performed properly, and had activated, yet the child had not moved on. That was unusual; everything had been done correctly, and the soul should no longer have been standing there. This bothered Zeich; he had never failed in a Konso before, and having such a failure before him was disturbing. Why had the sending technique not worked?

Quickly Zeich sent a Hell Butterfly to Uzumaki, explaining the situation; he had performed a Konso properly, which would have sent the girl to Soul Society, yet she still remained. He was not sure what the problem was, and requested that the Sixth Seat join him and attempt a Soul Burial as well. In the meantime, all he could do was figure out what the problem could possibly be, as it was strange for a Konso to simply fail. Maybe it was an attachment to the world, one that the spirit would not let go of? It was possible that non-Hollow sendings had to be voluntary, as several spirits tended to stay behind to watch after family or friends, only to become Hollows as their Soul Chain corroded from maintaining a presence in the World of the Living. Some of those cases were due to a Shinigami not arriving in time, but was it possible that one could willingly prevent a Soul Burial? It was a train of thought worth following.

“Tell me something, child.” Zeich knelt down so that he was eye level with the girl, and though his expression was as neutral as ever, at least it wasn't enough to repel anyone. He wasn't going to explain to her that he could not send her, because that would only panic her. Instead, he focused her attention elsewhere. “Do you have any family here, still? Anyone you love, or care about? Anyone you worry about, and don't want to leave? I want to make sure you're perfectly sure before you go to Soul Society, the place where all good spirits reside. I don't want you to have any regrets before leaving.” That last bit about “good spirits” wasn't necessarily true, as souls tended to maintain the ups and downs of human personalities, but for the most part they weren't “evil” in the sense of Hollows, which devoured humans and spirits alike. Still, it was a line of investigation that hopefully would help explain a bit more about why the child wouldn't move on.

[Marcelius]

They were gone. It was already done. For his lack of consideration, two of his kind were now dead. His carelessness left them undefended. His assumption cost them. Had he acted in their favor, had he gone to them...maybe they could have been sparred. These thoughts tumbled in his mind, upsetting and unhinging his focus. In his chest, pain stung him like the knife of Brutus. For a moment, the old Hollow lost his balance. Stumbling, his the wright of his guilt trying to drag him to that filthy floor. Creaking wretched through the silence of the shack. His hand fell upon whatever it could, anything to catch his fall.

Lines carved through the dust, trails following his fingers like scars through time itself. Nothing had disturbed the dust in this place for so long, it felt as aged as Marcelius himself. Age; something he was feeling very clearly right now. The lament for his kin, those who had been slaughtered, was such a shock that it stole his breath. Lungs empty and footing unsure, thank goodness there was no one here to see such a display. It was bad enough to be an elder, worse still to appear as one. Weak and fragile, of body and spirit. Yes, it was good there was no one to see. Sadly, whether eyes observed or not, he was not truly alone. No...life was present in this place. It came to him, as an invasion on his thoughts.

Loss. The memory of loss was gone now. Guilt was gone. Still his heart, it ached. Differently. Angrily. It did not come from what he did not do...it was what he could not do. A strike landed upon his body, sharp and cold. The feel of a cold leather belt, treated dead flesh that showed not care or mercy. Wielding this implement of suffering, an equally dead pile of flesh...just as ignorant of empathy or compassion. Looking up, through the eyes of a child. Watching the hateful, unbridled rage of a pathetic father. With each strike of that worn hide along his skin, something grew. Not just an agitation of nerves or flesh...no, something deeper. Something...emotional. Hate. Pure, seething, building, hate. It burned in his stomach, so hot that it caused his blood to boil. Each hit stoked the fire.

The flame consumed from the core, spewing outward until all thoughts joined the searing pyre. Anything else -love, trust, joy, sorrow- just turned to a cinder. He loathed this man before him. He wanted nothing more, than to see him in agony. To no longer be afraid...to no longer fear punishment. To escape this weakness. Yes. To no long be so weak, that men like him could do as they pleased. To never again feel so violated. She wanted to be strong. No longer helpless, forced onto her back while he took everything from her. To never again feel so vile. She would lash out. Tearing, ripping, clawing those who would come for her with their disgusting desires. Free from him, from them all. No longer subservient to their will.

She'd never again be their...pet. To be mistreated and abused. She would not allow anyone else to mistreat her or the things she loved. She would make her pay. That despicable woman, who threw away lives that were not her own. Lives she had cared for. Lives she had loved. It was wrong, it was sick. Yes...it sickens her. There would be retribution. Punishments and penance. It would start with this wicked woman, the sister of her mother. Then she would torture him...yes, cut off the manhood he used to heinous effect. Hurt him, then kill him. Take back the power. Take it back, so that he would never again feel the lash of the belt. Yes. Make them cry, make them bleed. Bleed them dry of every tear! Like they did with him. Get back at them, get even. Get revenge! Kill them all!

Marcelius' eyes had become watery, tears and sweat dripping now. Down his cheeks, casting off from his jaw. The face on which they streamed, was still and stoic. The hand which clasped a near table, had crushed through it's withered old wood. His breathes were calming down again. Just as before, his will was able to wrangle in his focus. Twice now...the voices had grown so strong. Today was becoming a strange and terrible thing. Not enough to stop him, however. For living as long as he had...there had been many days like this. Just like all the ones before, he would move on. He would rise back up from the murky depths of his deep and troubled thoughts. So his spine straightened, regaining it's steely composure. Lifting himself, reminding his senses of where he was...the ringing of the phone returned. Clamorous and profound. Being within the shack made the chiming all the worse. Quickly glancing about, he uncovered the bothersome device. Moving towards it, as he had been before, he wondered if he would even be able to clasp it.

Sure enough, his hand felt the chill of it's lifeless frame. Lifted from the receiver, the ringing stopped. Examining the object for a moment, he slowly brought the speaker portion to his ear. Words were waiting for him. Prepared, and practiced. Whomever spoke them was no where nearby...for Marc could not trace the origin of thought. No, he heard this message as any other common soul might. Without insight into the speaker. Without comprehension of their intentions. Just static and sound. Yet...they still brought him great cause for concern. What did this cryptic intimation. Before a response could be constructed, the line went dead. Holding on until the line began to buzz, begging for the return of the microphone to it's holster. Setting back down, Marc's eyes were drawn to a gathering of notes and bottles around it. Examining each, collecting what names and data he found to be reoccurring. So odd, that the reciets were of not-so-distant date. Given the state of his surroundings, it seemed unlikely anyone could have been here recently. Regardless of what he believed...the evidence was solid.

This place, and the...lives, contained within it, would be a magnet for his people. Hollows would flock and linger about this locale. This could not be allowed. It proved to easy a trap for Shinigami to exploit. Already it had drawn three of his own to their deaths, and more were sure to come. Marc could not allow this. Rather, Marc did not want this to continue. If the massacre of young Hollows was not enough of an incentive; there was that bewildering shade. The abhorrent creature that had suffered so tragically...the feelings Marc sensed in it, greatly matched the ones within the house. These walls and that souls skin, both vessels of similar misfortune. Whatever this was...it needed to be stopped. Or, at least, better understood. So, this was to be an investigation. Yes, he would get to the facts. Turning now, a souvenir receipt in his hand. Stepping back out of the shack, gazing over the city ahead. A human settlement, a city for the living. Damn. If he was to get answers from one of their markets, he would have to communicate with them.

There was too great a chance that his target would lack spiritual awareness. Valuing preparation as much as he did, this problem was one that needed immediate addressing. A gigai. One of those fake bodies the shinigami often use...like those used by the Septima. Where could he find such a thing in this place? Vessel bodies were not exactly common. Without hesitation, Marcelius opened up his attention to the full range of his abilities. Scanning the streets and building about him. Perhaps his answer was nearby. Someone, who know of gigai...possibly a spirit currently occupying one? The possibilities were vast, and certainly worth exploring. Despite what he might discover, he needed to be wary. For there were at least two competent Reapers nearby...running into either of them would be most unfortunate. With no reason to approach them, with no Hollows to protect, he would find it more prudent to simply avoid such troubles.