Post by Marcelius on Oct 7, 2013 7:16:03 GMT -5
(OoC: This thread is for the training and mastery of Imprecar Sentido. It is a solo thread, exclusive for Marcelius Despres.)
It is commonly know, that many species of animal enter the world both blind and deaf. This is not the case with creatures such as Humans; this also applies to their spiritual duplicates, the Shinigami. Even Hollows, those most abstract of beings, are born at some point...and often with eyes and ears in perfect condition. So it could be easy for the knowledgeable to believed this to be the standard, the expectation. Well, this would just be yet another expectation that Marcelius would have to upset. For in his first waking moments as a Hollow, the world was crushed by darkened silence. A quiet so profound, it left the soul numb to everything. Everything except the hunger, which was trapped in the very same cage.
Marc had been placed alone inside of his body, like isolation. The only thing to keep him company, to remind him of his continued life, was the hunger which burned like a fire in his cell. The heat scalded and hurt him, making him more and more desperate to escape his confinement. The only way to do this, was to be like other Hollows. Other Hollows had to eat to quelch their own pain, and so did Marcelius. The spirits which were to be consumed, did not come to their predators freely. They hid. They ran. Some of them could even fight. In the end, a Hollows could not survive without sustenance...and so they must hunt. How was he to hunt, without sight nor sound to guide him to prey?
The answer was a unique adaptation, one that separated Marc from the typical herd of his breed. His mind had developed a sensitivity far more capable than sight or hearing. All around him, energy courses and flows. Motion is created, and in it's birth, ripples pass into the world like heralds. Obstacles are irrelevant, as information comes shaking and vibrating through any possible solid or formation. Marcelius can perceive the barriers which divide him from sources, but they offer no hindrance. What produces the glow that he sees? Life. Anything that possesses strength of soul. Like beacons of fire moving through the eternal blackness, life makes itself forever apparent.
It stirs the world, like waters in the murky ocean depths. It carries with it light, color, sound, and sensations. It pleasing for him, to observe. It attracted him to it, calling and guiding him. It was how he learned to love his prey. Both the sight of the meal, and as he raked the flesh with his teeth, the vibrations that came from it. His hunger regarded him further, by allowing the acquired rations to cool and stifle the painful flames within. Yet, eating never snuffed the fire completely. In truth, it made it grow. As it grew, it required more fuel. More kindling to keep alight, more prey to sooth the burning pain.
Years had gone by. Too many for one soul to comprehend or understand. In all of that time, all there was to do was hunt. His technique had become pure, and practiced to perfection. The great fortune he had experienced as a hunter, was due entirely to his apt perception. There was no quarry who could escape. Not clever for who could outsmart him. No game which could elude or hide from him. Having attained a certain pinnacle, where there simply existed no more challenge for his skills, a time of change came upon him. Slipping into dream, he began a metamorphosis. His body changed, it grew in power but collapsed in size. The worthless fibers of flesh began to snap and the useless mass was sheered away. Crawling from the heap of his old, obsolete form; Marcelius emerged as a Lorde...with eyes of richest blue. Sight, had come to him again.
It was vibrant, it was astonishing, and quickly the world began to blind him once again. For the new organs he had been granted, were strange and unfamiliar. They fit naturally onto his face. It appeared, at least for his new form, that he had them all along. Within his kind however, the information provided by these new oculars was quite nauseating. Colors and hues he did jot know or understand, solid formations that denied him further view. To his new eyes, the world was not only made of barriers...but defined by them. Where before he could see through all the occupants of a given space...now they had strange new composition through which no vision could pierce. Reality was new and unknown. It was similar enough to not drive him mad, and yet too confusing to fit any logic he previously had. What knowledge his former life -before the Hollow's Darkness claimed him- had been forgotten in the sheer magnitude of passed time.
Years spent as a Vasto Lords had been quite painful. Not only had Marcelius become completely aware of the Choir's existence within his soul, but he also had to endure the physical agony of new senses. For newborns, it is a simple matter of adjustment and education. Their minds are empty, and completely ready to receive all incoming information. Like sponges they absorb it all. Marc was no newborn. No, by now he had become ancient. His thoughts were full, and trained. It had been quite a long time since his mind had been malleable. So for him, it was the same as developing exposed nerves all over his skin. They controlled no limbs and offered not support, they simply ached. Even behind closed eyelids, his tender eyes could feel the burn of light. What was worse, was the ringing in his ears.
It was a constant, perpetual strum. The pain could be felt even in the calcium frame of his bones. It was just as futile to try and stop the new sound of the world. This was his time of endurance. His suffering was twofold, both the physical and the emotional. It took so long for his body to adjust, and his heart to recoup. So long, in fact, that he still has yet to heal completely. Though his eyes and ears are no longer a constant torture, they are not that keen. What he can see, and what he can hear, are often blurred into the rest of his senses. Luckily, his transition into a new body did not rob him of all his old gifts. None of his intelligence had been lost, nor had his mind forgotten how to listen for the music of life. Musica de la Vida. The difficulty, was hearing the melodies of life over all the static and disruptive noises of the world.
Marcelius life still had a healthy balance of fortune and misfortune. Depending on the day, and his mood, he could focus solely on one group or the other. His personality was quite the tricky one; due to all the emotional shifts. One of his aforementioned fortunes, was self-control. It was something he received practice in, everyday. Those waning hours of the night, when less burdened spirits slumber in peace, Marc returns to his internal battle. The physical body rests; while the soul goes to war. Bathing in the cascading sonnets of his attackers' allied hate, to keep himself, he must weather the storm with a steady resolve. Rewards for his struggles come in the form of a clear conscience. Peace. Internal, and though momentary, euphoric. For when he can escape both his physical and mental distractions...his mind feels refreshed and pure. Pureness, that one only attains through ascension.
To use descriptions that others might understand...it would be the same as standing on top of the world. Not upon some great peak; which soars into the clouds. Nor would it be the same has walking among those clouds to which the earth longingly reaches. Further and higher still, truly above anything and everything below. With nothing to bind him to the world beneath, he can walk along heaven's ceiling. From his lofty position, he can simply observe all of creation. Every life that teems along the surface, he may watch and examine. Every joy he can share. Every sorrow he can console. He can be apart of all the lives going on, helping them all...redeeming himself of all his mistakes and shortcomings. This is his most grandiose dream, the one in which he transcends the Aspect that causes him such sorrow. This particular dream comes very rarely; which only adds to the allure of it. This unfettered, almost...omniscience, became a new craving. One sought after much like the hunger of old.
The nostalgia lay upon him like a thick blanket of snow. It was heavy and chilling. It was the remembrance of that time in his fondest dreams. Now awake, it was an aspiration he had drug with him from the realm of Lord Morpheus. So powerful was his heart's desire, that it clouded his head and left him in a daze. It was as if his body could fall back into sleep, at that very spot. Though desirable as sleep may be, it is not a world of substance. Achieving greatness in dreams is fine, only if it is the foundation of greatness in the waking reality. So, with a shake of his head, he roused himself from the burrow his drowsiness had begun to dig. Heavy eyelids creaked open. The weight of every wrinkle felt clearly today. Turning his to look about him, to remind himself he was not sleeping.
The flurry subsided and soon his perception made of the world was made clear yet again. The only cold left for his nerves, was that of revelation he had been resting. Fortunate for the bite of that chill, for it was enough to stimulate his mind back to lively state. Almost out of habit, he began to stretch his limbs and ligaments. Whether comforting or not, he could not tell. Though his body moved and acted, his mind was truly elsewhere. Once more occupied by his ever expanding thoughts. Problem solving, as it were, while no other activity called for his attention. The particular equation for him, given the context of his recent day dreams, was that of his former solemnity. That time of history, where both eyes and ears were nothing more than nuisance and bondage.
A notion he was left to puzzle alone, was how to attain that level of independency? Certainly the task of blinding one's self was quite an unheard research. Even in the wild and wondrous existence of Las Noches...there could not be a great many souls who desire such a peculiar power. For Marcelius, though, a power would prove vastly helpful. Sight and sound, in the traditional sense, were quite bothersome at times. For his mind was an ever working enterprise of curiosity. Whatever her observed, by his nature, he was compelled to dissect it and take it apart. To list and categorize the pieces. To label and mark where they go. To establish their purposes as individuals, and in the layout or network of the grander machine to which they belonged. It was a daunting, recondite task. It required tremendous time and weighed a great deal on his brain. After all, there are only so many thoughts a sane mind can handle.
When coupled with the fact that Marc's sight had unique qualities...qualities which allowed him to witness things others could not; the workload of his mind becomes quite a monumental effort. When his evolution completed, and he was once again given eyes and ears of working condition, yet more strain began to pull him done. This had resulted in the strengthening of his mind, over time, to accommodate these two new means of information gathering and processing. Sadly though, it restricted the quickness of his reactions and limited the capacity of his adapted sight. Closing his eyes often helped, and holding his hands over his ears provided even more comfort. These were only temporary cures, for what was a long lasting complication. Something, more powerful, was required.
Perhaps Presquisa, he mused to himself. Indeed, there was already a powerful technique for his kind to enhance their awareness. His brothers and sisters used the technique, in a mimic, of creatures from the living realm. It was echolocation, pure and simple. By casting a pulse of reiatsu, a feed back would produced off of each and every mass of spiritual pressure in the sensory range. This was an ingenious performance, with outstanding capabilities...for the common sighted Arrancar. When Marc himself attempted such a technique, the amount of information his massive senses could pick up, was simply too great. Despite his resiliency, such a sudden burst of knowledge would always hinder his mental faculties.
Even when he could process it all, which was frequent, acting or thinking clearly on his imminent surroundings became difficult. Labored. So this particular technique was only useful for very particular circumstances. This did not mean it was useless. No, far from it. Pesquisa was to be the first brick in a new technique's construction. What needed to be done, was find a way to better isolate the use of this sonar. Or so Marc believed, originally. Finding a more concise way of producing the wave of reiatsu, would offer up more important details. "Perhaps..." he posed, "The answer lies in the reiatsu itself."
It must be understood, the Marcelius was deficient with his spiritual pressure. The connectivity he shared with his Hollow form, was quite a delicate bond. In truth, the only amicable aspect he still enjoyed about Resurreccion, was the loss of his two senses. Everything else...the feeling, the Choir, the purposes for it...all of this truly did not settle well with him. This was a curse of Remorse, one fueled by the weeping spirits within him. So, unlike other Arrancar, Marc made no effort to connect deeply with his Ressurreccion when it was sealed. Choosing to lock as much of it away as possible, meant that his potential spiritual strength diminished. Severely, if compared to those other souls which specialize their talents. Regardless of the amount of power he could command, his mastery was in his ability to sense and manipulate reiatsu on much smaller, more refined levels. Where others saw power as raw and unbridled, Marc could see the most acute reactions as they were occurring.
Explosive exchanges of potential to kinetic energy. This was true for everything, not simply the most evident Cero. Even Pesquisa was a delicate dance of properly timed, energized particles. So he started with that. Conjuring up his reiryoku as normal, and simply maintaining it. The next step was easy, it was a simple release of concentration and an opening of the mind. But this was not to be a typical Pesquisa burst, no, he would be modifying the energy first. His first trial? Isolating the noise of another individual, only one, out of a tremendous crowd. To attempt this, he did what he could to infuse an emotion into the accumulated energy. This emotion would act as a catalyst, reacting only to another soul with an emotional state in closest harmony to the one he was creating. If it worked, Pesquisa would trail through the world as normal, but only pick up a reading from his intended target. With his enthusiasm bounding inside of him, he eased his focus just enough so that the reiatsu would fly outward. Sadly, the results were poor. Very, very poor.
The rooms beyond him, not just the ones pertaining to the hospital, began to light up. A flood of information was upon him, and try as he might to discern any success from his attempt, he could not. The individual he had exclusively wished to target, had given him no more information or connection than the rest of them. What he had achieved, if it could be considered a success, was alerting others to his work. Those with senses more accurate, such as his, were quick to pick up on his meddling. Possibly more impressive was the way some of the spirits reacted to the contact of his modified Pesquisa. Some had their outlook changed, adapting a mood similar to the one he had projected. So, in essence, more Hollows were feeling like Mei right now. This would make future attempts, of the same nature as the first, even more difficult. Mei was now, by an emotional standpoint, more difficult to isolate.
Yet, he still knew exactly where she was...and which of the lingering melodies was hers. Even with all the mood clutter fogging up the looking glass, he knew Mei apart from them all. The thought arises, that he was capable of understanding people by far much more than just their emotions. Yes, emotionality was his specialty, and there was none greater than him...but still, he did have other insights that he used and collected every single day. Maybe the answer lied in those...a more internal solution? How to test for such a thing, though? It still seemed he needed a more appropriate way to manage the incoming data he was constantly be ping fed. A better system, with more organization? No, that could not be it. His mind was already stupendous at micromanaging and categorizing...just like so many other trained professionals. Even endowed with multiples of the average person's ability to reason or rationalize...he was still having to do too much at once.
Isolation. That is what it needed to duplicate. Just as he was before. Yes, even as bizarre a concept as it was...temporarily disabling his senses could expand his abilities. If his mind was not processing any visual or auditory stimuli, that much more of his brain could relax while the rest of it works. It was a risky idea. Truthfully, there was no substantial evidence to prove it would even work. It was not like he feared losing his sight or hearing, he'd lived longer in that sort of state than many of the occupants of Las Noches had lived in total. The threat which lingered was not enough to dissuade him. Not in the least. He had to become more efficient, and more capable. To that end, certain risks needed to be considered and then taken. The issue that remained, was finding a way to actually accomplish the goal. Something besides a drastic surgery or permanent wound. No, something less painful...temporary perhaps.
What could cause the temporary failure of senses? The was but one answer, even though it could be approached through many possible avenues. A sensory overload. An experience he had enjoyed several times before, one he had built quite a intricate knowledge of. If there was a way, he could isolate a sudden and intense overload for his two detrimental senses...he could knock them off for quite a significant, but non-permanent, amount of time. In a state such as that, he would be free to focus on the more essential data being absorbed by his mind. Now, to do such a thing, would have to use a reiatsu trigger...that would be the most reliable and easiest to produce. Once again, his thoughts turned to Pesquisa. A sudden, powerful, flux of energy. Instead of bursting outwards into the world...why if he used the created spiritual motion in an inward fashion? With a little more calculating, weighing and estimating the necessary energy, he raised his hand to his face.
Noise stirred within him, a considerable amount considering his reserves. For a moment it felt exactly as Pesquisa, but then, he forced the power to wash through his eyes and ears. The sudden rush, tingling through his skull. In nearly an instant, things grew bright and loud beyond belief....but then, solitude. All light faded...and all sounds stopped. For a moment, shorter than the could be comprehended, he was alone again. Then...returning with a righteous fury, the Choir came back to him. Hearing them so clearly, so profoundly...yet they did not bring grief. No. They came bearing joy and success. Not in the words they sang, but in their clarity. If he could hear them so well, then he had succeeded in disconnecting those troubling senses! With a happiness hard-pressed to acquire, he closed off the doors to the theater..and left the chorus to itself. Through the void of artificial blindness, he could see...for miles. With so much of his mind unoccupied trying to process the events around him; with the stresses of eye-contact with others gone...he could truly see again. It was breathtaking. It was wonderful. It could not come at a better time!
Having spent the greater portion of the morning, idly waiting outside of the Hospital, Marcelius had plenty of incentive to desire this new technique. His restriction from entering the medical are -without prior injury- prevented him from checking on Mei. But now, unhindered by the barriers which exist to normal eyes...he could peer through to see her. There she lay, safe and sound...with the most serene feelings of content. Her happiness was so visible and spectacular, that he was nearly reduced to tears. Oh, how infectious joy can be. Oh, how wonderful a triumph he had achieved. Pulling himself from the wall to which he clung, his optimism brimming throughout his form. He could not sit still, he had to move and work his restless legs. Since he could not come any closer to Mei than he already was...he thought, "Why not...I'll have a stroll." The rest of the day went much like this. Marcelius wondering the multitude of walls throughout Las Noches...observing none of them. Through his trial, he could learn both the extent...and the limitations of his wondrous new ability. To the world he spoke, a cry of success. "Imprecar, Sentido."
It is commonly know, that many species of animal enter the world both blind and deaf. This is not the case with creatures such as Humans; this also applies to their spiritual duplicates, the Shinigami. Even Hollows, those most abstract of beings, are born at some point...and often with eyes and ears in perfect condition. So it could be easy for the knowledgeable to believed this to be the standard, the expectation. Well, this would just be yet another expectation that Marcelius would have to upset. For in his first waking moments as a Hollow, the world was crushed by darkened silence. A quiet so profound, it left the soul numb to everything. Everything except the hunger, which was trapped in the very same cage.
Marc had been placed alone inside of his body, like isolation. The only thing to keep him company, to remind him of his continued life, was the hunger which burned like a fire in his cell. The heat scalded and hurt him, making him more and more desperate to escape his confinement. The only way to do this, was to be like other Hollows. Other Hollows had to eat to quelch their own pain, and so did Marcelius. The spirits which were to be consumed, did not come to their predators freely. They hid. They ran. Some of them could even fight. In the end, a Hollows could not survive without sustenance...and so they must hunt. How was he to hunt, without sight nor sound to guide him to prey?
The answer was a unique adaptation, one that separated Marc from the typical herd of his breed. His mind had developed a sensitivity far more capable than sight or hearing. All around him, energy courses and flows. Motion is created, and in it's birth, ripples pass into the world like heralds. Obstacles are irrelevant, as information comes shaking and vibrating through any possible solid or formation. Marcelius can perceive the barriers which divide him from sources, but they offer no hindrance. What produces the glow that he sees? Life. Anything that possesses strength of soul. Like beacons of fire moving through the eternal blackness, life makes itself forever apparent.
It stirs the world, like waters in the murky ocean depths. It carries with it light, color, sound, and sensations. It pleasing for him, to observe. It attracted him to it, calling and guiding him. It was how he learned to love his prey. Both the sight of the meal, and as he raked the flesh with his teeth, the vibrations that came from it. His hunger regarded him further, by allowing the acquired rations to cool and stifle the painful flames within. Yet, eating never snuffed the fire completely. In truth, it made it grow. As it grew, it required more fuel. More kindling to keep alight, more prey to sooth the burning pain.
Years had gone by. Too many for one soul to comprehend or understand. In all of that time, all there was to do was hunt. His technique had become pure, and practiced to perfection. The great fortune he had experienced as a hunter, was due entirely to his apt perception. There was no quarry who could escape. Not clever for who could outsmart him. No game which could elude or hide from him. Having attained a certain pinnacle, where there simply existed no more challenge for his skills, a time of change came upon him. Slipping into dream, he began a metamorphosis. His body changed, it grew in power but collapsed in size. The worthless fibers of flesh began to snap and the useless mass was sheered away. Crawling from the heap of his old, obsolete form; Marcelius emerged as a Lorde...with eyes of richest blue. Sight, had come to him again.
It was vibrant, it was astonishing, and quickly the world began to blind him once again. For the new organs he had been granted, were strange and unfamiliar. They fit naturally onto his face. It appeared, at least for his new form, that he had them all along. Within his kind however, the information provided by these new oculars was quite nauseating. Colors and hues he did jot know or understand, solid formations that denied him further view. To his new eyes, the world was not only made of barriers...but defined by them. Where before he could see through all the occupants of a given space...now they had strange new composition through which no vision could pierce. Reality was new and unknown. It was similar enough to not drive him mad, and yet too confusing to fit any logic he previously had. What knowledge his former life -before the Hollow's Darkness claimed him- had been forgotten in the sheer magnitude of passed time.
Years spent as a Vasto Lords had been quite painful. Not only had Marcelius become completely aware of the Choir's existence within his soul, but he also had to endure the physical agony of new senses. For newborns, it is a simple matter of adjustment and education. Their minds are empty, and completely ready to receive all incoming information. Like sponges they absorb it all. Marc was no newborn. No, by now he had become ancient. His thoughts were full, and trained. It had been quite a long time since his mind had been malleable. So for him, it was the same as developing exposed nerves all over his skin. They controlled no limbs and offered not support, they simply ached. Even behind closed eyelids, his tender eyes could feel the burn of light. What was worse, was the ringing in his ears.
It was a constant, perpetual strum. The pain could be felt even in the calcium frame of his bones. It was just as futile to try and stop the new sound of the world. This was his time of endurance. His suffering was twofold, both the physical and the emotional. It took so long for his body to adjust, and his heart to recoup. So long, in fact, that he still has yet to heal completely. Though his eyes and ears are no longer a constant torture, they are not that keen. What he can see, and what he can hear, are often blurred into the rest of his senses. Luckily, his transition into a new body did not rob him of all his old gifts. None of his intelligence had been lost, nor had his mind forgotten how to listen for the music of life. Musica de la Vida. The difficulty, was hearing the melodies of life over all the static and disruptive noises of the world.
Marcelius life still had a healthy balance of fortune and misfortune. Depending on the day, and his mood, he could focus solely on one group or the other. His personality was quite the tricky one; due to all the emotional shifts. One of his aforementioned fortunes, was self-control. It was something he received practice in, everyday. Those waning hours of the night, when less burdened spirits slumber in peace, Marc returns to his internal battle. The physical body rests; while the soul goes to war. Bathing in the cascading sonnets of his attackers' allied hate, to keep himself, he must weather the storm with a steady resolve. Rewards for his struggles come in the form of a clear conscience. Peace. Internal, and though momentary, euphoric. For when he can escape both his physical and mental distractions...his mind feels refreshed and pure. Pureness, that one only attains through ascension.
To use descriptions that others might understand...it would be the same as standing on top of the world. Not upon some great peak; which soars into the clouds. Nor would it be the same has walking among those clouds to which the earth longingly reaches. Further and higher still, truly above anything and everything below. With nothing to bind him to the world beneath, he can walk along heaven's ceiling. From his lofty position, he can simply observe all of creation. Every life that teems along the surface, he may watch and examine. Every joy he can share. Every sorrow he can console. He can be apart of all the lives going on, helping them all...redeeming himself of all his mistakes and shortcomings. This is his most grandiose dream, the one in which he transcends the Aspect that causes him such sorrow. This particular dream comes very rarely; which only adds to the allure of it. This unfettered, almost...omniscience, became a new craving. One sought after much like the hunger of old.
The nostalgia lay upon him like a thick blanket of snow. It was heavy and chilling. It was the remembrance of that time in his fondest dreams. Now awake, it was an aspiration he had drug with him from the realm of Lord Morpheus. So powerful was his heart's desire, that it clouded his head and left him in a daze. It was as if his body could fall back into sleep, at that very spot. Though desirable as sleep may be, it is not a world of substance. Achieving greatness in dreams is fine, only if it is the foundation of greatness in the waking reality. So, with a shake of his head, he roused himself from the burrow his drowsiness had begun to dig. Heavy eyelids creaked open. The weight of every wrinkle felt clearly today. Turning his to look about him, to remind himself he was not sleeping.
The flurry subsided and soon his perception made of the world was made clear yet again. The only cold left for his nerves, was that of revelation he had been resting. Fortunate for the bite of that chill, for it was enough to stimulate his mind back to lively state. Almost out of habit, he began to stretch his limbs and ligaments. Whether comforting or not, he could not tell. Though his body moved and acted, his mind was truly elsewhere. Once more occupied by his ever expanding thoughts. Problem solving, as it were, while no other activity called for his attention. The particular equation for him, given the context of his recent day dreams, was that of his former solemnity. That time of history, where both eyes and ears were nothing more than nuisance and bondage.
A notion he was left to puzzle alone, was how to attain that level of independency? Certainly the task of blinding one's self was quite an unheard research. Even in the wild and wondrous existence of Las Noches...there could not be a great many souls who desire such a peculiar power. For Marcelius, though, a power would prove vastly helpful. Sight and sound, in the traditional sense, were quite bothersome at times. For his mind was an ever working enterprise of curiosity. Whatever her observed, by his nature, he was compelled to dissect it and take it apart. To list and categorize the pieces. To label and mark where they go. To establish their purposes as individuals, and in the layout or network of the grander machine to which they belonged. It was a daunting, recondite task. It required tremendous time and weighed a great deal on his brain. After all, there are only so many thoughts a sane mind can handle.
When coupled with the fact that Marc's sight had unique qualities...qualities which allowed him to witness things others could not; the workload of his mind becomes quite a monumental effort. When his evolution completed, and he was once again given eyes and ears of working condition, yet more strain began to pull him done. This had resulted in the strengthening of his mind, over time, to accommodate these two new means of information gathering and processing. Sadly though, it restricted the quickness of his reactions and limited the capacity of his adapted sight. Closing his eyes often helped, and holding his hands over his ears provided even more comfort. These were only temporary cures, for what was a long lasting complication. Something, more powerful, was required.
Perhaps Presquisa, he mused to himself. Indeed, there was already a powerful technique for his kind to enhance their awareness. His brothers and sisters used the technique, in a mimic, of creatures from the living realm. It was echolocation, pure and simple. By casting a pulse of reiatsu, a feed back would produced off of each and every mass of spiritual pressure in the sensory range. This was an ingenious performance, with outstanding capabilities...for the common sighted Arrancar. When Marc himself attempted such a technique, the amount of information his massive senses could pick up, was simply too great. Despite his resiliency, such a sudden burst of knowledge would always hinder his mental faculties.
Even when he could process it all, which was frequent, acting or thinking clearly on his imminent surroundings became difficult. Labored. So this particular technique was only useful for very particular circumstances. This did not mean it was useless. No, far from it. Pesquisa was to be the first brick in a new technique's construction. What needed to be done, was find a way to better isolate the use of this sonar. Or so Marc believed, originally. Finding a more concise way of producing the wave of reiatsu, would offer up more important details. "Perhaps..." he posed, "The answer lies in the reiatsu itself."
It must be understood, the Marcelius was deficient with his spiritual pressure. The connectivity he shared with his Hollow form, was quite a delicate bond. In truth, the only amicable aspect he still enjoyed about Resurreccion, was the loss of his two senses. Everything else...the feeling, the Choir, the purposes for it...all of this truly did not settle well with him. This was a curse of Remorse, one fueled by the weeping spirits within him. So, unlike other Arrancar, Marc made no effort to connect deeply with his Ressurreccion when it was sealed. Choosing to lock as much of it away as possible, meant that his potential spiritual strength diminished. Severely, if compared to those other souls which specialize their talents. Regardless of the amount of power he could command, his mastery was in his ability to sense and manipulate reiatsu on much smaller, more refined levels. Where others saw power as raw and unbridled, Marc could see the most acute reactions as they were occurring.
Explosive exchanges of potential to kinetic energy. This was true for everything, not simply the most evident Cero. Even Pesquisa was a delicate dance of properly timed, energized particles. So he started with that. Conjuring up his reiryoku as normal, and simply maintaining it. The next step was easy, it was a simple release of concentration and an opening of the mind. But this was not to be a typical Pesquisa burst, no, he would be modifying the energy first. His first trial? Isolating the noise of another individual, only one, out of a tremendous crowd. To attempt this, he did what he could to infuse an emotion into the accumulated energy. This emotion would act as a catalyst, reacting only to another soul with an emotional state in closest harmony to the one he was creating. If it worked, Pesquisa would trail through the world as normal, but only pick up a reading from his intended target. With his enthusiasm bounding inside of him, he eased his focus just enough so that the reiatsu would fly outward. Sadly, the results were poor. Very, very poor.
The rooms beyond him, not just the ones pertaining to the hospital, began to light up. A flood of information was upon him, and try as he might to discern any success from his attempt, he could not. The individual he had exclusively wished to target, had given him no more information or connection than the rest of them. What he had achieved, if it could be considered a success, was alerting others to his work. Those with senses more accurate, such as his, were quick to pick up on his meddling. Possibly more impressive was the way some of the spirits reacted to the contact of his modified Pesquisa. Some had their outlook changed, adapting a mood similar to the one he had projected. So, in essence, more Hollows were feeling like Mei right now. This would make future attempts, of the same nature as the first, even more difficult. Mei was now, by an emotional standpoint, more difficult to isolate.
Yet, he still knew exactly where she was...and which of the lingering melodies was hers. Even with all the mood clutter fogging up the looking glass, he knew Mei apart from them all. The thought arises, that he was capable of understanding people by far much more than just their emotions. Yes, emotionality was his specialty, and there was none greater than him...but still, he did have other insights that he used and collected every single day. Maybe the answer lied in those...a more internal solution? How to test for such a thing, though? It still seemed he needed a more appropriate way to manage the incoming data he was constantly be ping fed. A better system, with more organization? No, that could not be it. His mind was already stupendous at micromanaging and categorizing...just like so many other trained professionals. Even endowed with multiples of the average person's ability to reason or rationalize...he was still having to do too much at once.
Isolation. That is what it needed to duplicate. Just as he was before. Yes, even as bizarre a concept as it was...temporarily disabling his senses could expand his abilities. If his mind was not processing any visual or auditory stimuli, that much more of his brain could relax while the rest of it works. It was a risky idea. Truthfully, there was no substantial evidence to prove it would even work. It was not like he feared losing his sight or hearing, he'd lived longer in that sort of state than many of the occupants of Las Noches had lived in total. The threat which lingered was not enough to dissuade him. Not in the least. He had to become more efficient, and more capable. To that end, certain risks needed to be considered and then taken. The issue that remained, was finding a way to actually accomplish the goal. Something besides a drastic surgery or permanent wound. No, something less painful...temporary perhaps.
What could cause the temporary failure of senses? The was but one answer, even though it could be approached through many possible avenues. A sensory overload. An experience he had enjoyed several times before, one he had built quite a intricate knowledge of. If there was a way, he could isolate a sudden and intense overload for his two detrimental senses...he could knock them off for quite a significant, but non-permanent, amount of time. In a state such as that, he would be free to focus on the more essential data being absorbed by his mind. Now, to do such a thing, would have to use a reiatsu trigger...that would be the most reliable and easiest to produce. Once again, his thoughts turned to Pesquisa. A sudden, powerful, flux of energy. Instead of bursting outwards into the world...why if he used the created spiritual motion in an inward fashion? With a little more calculating, weighing and estimating the necessary energy, he raised his hand to his face.
Noise stirred within him, a considerable amount considering his reserves. For a moment it felt exactly as Pesquisa, but then, he forced the power to wash through his eyes and ears. The sudden rush, tingling through his skull. In nearly an instant, things grew bright and loud beyond belief....but then, solitude. All light faded...and all sounds stopped. For a moment, shorter than the could be comprehended, he was alone again. Then...returning with a righteous fury, the Choir came back to him. Hearing them so clearly, so profoundly...yet they did not bring grief. No. They came bearing joy and success. Not in the words they sang, but in their clarity. If he could hear them so well, then he had succeeded in disconnecting those troubling senses! With a happiness hard-pressed to acquire, he closed off the doors to the theater..and left the chorus to itself. Through the void of artificial blindness, he could see...for miles. With so much of his mind unoccupied trying to process the events around him; with the stresses of eye-contact with others gone...he could truly see again. It was breathtaking. It was wonderful. It could not come at a better time!
Having spent the greater portion of the morning, idly waiting outside of the Hospital, Marcelius had plenty of incentive to desire this new technique. His restriction from entering the medical are -without prior injury- prevented him from checking on Mei. But now, unhindered by the barriers which exist to normal eyes...he could peer through to see her. There she lay, safe and sound...with the most serene feelings of content. Her happiness was so visible and spectacular, that he was nearly reduced to tears. Oh, how infectious joy can be. Oh, how wonderful a triumph he had achieved. Pulling himself from the wall to which he clung, his optimism brimming throughout his form. He could not sit still, he had to move and work his restless legs. Since he could not come any closer to Mei than he already was...he thought, "Why not...I'll have a stroll." The rest of the day went much like this. Marcelius wondering the multitude of walls throughout Las Noches...observing none of them. Through his trial, he could learn both the extent...and the limitations of his wondrous new ability. To the world he spoke, a cry of success. "Imprecar, Sentido."