Arc 2: Canon 12: Festering Hate [PG13, DE, Medium]

[Zou ۞]

Name: [New Arc 2: Canon 12 - Festering Hate]

Participants: [Hollows and Arrancar only, 3 RPCs maximum]

Location: [Human World, London. Later, Las Noches and Hueco Mundo.]

Difficulty Level: [Medium]

Setting: [Death Enabled]

Plotline: [Having some Arrancar over to negotiate with an agent of Las Noches residing in the human world seems like some mundane, easy business. For this reason, multiple top tier Arrancar probably weren't sent, and only Fraccion at best were most likely needed, perhaps with a supervisor just for the caution. However, not all things are meant to go smoothly as planned, and starting high up in an enormous office skyscraper in the business district of London is certainly intimidating, if one is stuck in a conference room with a window to death just outside. Under these circumstances, perhaps negotiating the continued support of a Fullbringer named Satsujun is very dangerous indeed.]

Estimated Enemy Strength: [6-3, with one exception]

Estimated Time Until Completion: [3-4 pages]

Starts: [Now]

Special Conditions: [This will be about 50% social, and will be run by me]

[Marcelius]

(OoC: So, this thread is truly my kind of crack. I only just found out about it, like, 3 hours ago...ended up writing this intro during my break in hopes of scoring a spot. That said. I have had my fun in TWO other Canons recently, and if asked, I will withdraw my post and forfeit my spot. I certainly do not want newcomers missing out. Until such time though...on with the post!)

It was not necessary to touch the glass, to feel the chill seeping through. Just by being close, one's skin might tingle and cringe in the presence of such cold. Such was the condition of London, that every year must start with a bitter frost. To compliment the icy air, grey clouds loom constantly over the city...bringing rain and shadows to every street and rooftop.To outsides, such weather might appear dismal, or even grim. Such was not the case for him. For somewhere inside, he knew this was the charm of this town. Such unwelcoming atmosphere kept the strangers out, and brought the family in. In dark days of rainfall, friends and neighbors would seek the comfort of warm fires and mutual refuge. Ah, but those were the old days. A time long since abandoned by the world. And what a place it had become since those times from his past. Buildings the rivals of mountains, towering into the clouds.

Streets expanding outward for kilometer after kilometer, and yet they remain dense with life. It was so thrilling to see such marvels of community, to observe the success of a people. The longer he stared at the wonder of a city, the more envious he grew. It startled as a tickle in his chest, only enough to be noted. Soon, it became a weight which burdened his breaths and rattled his thoughts. The dark atmosphere of the city, and colorless quality it imbued, made him see things differently than he should. Where there should be the wet landscape of an English metropolis, he began to see sand. Where brittle trees rattled in the passing gales, he saw stems made of quartz, not wood. Where the streets bustled with humans of all shapes and origins, each of them commonplace in their individuality...he began to see masks and hollow hearts. Why was his real home, so unlike this?

Nostalgia often comes to define the elderly. Like the dreams of children, they are embodied by these thoughts. With so little to look forward to in one’s future, the past becomes the aspiration. The withered condition of age, longs for the vibrancy of youth once more. Suddenly, the world becomes a dangerous array of pitfalls. One wrong step, and one could be sucked down to the memories of yesteryear. For someone who has lived a long, full life...the number and diversity of triggers becomes almost inescapable. To souls such as Marcelius, everything is a doorway to what once was. That is why, when his mind should be affixed, it chose to wander instead. Though he was in this human settlement for a reason, he could not be bothered by such thoughts. Instead, he stood pining for a world like the one behind the glass. Remembering times when he was still "alive"; times before the cancer of Remorse. This great residence, was one of the few he could remember clearly.

From Barking to West Minster, and the lifeblood of the Tems. A place he once thought of as home, the county Essex, seemed so close to him now. How so much had changed since then...and how much more there was still to go. After all, he was not here to reminisce. He had an assignment, one which he considered the utmost importance. Or so he had to keep reminding himself, as his focus tarried on its path. He had been sent as a representative of Las Noches' interests, a voice of his kin. To other's the honor was anything but, they viewed it with condescension and disinterest. To him...whether his task was vital or not, his "heart" still swelled with the joy of responsibility. Finally, a way for him to truly serve the desires of his nation. Here, today, he could truly contribute. Such was the fantasy, in any case.

Fortunate or not, he was not alone on this venture. Two others were chosen to come, for one reason or another. There was anxiety within him, concerning the nature of his partners. had they been chosen for their own skill or tact, or were names drawn from a hat? Ah, hearing it does set the tone as rather cruel...but what could be expected? Marcelius was a kind and considerate soul, but he was not a fool. The negotiations he had come her to settle, were a serious concern. The individual they were set to meet, a Fullbringer by the name of Satsujun, was not to be taken lightly. The man and the interests he spoke for, were of value to all of Las Noches. Whatever issues or questions this individual had...whatever bargains or deals he wished to strike, needed to be approached with calm and wisdom.

The last thing the situation would need, in Marc’s hopeful eyes, was the impatience of a juvenile...or worse, the bloodlust of a Hollow. To that end, he had arrived early to the arranged meeting. Having made his way to the predetermined room, lying in wait for the others to arrive. Well…”arrive” is not the most apt of terms. Being the capable bloodhound that he was, the oldster set to work on monitoring as much of the environment as he could. With one paranoid eye looking for dangers or threats that might arise in this particular realm...the other critiqued for something worse. Stupidity. A dynamic entrance, an unneeded thoughts of aggression...anything which might alert him to the presence of an unfit representative of his Kingdom. The sooner he could spot his mystery counterparts, the sooner he could determine whether they would hinder this mission or not. Hopefully...there would be no cause for alarm.

...though such hope did little to calm his nerves.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stats}
Strength - 300 Points

Speed - 120 Points (200 Originally)

Spiritual Pressure - 120 Points (200 Originally)

Reiatsu Strength - 350 Points

Light Aura - 50 Points

Dark Aura - 50 Points

Instinct - 700 Points (400 Originally)

Senses - 50 Points

Energy sensory - 700 (400 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.

War Strategy - 1: "Coordinating a community of Hollows, is the same as coordinating an army of anything else." -Patton...or, someone who was smart and liked fighting.

Weapons (Sword Parrys) - 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.

Combat Skill: Hollow Style, Subjugation - 1: So it begins...get ready folks, Hollow Fu is coming to a town near you! Marc will be developing the Subjugation Instinct, which I plan to release Techs and such for later. As a note for those who didn't skim his “Fighting Style” section, this Instinct deals with grappling and knee removal.

Special Skill: Parenting - 3: This is Charisma, plain and simple...EXCEPT, it only works on those younger in Age of Appearance than Marc. As an added bonus, he is also “The Greatest Dad Freakin’ Ever, Always”.

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.

[Cierro Muerte]

Cierro was dressed rather nicely for this trip to the human world. A suit and tie, befitting of the Segunda himself found themselves neatly arranged over the Octavo’s torso and the pleasant oder of aftershave hung in the air. The low ranked espada sat just to the right of Marcelius high up in the London skyscraper in a swiveled chair with his fingers laced and placed in front of him on the conference table. A sly grin seemingly permanently etched on the espada’s face would make one wary to trust Cierro with their wives and daughters. They were waiting for Satsujun to arrive so that the meeting could begin. Cierro and Marcelius were both selected for their ability to behave and eloquently use their words to their advantage. Neither of them would compromise the success of this mission very easily.

Cierro had been briefed by Sonken Kouhai personally about everything he needed to know about the negotiations, so the espada fully understood what he had authority to do in this meeting and what he didn’t. For example, if Sonken Kouhai demanded the Hougyoku or something akin to that, that was completely out of Cierro’s authority, but smaller things could indeed be accomplished in this meeting simply via their discussion. The espada looked around the room, taking in his neat and tidy surroundings before taking a big whiff before exhaling. “Ahhh, smells like clean...” muttered Cierro, appreciating the pristine state of their conference room. It contrasted Cierro’s own messy room by quite a large margin, so the Octava enjoyed himself there for the moment, secretly hoping there would be some type of refreshment offered to them.

“So... see any good movies lately?” asked Cierro casually to his arrancar comrade as they waited for Satsujun to come in and get down to business. Naturally it was just small talk and if Satsujun came in before Marcelius answered, he would not expect a reply but would prefer to get down to business so that he could go find a strip club, or a gentlemen’s club as they were called here in England. The sooner he could remove the tie around his neck, the better he’d feel. Cierro honestly didn’t know how Kuroi dealt with such a restricting article of clothing day in and day out. It was definitely not the practical thing to wear when fighting and not his first choice to wear when in a conference. Maybe Satsujun would show up in slacks and a t-shirt and he could feel better about removing the darn thing.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stats}
Strength - [100 (/2)] = 50 Points

Speed - [400/1,200] Points

Spiritual Pressure - [350] Points

Reiatsu Strength - [400] Points

Light Aura - [60] Points

Dark Aura - [40] Points

Instinct - [350] Points

Senses - [200] Points

Energy sensory - [100] Points

Healing Expertise - [0] Points


Total SP: [1,900] Points

SPOILER: Click to show

{Abilities}

[Lack of Fear] {2}

[Sex] {3}

[Poison Resist] {2}

[Illusion Resist] {2}

[Acting Improvise] {3}

[Memory] {2}

[Analyzing] {1}

[Special Power: Shapeshifting] {1}

[Zou ۞]

OOC: A month later, and here we go.

IC:

The doors of the room swung open in an instant, just as Cierro asked his question. In swept the man that both had heard so much about. The legend, whose very name was so filled with power as to be considered myth. The man that once at the near peak of his power had been capable of combating all of Seireitei alone, and had conquered the Soul Society on the merit alone of his strength and a borrowed Zanpakuto. Becoming human had not diminished this man's power, nor his presence. To have become as powerful as this man was to mean an eternal ego which none could ever break or destroy. And, upon sweeping in, the entire room's atmosphere changed. It was not cold and crushing like one would have expected from the man who had been named "God of Murder" in title. It was not even so overpowering as to be God-like. The title "strongest man in the world" was one which could be doubted by the presence alone, if taken alone. However, it was compensated for by the man's instant domination of the room. His entry caused the atmosphere to shift and become official rather than casual, and his presence was...one which could not be measured. Sitting in his presence was like trying to measure the air. As if he were simply beyond either Arrancar.

Satsujun, however, could command the room however it was that he wanted. Clad in a black suit with a gray dress shirt and solid black skinny tie, Satsujun took a seat in the leather chair of the desk facing Marcelius and Cierro. His skin was pale white, like a ghost, and he possessed medium length, unruly black hair, and eyes with whites black as night, iris red. In his pupils, one could see green double pentagrams in the dead center, indicating something was special about him. Yes, Satsujun was special. In one way or another, he was. Arrancar would be less familiar with the name, but anyone knew that even Sonken Kouhai feared this man. Anyone that had been alive in Las Noches over ten years ago when Satsujun had briefly conquered the Soul Society knew that upon hearing the news, rather than attacking Soul Society, Kouhai had fortified the defenses of Las Noches. Anyone that knew their history also knew that whatever had forced Satsujun into this weaker, lesser form, had also been unable to take his life or even imprison him. It also meant that, at the peak of his power, Satsujun was closest to God than any other living being.

But, suddenly, the conversation was casual again. An arrogant smile played on Satsujun's lips, not disguised in any way, and filled with the sort of hubris which made even the poor guilty of treason. "Have you seen Black Swan?" Satsujun asked Cierro directly, though Marcelius might be able to answer it as well. Images, for sensors such as Marcelius at least, would flash of two naked women kissing one another, perhaps briefly, at the mention of that movie. "It was a very entertaining psychological thriller, though also appealing for other reasons as well." Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis making out had officially entered the conversation, and perhaps the images had entered the mind of Marcelius as well. Along with it, however, there were other images for the sensor, who would find that Satsujun was filled with something which could not be described by the simple, common day terms of understanding that Marcelius utilized in order to comprehend those with whom he interacted or made deeper connections. Satsujun did not have anything which Marcelius would be able to truly understand.

Certainly, there was bitterness, and rage, and hatred, but these were a small part of Satsujun. Boiling inside of him was...something indescribable. Something awe-inspiring. To Marcelius, it would be painful to even attempt to listen, to the point of possibly driving him insane if he did not tune it out. It would almost be as if he was deaf to the voices of Satsujun. Not only was there the inconceivable weight of God-hood, for Satsujun had held such power not once, but twice, but there was also the emptiness and void of being a husk for over thirty thousand years, as Satsujun had done, all while planning in a crafty, manipulative way. The times he had used to plan his revenge. To concoct his master scheme. Seconds were like hours. Hours were like days. And yet he spent real hours and real days there, in the dungeons, crawling on a dungeon floor. Real decades. Real centuries. Real millennia. The age, experience, and knowledge of Satsujun were something above and beyond Marcelius. The God-like, if not actual holy and deity status of the man before the two Arrancar was something else.

"We should be negotiating, I suppose..." Satsujun said, in a surprisingly casual, exasperated sigh. "I don't really feel like doing that, though. Why don't we go to a strip club, a bar, or a mall?" That was his suggestion. Instead of flat negotiating with them, Satsujun was offering a social outing. That would be a story. A social outing with the God of Murder. Bragging rights were certain to follow. But could Satsujun be trusted? Was he trustworthy? After all, this man was cunning, and had hidden his agenda for decades. He had once been Captain Commander, was considered more powerful than either the current Captain Commander as well as Sonken Kouhai (combined), and had once conquered Seireitei. Of course, to refuse him would be foolish. To make an enemy of the strongest man in the world would not go over well with Kouhai, and least of all would it go over well with the two Arrancar who were actually in direct proximity to him.

[Marcelius]

Turning now, a rather uncommon smugness on his face; the elder Fraccion greeted the Espada Cierro with a smirk that tried to rival his own in devilishness. A feat; which of course, was far beyond the humble Marcelius' abilities. It was all he could think to reply with as he came to face the Espada. "Had he seen a movie lately?", it was not so much surprise at the question...but at the timing. Here they were, isolated in the human world. Waiting in a boardroom for the most terrifying individual currently "living" to come waltzing through the door with demands of who knows what. And all that the Octava could think to say, was an inquiry into a lowly Fraccion's freetime. With the upmost sincerity and cheer, Marc wondered how anyone could hate this man.

Truly? What was it that made people sleek so terribly about Cierro? Up until now Marcelius had seen very little of him, yet heard so much. There was a story from almost every soul one could meet in Las Noches, yet none of them similar. Well...save for the horniness and depravity, but those were hardly the worse characteristics an Arrancar could have. With all the stories he had been told, Marc suspected he would understand a great deal about this individual. But no, no he did not. Now, as a wonderful example; why did Cierro bother to notice the scarecrow in the room? He was neither a slut nor a tralop, yet the Octava interacted with him. My my, how wrong all those stories were. To make things better, the Espada actually wanted to hear something that did not concern himself. Whether sincere or not, such intrigue in others was also an unexpected quality. So again, Marcelius ricited in his head, why do people speak so terribly about this Hollow? The answers to that would take time, it seems. Judging from the state of Cierro's thoughts and emot...shit...

The elder's chest suddenly collapsed, as though he were tugged placed beneath a rock. Ever tendon in his body became petrified and still, unable to guide the muscles to action. His joints which ached even in the clearest of weather, began to torment his nerves with agony and complaint. A pressure, beyond any he felt before, was pushing in from all directions. Yes. In. It was not ordinary Reiatsu which caused this. What felt like a rock before, now covered him in entirety. He was not being squashed by it, he was engulfed. It was everywhere at once: omnipetent and omnipotent. It was the presence of a god. What was this? Who was this? He could hear no name. He could hear no emotion. The answers which usually sang to him through life's orchestra were gone. Abandoning him to the crushing silence.

So pure was this laconism, that he could no longer sense Cierro in the room. This was loneliness. Isolation. This is what the condemned must feel like on the day of judgment. Struck with paralysis, only his eyes retained in life within them. The deep blue figures, desperately shot to the door, as the heavy porticullis burst open wide. Seeing the one known as Satsujin, for the first time...there are no real words to describe it. It is not the same as greeting another soul. Even as humbled as he was by the King of Las Noches; the Segunda, the Tercera...all of those brilliant spirits which came before...this was something else.

Never before had he required willpower to look an individual in the eyes. Being quite unafraid of death, old Marc had only the unknown left to fear. That is exactly what this was, the terror of the unknown. No...the unknowable. Had his body not gone numb to the sudden article of such a tremendous pressure; his heart would have seemed to be in his throat. Fortunately for him, a stature as he was, he did not seem to crumble in the company of this archon of authority. Rather, he seemed as he was before the freeze...postured and professional. It was not until he heard the voice of this man, that he reawakened from his withdrawal.

It would seem, this was indeed, their illustrious host. Like a tidal wave, the impact of his appearance quickly departed. Like lenses adjusting to the light, Marcelius was swiftly rebounding. Once again, the words of their host played a great role in said recovery. At first there was some comment about a movie, something which his dull ears missed almost completely. The following phrase seemed connected, as images began to spread through the room like heat lightning in a summer sky. At the mere mention of...whatever it was, depictions of young women filled his thoughts. These were most certainly on loan from his companions, as such thoughts were no where to be found in his memories.

Picking up from context provided from both Cierro and the ghost...it was a passionate scene depicting the romance of two fairly attractive actresses. As quickly as the memory came, Marc was eager to shunt it from his mind. Unfortunately the imagination of the others was plenty more than necessary...to keep the scene around till it's end. Hopefully he could keep a straight face, and not let on just how he felt about the thought. Or that he was capable of sharing it with the others. Answering before Cierro might speak up, the Fraccion was eager to cover his expressiveness with a volley of words. It was an honest man's only true defense. Or so the conversation loving codger believed.

"No, I cannot say that I have. But I'll remember your words as a suggestion the next time I have time to myself." For some reason, the elder held out his hand...as though he might shake with the "God of Murder". There had yet been a proper introduction, and honestly, there was not much call for one. They knew he was, and that is all that mattered. To him, they must appear as insignificant as one could be. Just faces whose names mattered less than the space they occupied. Again, just one more assumption. Regardless of that fact, the senior had been trained in etiquette...and by this point is was as much instinct as breathing.

Whether he shook hands with the, demigod seems apt, was irrelevant. Their meeting had officially started with all the pomp and fanfare that any world altering negotiation might. Now as the talks began, it became ever harder to retain his focus. Where there was a depression before, a lull where he could regain his footing; Marcelius noticed that the room was becoming quite uncomfortable yet again. Though the pressure had become manageable, something else was wrong. Normally the ability to perceive and interact with the soul of others was a blessing, but now...he was not prepared for this. Sound was returning to him, as though his ears had finally popped.

Once again his extra sense was able to collect signals being released by Satsujin's unique mentality. They were coming in like a strobe light, flashing and flickering in too many sequences and hues to be pleasant. If their conversation were to drag on, indeed, this would cause poor Marc to have quite the fit. Delusions, hallucinations...perhaps the effects of the stress might even turn physical. Nausea, headaches...possibly even cardiac troubles? Certainly, it was more than enough reason to not savor the strange man's company. However, to the rest of the members of this room, he did not look troubled. There was no visible sign of distress on his aged face. Being so expressive as he was...how could this be? Simple. What Satsujin might cause in sensory overload, was nothing compared to the man to Marcelius' side.

The enigma that is Cierro, an Arrancar who can live any life he wants...be anything he wishes; while never actually revealing anything genuine or truthful. Cierros mind was this relaxing fog of uncertainty and delusion. Where normally it would cause the elder trouble; now it was more of a retreat. A cover which softened the blow of the human's odd psyche. So long as he stayed with them both, the sensor could balances the forces against one another. How long would this balancing game last? Difficult to say for sure. Marc's will could only endure if the tension in the room remained lax. Seeing as the God of Death had little to cause him worry...and Cierro was Cierro, it would be Marcelius' whose nerves might tip the scale. "Makes this simple...just breath. Just bre..."

"I don't really feel like doing that, though. Why don't we go to a strip club..."

Suddenly, the elder glanced his eyes towards Cierro..."Oh no..."

[Cierro Muerte]

Cierro turned his head as Satsujun shoved the doors open, his smile not disappearing as the legend entered the room. Most would consider themselves like insects compared to the God of Death, even people standing on the level of Kouhai could not compare to this man. However, Cierro didn’t seem intimidated or outclassed in the slightest. He was easygoing and didn’t really care about the strengths of people, after all, fighting wasn’t everything. He definitely didn’t consider himself less of a person than Kuroi or Adalo or even Satsujun. “Have you seen Black Swan?” said Satsujun with an arrogant smirk, “It was very entertaining psychological thriller, though also appealing for other reasons as well.” Satsujun was now speaking Cierro’s language. “Oh man, have I! Wait... wait no... I’ve just seen one part of it. Though I’ve seen that one scene a good dozen times, I think you know the one I’m talking about.” Cierro winked at the God of Murder like a bro.

“We should be negotiating, I suppose...” continued Satsujun, “I don’t really feel like doing that, though. Why don’t we go to a strip club, a bar, or a mall?” Cierro’s ears perked at the suggestion and his eyes widened. Was this his chance? His opportunity to ditch the uncomfortable attire and do what he’d been wanting to do since arriving here in England. Luckily he and Marcelius were here in gigai, so they would be able to interact with humans if they so wanted to, however gigai were uncomfortable for Cierro who was used to walking around essentially in the nude at all times. Clothes were not something he was used to as the clothes he usually wore were simply manifestations of his shapeshifting.

“STRIP CLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUB!!!” shouted Cierro standing up with his hands in the air, “Let’s do iiiiit! Party time, MARCELIUS, I’M INVOKING ESPADA STATUS AND OVER-RULING ANY OBJECTIONS YOU HAVE, WE’RE GETTING YOU A LAP DANCE!” A newfound burst of excitement filled the eighth espada as he grasped Satsujun’s hand in his with tears running down his eyes, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth! Now lead the way! I’m unfamiliar with the clubs around here, so I’m counting on you to show me a good time!”

Cierro was no fool though, his trust would not be sold so readily. While he was eager to have some fun, his guard was not dropped despite appearances. He knew the seriousness of the situation and recognized that they still had business to get down to, however he’d jam as much fun in his job that he could. So the three would travel to the best club in the area dressed like bosses and ready to drop some panties. The god, the old man, and the pervert made an interesting trio as Cierro kicked in the door to the gentleman’s club with a sly smirk spread across his face. The heavy club music pulsed through his blood and the neon lights gave his eyes an experience he was all too familiar with. The eighth espada was in his element now.

[Zou ۞]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Play this}

Fast forward around an hour, a cab ride, and some pocket change for the executive of a huge firm. Land in the heart of London, a city filled with history and scandal. Within the central areas one can always find a club or two. Somewhere to get a drink and some fish and chips. Somewhere to meet an attractive woman, or somewhere sketchy to do some shady business. Even in the daylight, locating a dark place with strobe lights, dancing, and decadence is never difficult. Not in the booming city of London. So, fast forward an hour, a cab ride, and some pocket change for the executive of a huge firm, and land in the heart of London, in a strip club that few know about, and fewer still attend regularly. Only about a dozen men sat in the lounge of this very strip club, with some of the most attractive women imaginable laid bare for all to see. All of the men who sat there wore elegant tuxedos or similar attire. It was not uncustomary to dress sharply here in London, least of all in this part of town. This was where the wealthy came to blow their wealth. It was where the finest alcohol was found, and the finest women as well. It was a place where the "no touch" rule could be overlooked for the right price.

Satsujun was there as well, though he had disappeared into a closet momentarily before leading out Cierro and Marcelius, and come back out in a white suit with a purple collared shirt underneath, and no tie, though matching pants, and shiny, slick black shoes. He looked like he was going to party. So he sat with the two Arrancar there in a triangle of three lounge chairs, feet up on a table in the center. That table was irrelevant, because each of the three had a personal table next to them at their side, with a glass of fine scotch, and the bottle next to them to pour more. They each also had shots of moonshine, perhaps for later. Each of the men also had at least three women dancing around them in black lace, though the more money was funneled toward the women, the more that they started to take off. Satsujun had been kind enough to pay for everything there, for all three of them, and had spared no expense at all. He had ensured that his two guests were in the most comfortable lounge chairs, had the best drinks, and could order whatever it was that they pleased. The women were also of immeasurable quality, and still the God of Murder remained difficult to read.

"Luxury...decadence..." Satsujun said, holding up his glass of scotch. "These are some of the only things worth living for." He lowered the glass again, and continued speaking. Around them, women danced while he spoke, and some of the other customers laughed. In one corner, there were two men, with cigars and suits, and grins on their faces, and lots and lots of gold on the tables next to them. "Humans live life mostly in ignorance of the forces around them, whether it be the Spirit King, or the wars of the Gotei and Las Noches, or even something as simple and mysterious as fate. Even the Fullbringers and Quincy, though blessed with spiritual powers and awareness, remain blind to the events which shape their history. Instead, they live autonomous lives focused on change and progress, with no appreciation for conservation of the old, and the traditional, or for peace, goodness, and stability. In such a world as this, one can only hope to find a daily monotony which pleases him. The only victory to be found in the human world is in riches."

Satsujun raised the glass to his lips, and drank from it. He did not finish it, but rather only drank half, and then set it back down again. Satsujun looked around, and drank in the remainder of the scene. "Yet, even so, humans cannot help but feel a yearning for something more...Whether Arrancar, or Shinigami, or Fullbringer, we all have an instinct which tells us to climb higher. Grow stronger. In the end, what we truly crave is not stability, but power. We are willing to sacrifice all of these decadent powers and riches to achieve power. And what greater prestige can there be but as one of the higher ups of Las Noches or the Gotei? As a Captain, or as an Espada? Who can challenge either of these great factions? These are the ultimate goals of all people, whether they realize it or not. To seize dominance over the roles that these two factions play in their eternal war. And that is why you desire my aid. To maintain an upper hand over the Gotei, whom you know to be my enemies. But ask yourselves, what can you offer me as well? I, who am called the strongest man in the world. What can I be given?"

[Adrastos]

(OOC: Since no one will take the last slot, I guess I would like to be the filler in this Canon. So let's begin)

This place is foreign to him. The blinding lights, the number of unusual contraptions lingering about. Everything in this so called "city" was crowded and compact. This made moving around difficult without slamming into these towering weak monuments that the humans have created. Just a little touch from any part of his body would break these puny structures into pieces. A time long forgotten when buildings and structures were once built by mud, straw, and brittle pieces of stone, were now replaced by metal and glass. Truly a sight to behold in a small aspect, but based on how frail these structures are would make the ancients die of laughter and shame. How pitiful it was to crowd such enormous towers together. For they all are easy targets and would cause heavy causalities should someone or "something'" choose to destroy such creations.

Nonetheless, he was not in the mood for such destruction, nor was he so simple minded. The beast was hungry but no foolishly drowned in his hunger to blind himself to the realization of what the results might bring forth. Humans running about screaming at the death and destruction that he could cause would have them scurrying for their lives and gather trouble that he would not like. He has learned from his previous actions and chose not to repeat them once again. At the same time, it would take about a thousand or so humans to even scratch the itch of hunger that he feels inside. Only one who is truly powerful could hope to fill such a urge. Besides, there was no sport in the hunt. To feed on prey that does not know that you exist, nor feel the slightest bit of fear does not even begin to weep his appetite. Traveling such portals referred to as "Gargantas" have cause him nothing but trouble, for if they are created by another individual, then he would not know where it will take him so.

This particular gate had sent him to the city of "London." Such a stupid name for a city. A name little to no purpose, and even if he had known the meaning behind it, it would mostly be a weak meaning. How troublesome this London was. All the noise and bickering that its inhabitants cause was wrecking the creatures ears. Although his earring was not superb by any chance, it was the annoyance of the laughter, the funny talk, and the constant beeping on the busy roads that cause his ears such suffering. Wanting to move away from the temptation of ridding the annoyance with violence, Adrastos removed himself from such areas and replaced his environment with a more dark quiet scenery. A more remote and secluded environment which only the fearless, how the humans would refer to it as, would only dare venture. This suited Adrastos' tastes more. This is somewhere he could begin his hunt. If only there was something strong to hunt to begin with.

The narrow passages know as "alleys" made it more difficult to venture through, so he had to find alternative means to pass through certain locations. Not only his size of 40' made it almost impossible to turn around sharp corners, but his thunderous steps would alert many potential meals of his presence. He had to take his time and slowly move about with each step that he took. This took more time to readjust to create a more softening thump on the concrete flooring. Now this was annoying[/i] A irritated thought emerging from the constant ceasing of movement to analyze his new environment before pressing forward. If it wasn't for his desperation in the search of powerful meals to eat by keeping a low profile, then he would more happily crushing everything around him. All he knew was how much he hated London now. Not only for the crowded scenery that hurt his head but the treacherous tiny stair that must be conquered before moving forward. Oh how much did hate stairs. Who the hell was the one who invented stairs. Nearly impossible to take a step on a single edge before proceeding on to the next. Whatever. About an hour or so to cross the evil flight of steps the tyrant was finally able to pick up on some spiritual activity. His energy sensory were low, extremely low. Only able to point him in a the right direction and if it was close by. How pitiful it was, but it was better than nothing.

The signature lore him more into the dark terrain of London. The odors were more damp and musty, which did not bother the beast so much. Not only that but the passages began to widen as well. Much better to move around. He continued is slowly march through the dark streets until he felt the signature was behind him. Surely the presence did not move but it was more lingering in one location. Turning back to retrace his steps Adrastos felt the signature behind him once more. Perhaps he was not looking hard enough, but with his sensory so low he could not pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Finally, after carefully surveying the dank street he had discovered that the source was emitting from one of the small complexes across the darkened alley he was in. Surely it was a tight fit and most likely he stepped in something that he did not want to find out. The individual unit of bricks grind against his bone like hips as he lowered himself to eye across the musky street into the building. From what he could make out there were many occupants within the complex. Woman doing something with other individuals. Did not matter for what he was searching for was inside. Not knowing what he was dealing with exactly, Adrastos remained still in his alley way and waited to see what would transpire next.

SPOILER: Click to show

{stats}
Strength - 350 Points Increase x7 = 2450

Speed - 200 Points Decrease 1/5 = 40

Spiritual Pressure - 200 Points Decrease 1/5 = 40

Reiatsu Strength - 150 Points Decrease 1/5 = 30

Light Aura - 20 Points

Dark Aura - 80 Points

Instinct - 100 Points Decrease 1/5 = 20

Senses - 200 Points Decrease 1/5 = 40

Energy sensory - 50 Points Decrease 1/5 = 10

Healing Expertise - 0 Points

Total SP Points = 1250

SPOILER: Click to show

{skills}

1. Battle Skill - Physical Intimidation - [3]

2. Battle Skill - Pain Tolerance - [2]

3. Mind Skill - Strength of Will - [3]

4. Mind Skill - Battle Focus - [2]

5. Body Skill - Poison Resistance - [2]

6. Mental Skill - Lack of Fear - [2]

7. Utility Skill - Charisma/Leadership - [1]


SKP Total = 15

[Marcelius]

(OoC: I want to apologize to our new addition. This post doesn't mention you, but I recognize your in the thread I swear! It was just getting late and this was my third post in one day...so I decided to wrap this one up before mentioning you. Next time bud...expectsome focus!!)

"STRIP CLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUB!!!"

The trill of that grating voice was almost enough to cause a blush. Not the sort of rosey hue that comes from embarrassment...not to say that Cierro did not have every reason to be shamed for his actions...but more of the hue of sickness. Yes, comparing how he felt to illness would be most accurate and just. This meeting was supposed to be an austere occasion. There was supposed to be etiquette, maturity, even a modicum of self control. Oh, oh no. There was no way in all of fates cruel and twisted design, that something could go according to plan for the servants of Las Noches. Heavens forbid that the poor mannerss and instinctual predisposition to do what is worst for them...would not be showcased by either himself or his fellow Arrancar Embajadors. God. For. Fuc...no. No. This was not going to fall apart so hastily. He would put a stop to this now.

With nothing more than patient suggestion, the Fraccion would offer a small alternative. An agreeable option which would allow all to win and every need to be catered. The proposal? That they simply conclude their business first, and use the Gentleman's Club as a celebration for whatever they decide. Whether the course of their negotiations went well or not, everyone could relish in the fact that a reward might await them at the end. It was going to delay whatever enjoyment they might have to postpone the discussions, considering that they must reach some sort of arrangement before either party can leave...or relax. It was the correct and efficient thing to do. Business, then pleasure; which is made more pleasurable by the wait. Yes. That is what he would recommend, that the come to terms as friends before indulging in the salacious delights of the evening to come. After all...who better to indluge with than a friend? But as he went to raise his voice, and issue his concerns...

"...MARCELIUS, I’M INVOKING ESPADA STATUS AND OVER-RULING ANY OBJECTIONS YOU HAVE..." More feverish shrieking came pouring into his ear, corrupting and infecting his thoughts like a disease. Damn it. Just...damn it to the saltiest pit of hell, where it might drown in the very preservation of it's agony and wretchedness. Cierro had pulled out The Card. Nothing meant more to Marcelius than the welfare of Las Noches, but in that respect, there came rules. For him to uphold and improve the ideologies of his new home, he had to observe and respect it's tenents. One of which...was governship of the strong. In this room, no Arrancar outmatched or out ranked the Octava. None could challenge his orders, wishes, or shortcomings. Marc would say nothing to the contrary of a direct order from a superior...certainly not in front of a possible threat. He would not allow Las Noches to appear as though dissension existed within it's ranks. They would not appear broken. They would not seem weakened or ununited in the face of nonkin.

As long as Satsujin was watching, he would maintain the view of a structured and fearsome Kingdom of Hollows. That said...no one but he played spectator to the world of his mind. While his exterior swallowed all insecurities and uncertainties, confident to take part in the plans of his host and the Espada...his thoughts were dark. Plagued by both the voice of Kuroi and that malicious mentality which characterized the Segunda. He could hear it clearly as he turned to face the ecstatic Octava; a message that might as well have come from The Boss himself. [smear:ffff00]"Kill him. Now. Before he ruins everything, and makes a fool of Las Noches."[/smear:ff3300]

Fighting back the thought, hoping to silence such an unacceptable and unthinkable strategy..."WE’RE GETTING YOU A LAP DANCE!"..."Crush his throat under your boot. Use his gargling death to punctuate your message...that Las Noches and her interests were not to be ignored or tiffled with." Turning back to the human, starring with eyes as empty as they were blue. There was disapproval within this elder, though it appeared far more muted than the words which clawed at the irritation in his skull. To Satsujin, near divine as he may be, this oldster would appear unenthused...and nothing more. "The choice is made, it would seem. As the native, you must have a place in mind. I am sure it will not disappoint." Ugh, there was simply no way to respond to this new change. This was NOT the experience that Marcelius had hoped for...

The trio were off rather quickly, a level of haste which should have been easily deciphered. What young man, intoxicated with the sins of the world, would linger at such a time? Let alone a pervert and a man who knows himself to rival gods. Such individuals were...are, constantly drawn to whatever indulgences boost their joys at the cost of others. It is their nature, much like loathing such activities is his. Still, despite the eagerness to which he believed his company to be driven, something was off. Perhaps it was nothing more than uncertainty, but still it remained.

There was something in the way that Satsujin carried himself, the way he behaved in so many ways like a human, that struck Marc as strange. Even one such as he, who in many ways envied the simplicity of life that humans lived by comparison to his own people...did not fit so well among them. With all his desires to mimic their level of consideration and emotion, he was still an outsider. This stranger could move among them without suspicion or impedence. Had he been embedded into their world for so long, that he could just fade into the masses? How...how did such a infamous soul make a life among the humans work. What was his secret?

The cab ride was quite the oddity. Indeed, it was Marcelius' first ride in an automated carriage. Though he was comprised of many numerous memories of riding in cars, in wagons, buggies, or on horseback...this was the first he could recollect as his own. Such an experience should have been far more enjoyable. That floating sensation which comes from moving by the will of something else. Sadly, the joy was numbed. The presence of this God of Murder was simply to oppressive for any other sensation to be savored. Concentrating as he could, on the void that Cierro happily maintained at all moments of rest, it was still all he could do to not fidget in duress.

If he were growing more accustomed to this man's company, it was certainly taking a long time. Soon a btreif reprieve would be granted him, one short lopived...and like all moments of his blessed life, wrought with all sorts of discomfort and disdain. For it was now that they were deposited at the entrqce of a most illicit of structures. A building which guised itself with disinterest, hiding the depraved aspects of its contents and occupants in the broad of day. Traveling inside meant loosing sight of Satsujin. Though it was a moment to breath, there was the concerns of just where he could have gone. Paranoia came first...followed swiftly by the shame which Cierro had discarded long ago...yet another orphan that Marc would adopt.

Standing at the entrance to the club, left to wonder where their host might have gone to; Marcelius did what he could to trace the Fullbringer...instead of notice the scene about him.at his side, the smaller figure of the far more charming and fitting Cierro. With his wide eyes, throbbing pulse, and alarming drool; it was clear that this devil was home again. With a Gigai giving him physical presence, coupled with the lewdness that exuded from his aura, even the most inept entertainers would identify him. Cash Cow. It would not be long, seated or no, that servants and spectacles would be tossed and thrown to him. Pay day was going to come early. The very notion would have made the Fraccion's spine tingle, were he one who cared. See, his concerns were not for the existence of amoral activities.

Truthfully, he could not care less: who, where, how, why, or what Cierro...or anyone else...tried to copulate with. Liquor and other voces were of no consequence either. No, what got to him was proximity. Being near these activies and contaminants was damaging for him. In a room such as this, he was constantly barraged with the worst of human interactions and feelings. Not just the obvious lewdness of the clientele... but the motivators behind it all. The anger or grief which plagued otherwise normal men and women, driving them to such places. The terror or inhibition of the workers, either performing out of need or bold delight. Worse still was the opulence of this particular establishment. In such a place as this, laws lost meaning. While this might be a strip club that the common man could dream about, other far more difficult to imagine activities transpire here. This was a longue for those who have grown too rich, having bought all the legal joys, turn to the darker foxes to solve their miserable issues. Seeing as each soul he locked eyes with divulged their every secret, desire, expectation, and memory...this was a vault of tortures for a man who wanted nothing more than to be content.

The return of Satsujin did not put the Fraccion's paranoia to rest, but it did offer distraction. Now that their host had returned, perhaps they could begin their business? Such was Marc's prayer, as they were lead to their own private section. There they found lounging chairs and tasteful side tables. On each rested a glass, filled with liquid which did not have to be tasted for it's quality to be known. Taking his appointed seat, Marcelius now had a grasp for the sort of wealth and influence this spiritual being held in the material world. Truly, it was astounding. Not enough to strike the old man dumb, but enough to provide a momentary awe. Quickly the geezer made himself cozy, turning to face the human which had brought them here.

Eager to speak his peace with the generous man, the Arrancar wanted to make the most of this opportunity. An opportunity...in which the feel of cool, refreshing Scotch and heat of young women, would distract the Octava from ruining the negotiations further. Now facing Satsujin, he spoke with hopes of being heard of the alluring music that flooded the room. Would the Fullbringer hear him, remained to be seen. (Get it? Hear can be literal, or metaphorical! It means Marc doesn't think Satsujin will give a damn what he has to say! XD ) "So then, should we..."...no sooner had he began, did the. Human cut him off. Seems business had not taken quite the pause he had guessed.

Listening to the context of Satsujin's words, it became painfully clear the situation they were in. They were not negotiating the lives of those they represented. No no, they were haggling with a salesman over the value of commodity. That is all the strongest in the world could see this as. Giving his rousing speech about "what those with power seek", he had given color to the sketchy mentality Marc had drawn up in their first interactions. He was looking the Fraccion in the eyes, so to speak, and demanding a value for the lives of all the countless occupants of his family. How much were they worth? Was it enough to buy the loyalty...no, not loyalty...the tolerance of this man? Their offer had to be higher than that of their enemies. Not just now, but in the long run. If an investment was to be made, it needed to produce. What then, was Las Noches going to produce?

Were the man's tone less audacious, Marcelius would have delighted in the question. A chance to consider and praise all the accomplishments that his people could someday achieve. Would someday achieve. But in this context, it was like sizing up the lab before the slaughter. Still...he was sent to negotiate, and unfortunately, his country was not to be too picky with it's allies. After all...how many could they ever hope to have. So to answer, a measured and serious tone. " Nothing earthly. Las Noches does not trade in such things." Eye looking around the room before him, trying not to dwell on the thoughts of any human for too long..."We could promise some sort of protection or service. 'We could keep the Hollows out of your yard, mind our own more carefully.' But as the strongest man in the world, with the competency to run a business, you could ensure that for yourself with the help of other spiritually aware humans. Just the same, riches and posterity do nothing for a man with more of each, than any other living soul. Note...I say living. There are still those in the afterlife, whom think less of your title than they rightfully should. There will always be doubters, or challengers. The one benefit, is that the challengers and doubters from Las Noches would speak their beliefs to your face. One with power like yours, knows that such is the best you could ever hope for when it comes to honesty in your allies. Like you said, no matter who, we all still crave more power. But, the honesty of Hollows desires is not the only reward to be had. There is also the matter of territory...something which you have run out of on this side of existence. Were one side to win in our war with the Soul Society, there would be a vast vacancy opened. Either Hueco Mundo...or the Soul Society. Only Hollows crave the comforts of The Sands, yet, the Shinigami would not give them to you as spoils. If Las Noches were to be rid of the Shinigami, and the massive death squads they call "Court Guards"...then what need would we have of those lands? They mean less to us, than the inhabitants who now occupy them. They would be yours...you home, returned to you. Heartless as we are, there are still Hollows who know the pleasures that come from having a home."

To accomplish his speech, was an incredible force of will. To overcome the discomfort of this meeting room, and his associates, required a sincere miracle of resolve. Since miracles were not so reliable, the Arrancar innoculated his nevres with his first glass of scotch. Poison it may be, but damn effective it was. his suggestions were winded, they were accurate. Fullbringers assisting Las Noches could easily be rewarded with the bounties of the Soul Society. After all...all that the Masks desired, was to be the apex predators. With the hunters gone, all realms were equal in merit or worth. The risk? A new leader takes over theGotei,replacing the now extinct Shinigami. In such an event, Las Noches still cut it's enemies by half. Such odds were the best "monsters" like them could hope for.

[Zou ۞]

Suddenly, the atmosphere which surrounded Satsujun shifted. It was not that his demeanor changed, and to Cierro there would be no difference at all to notice. Rather, it was the flood of emotions and memories possessed by the man once called God of Murder which changed their direction. As he had spoken, images had flashed of the contemporary, in that the Tridential Conflict which had only recently transpired had been in his mind, along with images of his most recent battles with the Gotei Thirteen. Now, however, his mind turned toward another, far more distant memory, which to Marcelius may come off as so filled with static that it was barely readable. It was, however, a brief glimpse into the man. It was a flash of Satsujun, surrounded by Shinigami in white robes, and wearing a robe of his own black in color, while wielding a blade covered in fire. It showed his face covered in shock as chains attempted to bind him, and then suddenly skipped to another image entirely. It was an image of some sort of pot of liquid metal, boiling and bubbling, but with no clear purpose to it.

Then suddenly, his thoughts shut out Marcelius, and Satsujun spoke. "You seem to understand a little bit..." he said. "It isn't only what you can offer during the war, but after it. But, what good is offering me land that I will own one day regardless? What good is offering me land in the first place? That is material wealth, which I can seek at my leisure whenever it is that I desire. It is as I said previously. The only thing that truly matters is power. The difference between power and money is that power is far sweeter, but that money lasts far longer, and is more flexible." Satsujun had a solid understanding of the dynamics of politics, but was that all? His personality seemed rather inconsistent. He was socially adept, but also serious, and a pragmatist. After 33,000 years, perhaps he really did not have any kind of personality. Perhaps he was many different personalities working toward a goal. It would explain why he was so difficult to read. Satsujun, however, would of course never explain it. That was not the sort of thing that he did. He didn't explain himself. He was above the common logic of lesser beings, after all.

Finishing his glass of scotch and setting it back down, Satsujun pulled out a pack of long, white cigarettes, and an expensive looking gold lighter. He put one of the cigarettes in his mouth, and then held out the pack to the other two, offering each a cigarette. The pack read that they were mint flavored as well, so that there would be some sort of mint associated with the smoke. Whether or not they accepted, Satsujun soon closed the pack and put it back into his pocket. He lit their cigarettes, if they took any, and then lit his own as well, and put the lighter away. The God of Murder, of course, would not fear something such as lung cancer. He took his cigarette out of his mouth after the first puff, and exhaled, releasing smoke into the air. It smelled of mint, rather than the usual tobacco and menthol smell associated with cigarettes. The Strongest Man In The World. That was what they called him. But both knew that he was stronger than that. Stronger even than the Shinigami Captain Commander, one might venture to guess. Satsujun had once been a Captain Commander himself, rumor had it. The strongest one ever to live.

"What I want in exchange for my services is like a combination of money and power." Satsujun said. "I want the benefits of power, but also the longevity to my benefits as what money holds. The last time that we negotiated, it was myself and your current Segunda Espada, one on one. He convinced me at the time that I could ally with you for a set number of years, which expired only days ago, because he could offer the services in return of himself, an undefeated monster who went on to successfully raid the Soul Society over a dozen times, and of Guujin Karai, who could produce mind control, among others." Satsujun stopped, and inhaled again from his cigarette, dipping down for another smoke. The cigarette butt glowed red hot as Satsujun inhaled, and part of the wrapping dissolved away, leaving only the ash to fall off into the ash tray that Satsujun also kept on his table. His exhale released more smoke, and with it more mint smell. The original women surrounding all of the men had left, and new ones, more attractive than before, had come to replace them.

"I understand that things have changed." Satsujun said. "I understand that now, there is a Captain of the Gotei Thirteen who has succeeded in killing a former associate of mine, Zouma Santeku, as well as one of your Espada. I understand that despite the Segunda's success, there is a Squad 7 Captain capable of facing him on par, or so I have been told. I have heard that two of your Captains are alone responsible for the deaths of the majority of the Ogatago during the Tridential Conflict, and that in the last war, a new foe came to show itself. This Quincy army, the Vandenreich. I understand that you have lost some people." Satsujun was not yet to the point of what he wanted to say to them, however, but he was getting there. His implication thus far was of Captains who may be able to match Kuroi and reduce the Segunda's efficiency and success, and not to mention some other scary thoughts which had now come into the world. The Vandenreich was just one. There were the humans of PHOENIX, and there was the rising power the Escudo. Turmoil existed everywhere.

"There are more players in the game." Satsujun said. "And your primary competitors have grown more powerful than since you and I last procured a deal. The dynamics have changed. Considering their previous invasion success against the Gotei Thirteen, why should I not ally instead with the Vandenreich? I cannot ally with both you and them. It is one or the other. I must choose. What makes you a superior option? I don't doubt that you have powerful warriors, but what makes you special? What can you offer me, of any sort, that will convince me to offer you my power when you do face off against the Gotei in your final war?" It was not a matter of disregarding Satsujun. He had been sending Las Noches aid in missions for years. His network of spies and informants had allowed covert ops such as what Shiroi Hokai often did to become efficient, more than ever before. Satsujun's wealth had allowed Las Noches to maintain high level training rooms for its Arrancar to grow far more powerful as well. So then, if Satsujun could offer them so many things, what could they give him in return?

Satsujun paused. "One of you, go out and fetch the Hollow lurking in the alleyway and trying to sniff our reiatsu. His attempt at hiding his presence is quite embarrassing." Over at Adastros, a shadow suddenly appeared next to his.

[Cierro Muerte]

Cierro had practically been bouncing in his seat during the cab ride to the gentlemen’s club. He certainly hadn’t expected this turn of events, but he was not complaining. If he could kick back and enjoy this meeting with Satsujun while watching women remove their clothes, why wouldn’t he? After arriving, each of the three were taken to a room with three leather lounge chairs arranged in a triangle. Some of the sexiest women Cierro had seen in his life danced around them as Cierro sipped excitedly from the scotch on his side-table. “Luxury....decadence...” spoke the man as he held his drink in the air, “These are some of the only things worth living for.”

Satsujun went on to speak about his outlook on humans and spirits. He spoke on the yearning humans have for something more than their lot in life. He concluded that humans craved power and status above all else. Cierro mostly agreed with Satsujun’s declarations. At the very least he didn’t disagree enough to voice his opinion. “And that is why you desire my aid. To maintain an upper hand over the Gotei, whom you know to be my enemies. But ask yourselves, what can you offer me as well? I, who am called the strongest man in the world. What can I be given?” This guy certainly knew how to market himself.

Cierro would have thought of an eloquent response, but the girl dancing in front of him had just taken her top off and was moving in such a way that sent shivers down the Octavo’s spine. To say the espada had a hard-on right now was an understatement. “Booobs...” muttered Cierro to himself in a dazed, euphoric state. Clearly he was unfit to respond and Marcelius took it upon himself to reply to Satsujun’s inquiry. “Nothing earthly. Las Noches does not trade in such things,” the fraccion said as he continued on about providing protection or regulation of Hollows. Hollows?” thought Cierro, “Hollows must be like mosquitos to a man like Satsujun. He’s going to need more convincing than that. Marcelius continued with his offer, mentioning that after war was over there would be the issue of dividing territory amongst the victors.

By this point Cierro was now fondling his dancer’s breasts with one hand while his other held his drink. They were perky and well shaped. The espada was pleased with the quality of the night’s entertainment, that much could be interpreted via the obvious bulge in his trousers and the permanent grin widening across his face. Maybe he’d do body shots later, but now he should probably contribute to the business they’d come to discuss. “You seem to understand a little bit... It isn’t only what you can offer during the war, but after it. But, what good is offering me land that I will own one day regardless? What good is offering me land in the first place? That is material wealth, which I can seek at my leisure whenever it is that I desire. It is as I said previously. The only thing that truly matters is power. The difference between power and money is that power is far sweeter, but that money lasts far longer, and is more flexible,” he said before finishing his scotch. Satsujun offered Cierro and Marcelius a cigarette which the espada eagerly accepted, leaning towards one of the strippers who lit it for him.

Satsujun completed his speech by laying Las Noches’ competitors for his allegiance on the table. It was a solid bargaining advantage, but one that the espada was able to dismiss easily. The Vandenreich made for some vicious competition, but Cierro was adequately prepared to explain what made arrancar the superior choice. “So your choice is between Las Noches and the Vandenreich? It seems as though you’ve already made your decision. As you said, power and status is what you ultimately seek. As the strongest man in the world, who do you think will more readily recognize you as the leader and conqueror that you are? The Vandenreich have proven time and time again that they will die before betraying their Emperor. Mass genocide of the quincies would be easier than getting them to recognize you as their king. Hollows and arrancar however are a much more simple breed. Power is all you need to lead. The strongest takes control and we readily accept their authority. Those who do not are welcome to try their hand against them and will in most cases fail,” the espada spoke, taking a puff of his cigarette and then downing the rest of his scotch before exhaling the smoke through his nose.

“What good is any territory you will receive if it is not populated with those you can call your subjects? A king of a barren, empty world is not truly a king at all, is he? I cannot promise you that Las Noches is stronger than the Vandenreich, but I can promise you that Las Noches will follow your kind of power when all is said and done. It is best to simply exterminate those whose loyalties cannot be... changed to suit your will, is it not?” Cierro took another inhale of the minty smoke, exhaling it out through his mouth this time and letting it float up to his nostrils where he sniffed in the smoke before finally exhaling it once more through his mouth. “Hm, these are good,” he commented before sinking back in his chair, letting the now fully nude stripper give him a lap dance. “That being said, Sonken Kouhai is offering something more as a show of good faith. Should you choose to accept our continued partnership, the Segunda who you favor will be sent to you to become your personal elite. While he would still hold the rank of espada and be recognized as part of our forces, he would reinforce your position while receiving immediate orders from you,” Cierro said with a smile, looking towards Marcelius for some sort of reaction.

The Octava couldn’t wait to see Kuroi’s face when he got to tell the Segunda that he was responsible for his reassignment. Cierro was all about making things a living hell for the Segunda by pulling strings in the back, but this was the first time he’d taken things to this level. Technically Kouhai hadn’t exactly given him permission to offer this, but Cierro knew he was certainly willing to. Satsujun was too big of an asset to have in one’s pocket, but more important than having him as an ally, was keeping him out of the hands of their enemies. Kuroi being reassigned to the world of the living would certainly be an acceptable loss for promise of continued alliance with Satsujun. All in all, success here was worth far more than any of the espada individually. This could benefit Kouhai as well. Kuroi would not only be there as a servant for Satsujun, but as someone that could keep an eye on things for Kouhai and deliver regular reports back to Las Noches. “Marcelius, why don’t you go deal with our friend outside?” said Cierro with a devilish grin. Cierro knew that Marcelius was Kuroi’s fraccion and knew that Marc hadn’t expected such a life-changing decision for himself to be made here and now. On top of all the stress of not making Las Noches appear disorganized, Marcelius was now being made to go deal with something insignificant while the two of them made their decision, which heavily related to him. Cierro was truly a calculating, mischievous individual.

[Zou ۞]

Elsewhere...

Kuroi raised his head suddenly, and looked around in a confused, dazed state. "What's wrong, Boss?" his subordinate asked him. Kuroi continued to observe the situation, keeping calm eyes, and a cold stare. The environment appeared unchanged. There were no enemies. Nothing was amiss. "Nothing..." Kuroi stated blankly. "It's just that I suddenly have the urge to kill someone, however I am unsure of who, and I am unsure of why..." When neither of them could figure it out, they both shrugged, and resumed working.

Human World

Satsujun seemed to perk up. He was suddenly quite intrigued by this idea of the acquisition of a new household boy. A bodyguard. An enforcer. Something appealed to him about having the man that had raided the Soul Society so many times, and caused so much grief to the Shinigami. It was a perfectly acceptable acquisition, and he had clearly met Cierro's responses and negotiations positively. Marcelius had offered land, but Cierro had offered something greater. The prospect of loyalty was an important thing. Convenience and efficiency were to be sought after by anyone whose inevitable goal was to conquer the world. While there was no guarantee that Sonken Kouhai would simply bend over for Satsujun, it was far easier to depose him with superior strength than it was to depose the entire Vandenreich, all of whom truly were loyal to the Emperor. Everything that Cierro had said was indeed true. His negotiations thus far, therefore, were extremely successful, and there was no sign to say that they might go amiss. It was clear that thus far, if he kept playing as he had, they probably would stay quite on track.

"You know how to please with offerings." Satsujun observed. He put out his cigarette in the ash tray on his table, and left it there. It had been reduced already to nothing more than the butt. At that point, he refilled his glass of scotch, and kept his cool. Many had spoken of his wrath, or of his benevolence, or of his wisdom. Some hints of these were shown, but all in all, reports were inconsistent. Satsujun did not have the same kind of single personality as Kuroi or Cierro or Marcelius. He seemed to have many different moods, and perhaps more than one personality. "Yes, that is politics. Were I to negotiate with the Vandenreich, they could offer me nothing which would satisfy the both of our end goals. The same was true of Redemption, which was why I had my assassin terminate their leader and economically tore apart their organization." That in itself was useful information that most were not privy to. It had been thought that it was the Vandenreich which had done away with the group called Redemption, but Satsujun was taking credit now for it. This was amiss, certainly.

"I expect that you want something in return." Satsujun said. He took another sip of his scotch, and "You offer me alliance, loyalty, land, and efficiency, as well as a gift. An executioner for my will and whims. Yes, I do like your offer. But you must have your own conditions. What is it that you are expecting of myself and of Xcution in return for what you offer?" So far so good for the negotiations. What Satsujun was most probably asking was what Xcution would have to do to back up Las Noches. Would Cierro offer information voluntarily about the Escudo, who had made a return? The situation there had not yet become too grave, so there might not be a need. There was only the possibility that need would present itself. Satsujun was patient, and so far there had not been any reason for concern, save for the Hollow observing them. Then again, Hollows must be small fry and insects to a man such as Satsujun. Marcelius still had to check that one out, though. He had been given an order by an Espada, and to disobey the Espada had often been met with consequences. At least, this was true when serving Kuroi.

[Adrastos]

He could no longer stand the waiting. The narrow alley way was getting the better of him along withe the thrashing hunger that he was bearing inside of himself. These dank and musty streets and narrow passages was no way to hunt for him. He had to make some drastic changes here. The spiraling thought of feeding and causing reckless destruction in the area were tugging at his consciousness. However, there was no movement within the complex. Due to his lack in ability to sense reiatsu energy he was unable to detect much on what was transpiring around him with little detail, but with little to no movement means either that they are unaware of his presence. . . or they are simply ignoring him.

Were they looking down on him? Did they not consider him a threat. His reiatsu control and reiatsu strength were not anything to be amazed about or terrified of either, but his physical strength remained unrivaled. The King of Beasts refused to be looked at as a meager annoyance. Adrastos marches two steps forward to realize that there was something wrong with his environment. Almost like another presence here with him. The tyrant turns his head within the narrow confinement of the passage way for his eyes to face his new "friend." Possibly a new threat or someone who wanted to speak with him? Regardless of the reason, no one sneaks up on the King of Beasts.

The massive jaws of the Adjuchas open slightly to release snarling hiss at this new arrival. There were no words that needed to be said, but only action. "RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!." Crying out with a intimidating blood lust screech the beast reaches out with both arms and pushes the two apartment size buildings away from himself. Brick cracking and the steel foundations that kept the buildings in place were torn away from the concrete pavement below him. His tail whips around attempting to keep the shadow presence away as his body turns a complete 180 degrees to face it. Standing tall, the Hollow's forty foot height towers over the shadow before lunging forward and snaps at the presence with its massive fangs.

Heavy chomps come crushing down at the shadows location, the weight of the creature crashing down on top of the pavement. Its snout lashes side to side smashing into the sides of the widen alley way, crumbling the weak building materials with the slight touch of the beasts bone mask. "Adrastos crush! Adrastos destroy puny shadow!" He did not know if he eliminated the presence but he could never be too sure. The beast continues to thrash about in the passage grinding the two buildings beside himself. Heavy talons pound the ground all around him with his tail swinging back and forth, the tip carves into the complex behind. With all the thrashing about with only half of his strength he would believe that the presence should have been obliterated. A small brick from above falls and bounces off his forehead in the dead silence. He did not know what it was but it damaged his sense of strength.

"Raaghhh, puny presence. Come out and fight like Hollow. RRRAAAAGGHH!" Whatever it was, it would soon know his power. But it will have to wait for one of previous signatures was moving slightly. Adrastos did not know exactly where, but there was movement in the area. The Adjuchas swings about to face this commotion, eager to see what this new presence. And perhaps his next meal. No words were said, but with clear fluids running down the jagged openings in his teeth the beast awaits for this new confrontation.

[Marcelius]

The aged man sank deeper into his thick lounge chair. Letting the cushion and support coddle his back, as the stress poured down through the discs and muscles. A hefty chip had been placed upon his shoulder. A token of his failure, and the missions minor set back. Even when swaddled in the leisures of this house of decadence; the sting of his shortcoming was no less fierce. Heavier than that wretched chip was the burden of his objectives. The desires of himself, for his people; now became a more fearsome task to accomplish. Though he prized his wordplay above that of the sword, no advantage did it offer. For words need a strong message to reinforce them. Like a steady grip. Words without this grip, lacked all potency. They become frivolous and cheap. Building a message requires understanding...something he was -unbelievably- lacking.

The empath was finding it a tiresome chore to try and read his host. This oddity of a human, reflected the species in almost no way. He was a riddle written upon the wall of a maze. To decipher the right words and context, required one to venture down the wrong paths. Solving one, meant complicating the other. Yet knowing the challenge which he faced, the Arrancar kept trying. It was a flaw of his identity that he keep trying. Even against insurmountable opposition. So he listened. Not only to Satsujin's words, but to his heart. If such a thing even existed. While more questions than answers came to him; one thought remained ever present for Marcelius. A chilly disconnection. One born of trauma and intolerance. That was the barrier which the World's Strongest Man placed between himself and all the changes surrounding him. Not unlike a few certain individuals whom Marc could easily name in comparison. What worked against the Hollow the most was this. Callousness. A futile and isolated mentality. This man, despite reputation or ability, believed himself a challenger to the gods...and more lasting than the land.

Let anyone who wish call him a fool. Let them sing and chide till their voice's are sore. Regardless of the humor or their consternation, Marcelius was wholly surprised at Satsujin's reply. "Land is only material..." So fleeting was his intrigue or concern, that it bordered on the mentally damaged. "All that matters is power, yet money is a more agreeable alternative...my goodness. He is insane." Such a mind had to be impeded in some way, to flatly refuse the points which the elder had only begun to touch upon. The offering Marc made upon Las Noches' behalf. "Land was not merely soil or space. Land was power. It held all the opportunities that remain constant through the rise and fall of regimes, economies, and even deities. No matter what happens to the occupants who live and utilize the land, the soil remains. But that kindness is not returned. For if the land is stripped away, then the world empties."

While all know this of the Living Relam, few take time to remember it holds true for the Spirit Realm. If one of the realms dies...or is stripped from the scale...then the balance shifts. Once that happens, existence itself can be threatened. Therefore, controlling one of the scales plates was the only true power to have. For that power alone existed above challenge or threat. The ultimate bargaining tool for a megalomanic man of business. Or so Marcelius believed. "What could be more lasting...more powerful?" Of course, Marc was limited to see things only from their most vital perspectives. Knowledge and viewpoints collected from all peoples and races. Consumed over a vast lifetime of hunger. Though he often longed for things of the more lavish styles, he had spent his many years going without them. To entice the exquisite desires of someone as perplexing and ambitious as Satsujin, he was the worst of negotiators.

His eyes saw things from too humble and meager a standing, to exercise the fantasies of men who dreamt of godhood. That would require a whole different person. Someone with a calibre of hedonism which far surpassed any of the wildest desires the plebeian old fellow. As soon as this thought set upon him, as quickly as this realization became clear, the Arrancar began to toil. Unwilling to let the negotiation come to so swift and end, he desperately threw himself into the mindset of more hollow men than he. But as quickly as the first example came to his mind -the first soul whose greed and desires he might imitate- that same soul raised his voice. Muffled, as though calling out from the bosom of an exotic performer. It was Cierro whom he would have tried to emulate, and it was Cierro who stole his chance to discuss further. Perhaps it was for the best? After all...why use an imitation when the authentic remains? Probably due to the authentic’s toxicity? A scenario where there is too much of a good thing. Certainly, "too much" was an apt description of the Octava.

So the gamble began. Much like an actual wager, the stakes were stacked and backing out was impossible. Cierro was speaking now, practically a font of rhetoric. The Espada spoke with abrasive tones. Showcasing a very blunt pattern on speech and boldly challenging the politeness to which this discussion had thus far withheld. Making claims on behalf of their circumstantial partner, cutting at his own words and desires so that the fit the Hollow's wishes. Listening should have held Marcelius at wit's end. Fearful that any wrong suggestion, overstepped supposition, or even exaggerated inflection...might set off some unforeseen wrath within their host. After all...he still understood so little about Satsujin. However, the Fraccion was not vexed. Nor was he concerned in the slightest. Rather, he sat in humble surprise at the skill which his superior possessed. The Espada was a swordsmith, much like himself, but a far more accomplished serpent. While Marc was good with his words, this individual was an artist.

All those aspects of debate which the elder lacked, this youth had mastered. He danced around the seemingly most sensitive areas of discussion, and used that recklessness to build his charm. A tactic Marcelius could imagine, but would dare not employ. The confidence it took to attempt such methods was something to be admired. How unfortunate that so eloquent a spokesman, chooses to express himself with idiocy and perversion at all other occasions. Were Cierro to remain the man he is right now...expert, yet daring conversator...perhaps they could be actual friends. There was not much benefit in it for the Octava, as the subordinate had nothing new to teach or share, but oh what he could learn. Unfortunately, finding reason to desire Cierro's company is as difficult as reading his mind. After all, one may enjoy the Arrancar they first meet...but soon he would be a different person altogether. That is what made Cierro, Cierro. Sure enough, as soon as Marcelius' favor for the devil began to change, he went and changed himself once again.

"The Segunda...", even the voice in his mind seemed to crack, "...a bodyguard?" The idea of such an unsympathetic, murderous soul being charged to ensure another's livelihood? It was almost absurd. Really, really absurd. Honestly, he thought it a joke when it was suggested. A well prepared and seemingly thought out joke. After all, the Segunda's skills were quite an asset to have at one's beck and call. The King valued such assistance greatly, perhaps more so than any other Arrancar. Perhaps more than the other Espada combined. But just because something is valuable, does not make it a tradable commodity. Who would enforce the Espada's cooperation? Even if the King were to honor the arrangement, the Segunda was a crafty soul...far too clever to make a good pawn. Satsujin had to know this. He had to be wise enough to know when something was perfect on paper, but impractical in applica...apparently not. While lost in his contemplation, idly staring down the Octava, The World's Strongest Man had chosen to accept such terms.

Still speaking to them in a voice only half delighted by their attempts at flattery and respectful...ish bargaining. So now it was done. The Segunda was officially on the table. Already Marc's stomach turned. Imagining his superior's disappointment when he hears this news, was most unpleasant. It caused shutters to think of what might happen after he is informed. Yet, he did not worry about his own possible servitude. If Cierro were the malicious type - always looking to hurt and discomfort others however he could- then he might be chuckling to himself about Marcelius' plight. He would know the Fraccion was doomed to tell his superior, and that even his own freedom and loyalties were being offered up to a new, human taskmaster. That, while unfortunate if true, would also be inaccurate. In neither this world, nor any other realm, would Kuroi send his subordinates to perform at the beck and call of others. The old man and his fellows were loyal to Naito, and served only him. As such, they and all of the Segunda's other resources, would never become the weapons of another. Never...except in such cases were their helping another was necessary in one of Kuroi's schemes. So he and his family were safe, as far as the elder was concerned. Though that still made up for how terribly Cierro had just inconvenienced a fellow Espada. That little triumph would still remain legendary.

Snapping back from his thoughts. Freed from his evaluation of both the present dealings and their future impacts. Marc turned his head to better listen beyond their huddle. Outside there had been many spirits. Human, Hollow, and all manners of others. This was a large city, such populations of noticeable souls could not be helped. But there had been a few which dared to come close to this building. A few less cautious individuals, whom failed to realize both an Espada and the mighty Satsujin resided within. Till now, they were trifles to not be bothered with. They had no connection to this meeting or it's attendants. Now, however, one had drawn close enough to raise intrigue. Being close enough for the likes of a human to detect, as well as the otherwise careless Octava. One took the moment to call out some of his lingering attendees...issuing orders that they deal with the pest effectively. This order caused the Fraccion...far more concern than he could hide.

The soul outside was strong, and it was large. Far bigger than the typical Hollow, and far more capable of mass disruption. Were such a large being to be improperly motivated, it could reek quite the havoc. Worse still, it was a brother. With all his focus drawn to a target so close and so poorly hidden, Marcelius was becoming quite attached. That was unavoidable. The weakness of an empath...the flaw of his own personal character. Thinking quicker than the help could respond to their master's heed, he listened to the soul and tried to interpret him. Given that this Hollow was not some ancient demigod, nor realities' most talented shapeshifter, the process was much smoother. He could feel this beasts pride, as well as a sever lack of understanding. Not stupidity, oh no, there was cleverness buried beneath hunger and brute strength. But no amount of guile can replace the knowledge of exactly who this stray Mask was dealing with.

It was an unfair situation. One that Marc hoped to intervene upon. Sadly he could not, for his place was...“Marcelius, why don’t you go deal with our friend outside?”...that will do. Seeing as the superior had already taken claim over the conversation, and now issued a new order to boot, Marcelius rose to his feet as best he could. A difficult task considering the comfort and depth of those lounge chairs' postures. Once upright, the tall figure made his way to the door. Undoubtedly trailing behind whatever shadowy, thuggish figures which Satsujin had sent out moments before. The fact that he trailed this more fit, possibly younger troop, was actually a greater misfortune than he could have guessed. Having not reached the door yet, he felt the building torrent of anger that awaited outside. The massive Hollow guest was already made suspicious by some action or another, and was being riled. Frustration, confusion...bad vibes all around.

The kind of vibes humans would refer to as "inexplicable, seismic activity" for years and years to come. Oh, how their scientists and great thinkers would try and find the hidden fault or sneaky, distant volcano whose activity triggered such odd quakes. Maybe they would even afford some deity or another, blame for the strange event. Either way, there was no stopping the Hollow's tantrum now. That enormous brother was already throttling about...laying waste to whatever unfortunate structure happened to be in the path of his surreal strength. If those shadows sent by Satsujin were not careful, this beast would gobble them up for sure. Not to say that the same fate, would not befall the poor Fraccion as well. Stepping outside now, just in time to see the turmoil reach it's first pause. The elder Arrancar did what he could to attract his sibling's attention. Perhaps the sudden weight of Reiatsu Pressure would be enough to draw the animal's sight. If not that, perhaps a strongly voiced, "Tsst!"

Yes, it was the sort of sound one might use on a pet -or particularly aggressive, unchecked toddler- but it was still the perfect rasp of the tongue when trying to call attention. There would be no way for this Hollow, this...Adrastos, to completely ignore the sound. Not when all of the other significant spiritual presences were keeping themselves so eerily quiet. So, there was no doubt for Marc that he would seen face the bone like face of this unexpected interloper. For better or bloody worse. And it would be at that time, when the creature to sight of him...that the tired elder would suspect a most impolite show of aggression. Though he would not consider this Hollow rude for such a response, he would also not be surprised by it. The mind of this one was still driven by hunger and baser sentiments. Not only was his conscience preset to react with violence, but also his current circumstances. Strangers, or at least, the suspicion of strangers...had prompted this massive soul into a clear frenzy.

Surely anything would set him off once more into another flurry of blows. Such a slave was poor Adrastos to his instincts and upbringing, that Marcelius had hope to successfully quell the beast. After all, only the luckiest of Vasto Lorde can retain their sensibility before breaking their masks. The lower Hollows and Menos often suffer the same mentality of lowly animals and beasts...certainly this Hollow was not a Vasto Lorde, nor blessed with abnormal genius. So once he went to strike the humble senior, and the eyes of the predator locked with those of the prey...then perhaps the Fraccion's gaze might strike a primal nerve? Perhaps...just perhaps, the instincts of the Arrancar could communicate with those of the Adjuchas? A wordless exchange which filled the enthusiastic creature with pause and understanding. A link between wills that might transcend understanding or training. Marc would speak using only incentives of their natures, the way that they -as Hollows- and animals on the whole, speak without language.

He would instruct the behemoth to be still, as much request as it was command. He would not draw back from the youth's aggressive gestures or displays...and would garner the same respect a master would receive from a beast. Or, in this case, an alpha from any other. "Hush child..." Though the Hollow might not normally comprehend emotion or motives, now would be different. Even if he lacked the capacity to manifest such thoughts himself...they were being shared through the overwhelming will of another. (Marc, yo) The sentiments were of the highest concern. The kinds of things even dogs can interpret. "...before you start a contest you cannot survive." Adrastos didn't not need to fear this soul, not as much as the others who were present. But he still needed to know the dangers...of what he had stumbled upon.

(OoC: FYI; I'm using Marc's 700 instincts to compel the animal like mind that Adrastos is sporting. I figure, "If its good enough for all animals, it must be good enough for young, developing humans. And if its good enough for toddlers, it MUST be good enough for Adjuchas! Obviously this is a toss up in the Cinematic regard, and can be interpreted however anyone would like. For the sake of Marc not tasting a five foot knuckle sandwich, I'm hoping it has some success!)

[Cierro Muerte]

“You know how to please with offerings,” came the reply from Satsujun. This was not exactly unexpected for the Octava, anyone would be pleased with such an offer. The acquisition of the Segunda would greatly shift power towards Satsujun’s side and it was likely that he would be able to go to war with just about any faction with Kuroi as his personal soldier barring Las Noches as Kuroi’s loyalty would still be theirs. It was like lending someone a gun that could shoot anyone else except the owner. A safe, yet very valuable trade. With Marcelius now absent, Cierro could continue with the negotiations. It would be false to assume that the espada had not planned for a situation like this, in fact he had worked out countless ways to take advantage of his position as emissary for Las Noches.

“I expect that you want something in return,” said the Strongest man alive as he took a sip of scotch, “You offer me alliance, loyalty, land, and efficiency, as well as a gift. An executioner for my will and whims. Yes, I do like your offer. But you must have your own conditions. What is it that you are expecting of myself and of Xcution in return for what you offer?” Cierro smiled as he ran his hand down the naked back of the stripper seated on his lap. His other hand rested itself on her left breast occasionally squeezing it as it pleased him. It seemed that they had been paid to put up with any touching that happened to occur. Satsujun had truly thought of everything.

“I guess you could say that we want something similar to what Las Noches is offering. Alliance, loyalty, and efficiency are things that we desire from you. Though there is one thing we request from Xcution and from you, Satsujun. Las Noches wishes to possess the Sokkyokku...” What Cierro truly meant was that he wished to possess the Sokkyokku. Since he had come into possession of the Black Ring there emerged a yearning for not only the Sokkyokku, but the Hougyoku as well. Though Cierro couldn’t exactly take the Hougyoku from his master, he saw the Sokkyokku as up for grabs, and now it was on the table. If he could convince Satsujun to aid him acquiring this artifact the job would be much easier.

“We don’t expect you and go storm a fully armed Seireitei for us alone, but if the opportunity ever arises to take it from a weakened Soul Society or something, we would expect Xcution’s support in helping us go pick it up. Naturally these type of things can be put on hold for a bit...” Cierro pulled a paper out from his robes before sliding it across the table to Satsujun. “Here’s a little something that Kouhai-sama wrote up in case negotiations went favorably, which unless I’m reading the atmosphere poorly, I believe they have. Kouhai wants our treaty to be in writing this time. Perhaps he believes it as more of a binding contract? Either way, feel free to read it over, and when you’re done seal it with your blood.

On the paper was dictated that the two factions would enter a non-hostility treaty until the Vandenreich and Soul Society were no more. The two would work in cooperation and would support the other, ensuring either mutual survival or mutual destruction. All new knowledge acquired about Soul Society or the Vandenreich would be shared and members of each faction could go to the other faction’s establishments for safety, support, shelter, and any medicinal needs. In return Cierro had quickly scribbled down what they had agreed on in the meeting. Kuroi would reinforce Satsujun and receive direct orders from him while Xcution would aid Las Noches in retrieving the Sokkyoku from Soul Society. At the bottom was Kouhai’s thumbprint in blood next to his signature. It seemed that he’d given Cierro this and allowed for the Octava to add some additional demands and offers as he saw fit, hence the space where Cierro had added in his own writing. The Octava also offered Satsujun a sterilized needle with which he could prick his finger, but wouldn’t be offended if Satsujun intended to use his own knife or something. All that was left was the signing and the sealing with his blood. “So...” said the Octava with a sly grin as he eagerly awaited Satsujun signing Kuroi’s freedom away, “Is everything in order? Or did you have any questions?”