Marcelius Despres [Inactive - Segunda's Fraccion]

[Marcelius]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Application}

-Opening-

Password:
Kuroi's Shoes


Password:
Midgets Can't Dunk


Type:
Empath bitches! First one evah! \o/ #FuckenFeels


Affiliation:
Hollows Everywhere


Rank:
Fraccion, Segunda


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Basic Information-

Name:
Marcelius Despres, #PapaSalsa


Age of Death/Rebirth:
28


Real Age/Age of Appearance:
Unknown/Appears to be in the early 50's; so technically...he looks young for his age.


Birthday (Month/Day):
April, 28th. Making him a Taurus...adores comfort and likes being surrounded by pleasing, soothing things! It's the easy life for this one!


Blood Type:
AB-; which explains his split personality. That comes later, as you'll see.


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-Appearance-

Height/Weight:
6' 6"/240 lbs or 1.9812 m/108.86 kg


Physical Description:

Male -
Born a man, died a man, reborn a monster, ate a lot of terrible things, regained his manly appearance. Despite how others view him, he worked very hard to reacquire his looks and is very proud of them. He is above average in height for a Caucasian man, just over 6 feet, 6 inches by the English Standard system of measurement. This would be a little under 200 centimeters for those of Metric affiliation. This brings his weight to an almost perfect 240 pounds ES and 108 kilograms Metric. His body is broad, with his stockiness most noticeable in his upper body. He is a guy after all, broad shoulders with larger pectorals and biceps are the anatomical features he's doomed to have. Luckily, he is a fan. Not stare in the mirror and self-love kind of fan, but appreciative. Though his skin is never bare to the world, his body rarely exposed, the definition of his muscular build is apparent. When he flexes, the thick material he prefers his clothing made of does little to hide his toned form. What is a man now, was once a beast, and the physicality definitely remained. This overall make up presents a very masculine identified presence, in both his shape and stride...and is always the most noticeable feature to his existence.


Age -
The man looks good, considering he was more than likely schoolmates with the Crypt Keeper. Despite his rather advanced age, Marcelius has retained himself well. Appearing to be in his early 50's, maybe younger if he were reaping the benefits of proper lighting. Being on in years has begun to show the slightest hints of wrinkles. Fortunately, Marc's hair has not started thinning. He doesn't have any grey hairs poking through, so far, but stressful times can hurry these kinds of things along. What do all the subtle nuances of his great age really do; why, they make Marcelius appear fatherly! Yes, to everyone whom gazes upon this individual, the sensation of gazing on a patriarch always follows. It is actually the cures of age, the others begin to assume both fatherly and grandfatherly duties. This begins a chain of deductions that quickly follow in the minds and hearts of those with sufficient deductive reasoning. What has most frequently be assumed of Marc, thanks to his looks alone, is that he possesses great wisdom. Whether the old Arrancar is wise or not is highly debatable...but he has yet to discover any reason to correct these assumptions in others.


Pale -
With skin as pale as the moon, he holds true to his ghastly roots. Yes, Marcelius is quite fair of skin. Being clearly Caucasian, it would also appear he does not find much joy in sunlight. Truthfully, there is little chance for him or any of his kind to sun their skin. Hollows do hail from the realm of eternal night, after all. If and when he might come into contact with sunlight, whether artificial or real, he dislikes the experience. To this day, Marc avoids the "Sun" of the Las Noches palace when he can. Hierro can stop a knife from slicing someone open, but sunburn doesn't use no stinkin' knife. Maybe he could change his pigment plight, if he simply eased himself into tanning and regular sun bathing. It is a curse the most comfortable chairs are inside. Fortunately, his skin is smooth and clean from his great care. No matter how well he may treat his skin, it still does not suit him. Well, not what is expected of him...Marcelius does not look, in any way, like he belongs to his name. The truth is, Marc's name is the only one he can remember from his life before. Though the name is a mix of Spanish and Dane, Marcelius is neither. This detail is often disregard; which he finds fortunate...given explaining himself might prove challenging.


Dirty Blonde -
Not to imply his hair is filthy, but it has too much brown mixed in to be a true blonde. This is the description Mr Humble would normally give, but it is not factual. Though his hair is certainly not platinum, it is still pure enough blonde to shimmer. This is not the shimmer one would expect in the right light, this is straight brightness. Even in the shade, his hair's color seems to stick out...which means he is not so sneaky. To try and manage this, his hair is kept very short. Buzzed down to the roots, making it as soft as satin. Marc also keeps his hair short so that maintenance is easier. Easier to clean, to dry, and harder to get caught in tangles! He has facial hair as well, a full face of stubble. Once more, an understatement...dude has a beard. Marc likes to be neat and clean, and normally this would require constant shaving. The truth is that Marc hates dragging the razor across his neck. Let's just say there was a bad, past experience. The result, of course, being frequent stubble *cough*beard*cough*. There really is nothing to complain about, he looks good with his thick bristles.


Facial Characteristics -
Marcelius' has a carved jawline and cheekbones, the features he had as a man...touched up by all his hollow transformations. Having had to reacquire his human appearance, his face has simply become more symmetrical. Oddly enough, becoming an Arrancar has made Marc more attractive. There is far more definition to his bone structure, which has been reformed by his long years and multiple bodies. His nose is long, but luckily, not too long for his face. His ears are proportional, with unattached lobes. His chin, beneath the cover of his facial hair, has a slight cleft. Our man was a solid 8 back in his day, and he could be praised as that now, just older. So an old 8 would reasonably be a 6? Maybe more if the observe has a thing for maturity? Certainly he won't be entering any handsome contests anytime soon, not without a Time Machine/Miracle. Face it(lol), a block head and pale skin are too Welsh, to be dark and mysterious. Fortunately, he has pulled off the "down-to-earth dad" look, very well! In the end, his looks serve him well...and that is all that matters. Ah the joys of being content.


Eyes -
The are blue, a deep and soulful blue. He was born with them, and managed to retain them when he ascended to Vasto Lorde...something he greatly appreciates. The color is often held in high regard as hue for the eyes. For Marc, the chroma of his irises signifies the sorrow within. If eyes are windows to the heart, then his swims in an ocean of mournful emotions. Constantly tormented by a past failure and weakness...if he still had a soul that is. Hollows, those holes are there for a reason. This somber sentiment does not end at the boards of his oculars, but extends into the facial features which surround them. The area around Marcelius' eyes are beginning to wrinkle from his age and constant expressiveness. Marc truly enjoys being expressive and theatrical with his emotions. Life is just more fun this way. If anything, this is a ruse. The joy he exemplifies is nothing more than his new Mask, there to shield him like the one he removed. Seems evolution affects the body more than the spirit. His eyes, however, are the only part of his true self that he can not conceal. They give a clear message of sorrow and shame.


Smile -
As said before, Marcelius is very expressive. The expression he chooses to showcase the most: happiness. Despres' is almost always smiling; assuming his powers are sealed away. Even when things are looking bleak the old Hollow suffers a grin. Having become something akin to a habit, it is hard for him to stop. His Sealed Form is to blame, as it is the only time he has felt joy in centuries! He makes use of his opportunity, as much as he can. The world is rewarded though, as his smile is very pleasant. With thin lips, that are blush pink...he can actually begin to look half decent when smirking. Clear dimples and creases on the edges of his grin, to make him more friendly and approachable. Marc's grooming habits have left his teeth white and pristine. Honestly, Hollows have more reason than most to have bright and healthy teeth. They are quite notorious eaters is the joke. This seemingly jolly elder, could uplift the spirits of any room with nothing but a mere simper. Oh how making friends has been simplified with this great trait. As far as Hollows' Masks go, his newest one is quite the wonder.


Mask Fragments -
Speaking of Masks, there is the ever important topic of his remaining fragments. Arrancar vary in almost every way, being quite a diverse and peculiar bunch. The two things they will always share, are the remnants of their Masks and Holes. For Marcelius, his Mask fragments are on the diminutive side. Where his eyebrows should be, there are instead, bone fragments. Unlike normal Arrancar, the fragments do not seem to protrude or hang over his face. Instead, they look like they are beneath the skin, exposed the same way horns or claws are from the flesh of animals. They are small, stretching barely a few inches up his forehead, but extending all the way to the ends of his brow. In the middle, above the bridge of his nose, his skin remains intact. This means there are two, definitive sections, to the Mask. It is hard to tell what they may have been before, as so little remains of them now. What they do for his appearance now, as an Arrancar, is give his frons a discerning appearance. It is though he is always in contemplation, with deep and complex thoughts forever blighting his mind. Thankfully, he still seems quite the happy ol' sod...despite all that useless pondering he appears to do.


Scars -
His existence has been a constant struggle. From day one of his Demi-Hollow phase, to the rebirth as an Arrancar, Marcelius has been caught in one conflict after another. His history is a blur of fighting and carnage. Such is the origin of all Hollows, really. When it comes to the marks that his countless battles have left on him, they are all mental. It is in his Resurrected Form that his former wounds become apparent. They are not seen as lines carved across his body, but as shifts in his personality. The cicatrices which still remain, take the form of primal actions and cruel imagination. His Hollow side truly is his scar, and though he praises the abilities of his race, his own are the scar tissue from an existence defined by injuries.


Reiatsu -
Just as Marcelius' personality is vastly split between his sealed and released form, so too is his Reiatsu's appearance. When his power is locked away into his zanpakuto, his spiritual pressure becomes very warm and loses most of it's density. When exerting, his Reiatsu has a hue of pale yellow. Being within his aura is soothing and delightful. By Marcelius' side, is a place most would long to be. This is much to do with his accepting and passive personality, which fills and defines the energy his soul releases. These are the circumstances surrounding his Seals Form. However, the calm and harmless energy his body exudes, changes dramatically when his release is active. The sound of his energy vibrating is a quiet melody, a sad little song that sums up the measure of his existence. The color of his Reiatsu, is a dark hue of orange. It looks as if his typical aura was mixed with blood. Then there is the pressure behind his spirit. The weight grows and thickens, much like any other Hollows would. For those with the gift of insight, which can decipher the details of energies context and potency, the weight his presence places upon the world...seems to pull down from beneath. Unlike typical Resurreccions, Marcelius' does not drop his Reiatsu density onto other's shoulders, instead his energy pulls them downward...much like the flailing limbs of countless victims...reaching up from their lowly existence to drag others into their pitiful pile.


Apparel:
Having joined the ranks of the Arrancar in Las Noches, Marc has gladly taken to wearing their uniform. Seeing himself in the same white clothing as his brothers and sisters, makes him feel accepted. His Aspect causes him to be very introspective. Conforming with uniform style, helps him fight away his paranoia. With all of his joy connected to being accepted by a group, a family, he tries his best to blend in with them. This means his uniform is unexceptional, by choice. He dresses in the white jacket and hakama that all enlisted Arrancar are expected to wear. The only differences he has between himself and all the other standard Arrancar, are the worn sandals. This man has put serious miles, kilometers, roads, and other wears on his issued footwear. Being up at almost every hour of the day, getting involved with other Arrancar in activity and conversation, he is always walking and never still. He is frequently given new sandals to replace the tattered ones he's just worked through. He accepts the new one's as gifts, and finds great joy that his shoes are the only complaint people have about his looks.


Ah, but how the times they go a changin'...for now Marcelius has been forced to leave the comfort of uniformity. Since his arrival in Las Noches, and his admittance to her ranks; he has been accepted into service of the Segunda Espada. Kuroi Naito, and his legendary Fraccion; these are the souls that Marc now considers family. However, this family has a responsibility to remain above the average flock. The most apparent change which is expected of this group, an alteration of wardrobe. It is imperative, in the eyes of the Segunda, that he and his own do not sully themselves with an inferior image. The white robes of Las Noches' typical ranks are unacceptable, and lacking in quality. Instead, they dress in suits of only the finest variety. Silks and satins, materials which are treasures. Though such things go against Marc's typical choice of attire, it is the banner of his new family...and he proudly wears it. Dressed in a dark suit, three piece in design. With his jacket, pants and vest all made from rich navy satin, his outfit appears crisp and perfect at all times. With a double threading and reinforced hems, no aspect of the outfit lacks in refinement or excellency. Only in the most perfect of lights does the blue shimmer dance across the almost black surface, but that is the mark of top quality. This was the style of the Segunda, it was just fortunate that Marcelius could wear it well. Beneath the ensemble, a pristine white shirt covers his chest. Buttoned to the top, where it's starched collar remains firm. To provide a dose of color and personality to this expensive look, the Fraccion chose a thin, solid colored tie. With no design other than a bold yellow hue, the slim detail is still highly eye catching. In the end, the Fraccion looks like a million bucks...cept the bucks were not his.


Hollow Appearances:

Hollow -
Standing at nearly 12 feet, he was average in height for a fresh Hollow. His body was very gaunt, his limbs were thin and his ribs protrude from under his skin. With his lanky frame, he was quote the nimble beast. His body was hairless, as this was his newborn form. His skin, was an eerie shade of grayish pearl. In the right lights, his body appeared to be translucent; and looking inside revealed his body to be a void. He had a short number of a tail, yet to grow or offer any balancing; though he did often move on all fours. His back legs were inverted at the knees, a better design for moving like an animal...as he did. His front claws were much larger, with broad palms and slender claws. Each of his talons were long, serrated, and hooks slightly towards the tips. He was designed to grab and never let go. Symmetrical, triangular cuts lined both sides of his jawline. His chin was thin, giving his face an aerodynamic feel, from bottom to top. His nose appeared as simple a cavity, one in the typical inverse "v" that a human skull would have. He did have ears, though they were small and underdeveloped; each stretching back flat along the sides of his head. The most prominent feature of his mask were the eyes, more specifically, the lack thereof. He had no eyes, nor holes for eyes to peer through the mask. There were only two identical, spikey ridges extending upwards from the center of his face as pseudo brows. Despite having no ocular organs of note, Marc was never blind as a Hollow.


Gillian -
When enough cousins had been consumed to begin the metamorphosis, Marc made sure to establish dominance early on. He had learned so much about each of the Hollows he consumed. He observed them, listened to them; and when the time come to eat...he knew them better than they did. When he became Menos, his internal control was never challenged. Any spirit with sufficient will, was snuffed out by the rest. Such a slayer of hearts, the power which Marc had kept his defeated occupants in check. As a result, Marcelius never actually appeared as a standard Gillian. He developed the massive size and black form, but his mask remained unique. With it's serrated jaw line and lack of eyes, Marc stuck out as different among the other tower Menos. Even his hands maintained identity. When revealed from beneath his dark body, they appeared as long, hooked claws...much like the ones he had used as a basic Hollow. With his heightened functions of cunning, and individual, physical advantages; Marc made easy work of killing his fellow Gillian. He never went without food in his first evolution...though he did remain forever hungry.


Adjuchas -
Bursting forth from his Gillian cocoon, Marcelius shed his black robes and tremendous size, for a more agile and capable form. Once more, a new body offered itself to his service. This figure took a powerful shape. Yet again, his muscles were bound and strengthened like that of a vicious animal. His physique was still gaunt, practically starved, while rigid layers of sinew and tendons betrayed his capabilities. He had grown hair now, it formed into a mighty mane. Starting from the peak of his cranium, extending down his neck and onto his back. The wild follicles even reached all the way around his throat. His new mantle was colored the most brilliant shade of blonde, quite the bright contrast to the rest of him. For he did not develop hair all over his body. No fur to shield him from the cool of Hueco Mundo, or the judgmental eyes of others. Luckily, he was unable to perceive the chilling glares of others. As it was before, so did his mask remain! A rigid face without a trace of eyes. Instead of filled sockets, new additions to his mask now shielded his eyes. Now, a gruesome tertiary row of teeth extending down from his brow...as well as up from his firm jaw. The new "face" was a perfect personification of his state of being. Appearing as nothing but a cascading and endless supply of teeth, Marc epitomized the example of a life without emotion or expression...there was only hunger for him.


Vasto Lorde -
One last evolution came to Marc as a Hollow. He remembers this portion of his life, as not a time of tremendous power, but as a time of humble physiology. His figure was that of a man, simple and pure. In fact, his Lorde body was nearly identical to that of his current form. However, he did retain his Mask...for the most part. Teeth jutted up from his jawline, and hung from his brow as visor that still behaved as a shield for his eyes. His eyes were the biggest concern. After unbelievable amounts of time, spent in total sensory obscurity...Marc could see again. Rather he could see in the typical fashion as others, not like him, do. This was the form in which the memories of all his victims began to sing to him. This is when he first felt the Remorse associated with his existence. With such a great shame suddenly falling onto his heart, he could no longer endure the sight of himself.

[Marcelius]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Personality}

-Personality-

Kuroi told me not to say "Love":

Hollows -
Marc's family. The brethren he was such a strife upon for so many centuries. They gave him a second chance. In his experience with Arrancar, he has learned to love his kind. They are passionate and diverse, and some of them even have good hearts. The greatest aspect of Hollows are their understanding, they knew what it meant to be like him. The more he lived with his brothers and sisters in Las Noches, the more he immersed himself in their sounds, the more he felt accepted. Recently, he feels happy just knowing one of his kind is nearby. He would use all of his power to protect his race.


Hueco Mundo -
Home. It is hard for outsiders to understand, but other Hollows may share Marcelius’ fondness for the eternal Sands. There is a solemnity about Hueco Mundo, where someone who values being alone, can find true sanctuary. The world is still, it is silent. The dark sky is constant, never surprising or alarming. The cool night is forever long, and the moon is always bright. The only conversations ever held about Hueco Mundo, always involve the dangerous Hollows that reside there. It is because of the disruptive residents, that no one ever learns any value for this world of darkness. There are great secrets within the wastes, many mysteries both romantic and powerful. Marc would love to educate the rest of the races, on just how wonderful his home can be.


Miho Shouga -
"The greatest hassle, I have ever endured..." It is very true, Miho is quite the handful. With an attitude more caustic than caring, and a wit as sharp as her words; this little hellion would be any father's greatest challenge. She is destructive, where he is peaceful. She embraces malice, where he shares compassion. They are as different, as two individuals could hope to be...but she still knows him best. More rare than a finger print, and far more random than DNA; these two have nearly identical manifestations as Hollows. The way Miho is now, is exactly the way Marc used to be. In her he sees the same potential that he chose to squander so long, long ago. Miho is the second chance for him, as much as she is the promise for a stronger future. More importantly than any amount of achievement which she might stand for, she is his little girl. Until the day his body rejoins the sands of Hueco Mundo, he will do everything to insure her greatness. "...but she is the very reason I have for 'living'." (Ya know, as opposed to staying stagnant and awaiting that perfect Hollow future that isn't going to make itself. Or is it...)


Kuroi "Better-Than-You" Naito -
This man is Marcelius' boss. That is the first and most important fact. Because if it were not for that fact, Marc would probably think of this one like a son. The reason Marc feels so strongly about this individual, is sheer respect. The young age and the accomplishment of the Segunda, both are legendary. Though his reasoning might be different from Marc's; and his methods might cause the old man discomfort; Kuroi aspires to the same reality that Marcelius does. Though concerns might exist as to why the Segunda would want to elevate the stations of Hollows so highly, he is has still achieved more than any other in the pursuit of his goal. Despite his age, Marc has done nothing compared to this young man. Though he would never tell the "Harbinger of Despair" this; Kuroi is the single greatest source of inspiration to the codger. That is why Marc chooses to follow him, instead of remaining in solidarity. "It is the responsibility and privilege of a Parent, to love and protect their child. It is their duty to instruct and guide that soul, and prepare them for the difficulties of the life ahead. But...it is the obligation of the child to achieve feats far beyond their predecessor; and to seek even greater prosperity, than the world given to them."(That said, the day this dude reveals all progress was to setup for #Despaaaaair, Marc will be the first to shake his fist and say, "That darn kid!")


Llusia Domenech -
[WIP]


Likes:

Dark Hair -
There is something pleasant about dark hair; especially on women. The look it creates, is something more natural and true. Light or unnatural hair, always distracts from all the other beautiful features. Marc dislikes his own blonde hair, but that is more to do with his general dislike of himself. In truth, there are deeper connections to his appreciation of hair color, than just simple preference. In his past, the life before death, his one true love had rich, dark hair. To Marc, she was the most beautiful creature that had ever existed. It has been centuries since he last saw her with his own eyes, but yet the world constantly reminds him of her...oh his former love. Dark hair is the first, and most common, point of nostalgia.


Soft Music -
It is wrong to value one type of music over any other, as all forms of music have different pleasures to offer. For Marc, the subtle tones of light music, instill into him a sense of peace. It is this emotion of calm, and serenity, that makes Marcelius so found of soft melodies. When he whistles, he will always choose a cheerful tempo and gentle volume. When he closes his eyes, and listens to the sounds of life around him; Marcelius has discovered that happiness itself, is a soft and lulling tune. The vibrations from happiness, feel warm and caress the skin; whereas stronger music feels more like violent wave. He will try to share his opinion and choices on music with others, hoping to slowly wear down the numbers of aggressive music lovers.


Puzzles -
It is not just the fun, little toys that require craftiness and determination to put them back together. Marc loves all forms of mental challenges. He is far from the smartest, but he enjoys challenging what skills he does have. It is also fun just thinking about something other than the constant fighting Las Noches seems to be involved with. Riddles are less fun, as they don't provide a physical problem that can be seen and examined, but he would never turn down a chance to hear a few. It has become a problem sometimes, as Marcelius' talents will be needed for something important, but he is too focused on a puzzle to realize he's being called. Aside from being humiliating to explain, he always feels terrible about his carelessness after the fact.


Heroic Tales -
Most people like a story where a Hero overcomes adversity and triumphs over a great enemy. Marcelius loves them. His memories have dozens of heroic tales floating around in them. When he has free time to himself, and no one to talk to, he spends his time daydreaming about the adventures of mighty heroes. In his imaginations, he often reworks the cast to include Hollows who triumph over the adversity. Or the hero will be an Arrancar who protects his people from evil spirits that have escaped from Hell. A few times, he has thought of writing down his stories so they wouldn't be forgotten with him. Arrancar could use more Heroic tales. It would give the people hope, in a world where most everyone wants them scraped from existence.


Yellow -
It is the color of cheer and joy, and in a place like Hueco Mundo, it can be a very rare color to see. When he does witness this color, he takes it as a sign or omen. Yellow, for Marc, is a color attached to significant things. He typically loves food more if it is yellow, making yellow Cake the greatest manifestation of edible goodness! He has thought long and hard, about getting a tattoo that incorporates the color yellow...maybe someday he will. Yellow is the color of joy when it is present in the soul, and that is more than reason enough to grow fond of it’s hue.


Freakin' Cake -
First of all, there are a lot of amazing foods to be eaten at Las Noches. Foods Despres had never seen or heard of. Of all the delightful and amazing culinary delights, there is one King of Taste. The crown of most delicious, goes to the Cake. It is light, flakey, sweet, warm, and it is colorful. Marc is very interested in all the different recipes that can be used to produce various Cakes. If Marc were to live forever without tasting another Cake, it wouldn't be worth it.


Pluses -
Human souls that have been ripened by death. Pluses are delicious, almost as much as Cake. His feelings towards these souls are his single, greatest hypocrisy. Even in his optimistic Sealed Form, Marc feels a tinge of pain from his Hollow Hole when he hunts them. He never eats when others are around, it is a very private enjoyment. Sometimes his secret snack runs to the Human world, make him worry what problems he could be causing. Then he gets a taste of a fresh Plus, and for a time forgets his troubles.


Fruit -
Nature’s best hope at one day dethroning cake. Marcelius loves fruit, in the exact opposite way he loves Hueco Mundo. Fruit is life, full of passionate energy. With dozens of different tastes and textures, fruit is also quite diverse. It is a delight for the senses; beautiful in colors, wonderful in scents, interesting in shapes, and unique in tastes. Though all of nature is a spectacle to behold, for a resident of Hueco Mundo it becomes something more majestic. Fruit provides food, then the seeds produce more life, it is all a perpetuated cycle. For a Hollow who is stuck for eternity as what they are, Fruit can either inspire despair or intrigue. Marcelius found intrigue; and makes frequent trips into the Soul Society, to steal from their many orchards.


Blood -
As dark as it may seem, Marcelius' enjoys blood. It is such a wondrous thing, it is vibrant in color, smell, and taste. He prefers his meats served rare, and he is usually unaffected by bleeding wounds. His fondness for the crimson life force is not a lust. He does not seek the blood of others, spilling it and such. He believes his affinity comes from his past lives, it is the only explanation that makes much sense. Not becoming unnerved by the sight of blood, is a great benefit for him. To protect his people, he will have to see a lot of it...


Conversation -
Having spent nearly 800 years in silence, with no one to speak with, Despres has become desperate to make up for the wasted time. To make things even better, when Marcelius' power was sealed away, it caused his attitude to become quite pleasant. No longer held back by the overpowering fear of accusation or prejudice, he can face other's with confidence and dignity. He can share with others, and have them share with him. He can learn of other people’s grief, and in turn feel some relief from his own. The possibilities of friendship, and community, are all built on the foundation of conversation and exchange. All the time spent alone and quiet...that will never happen again.


Politics -
No society can exist without politics. Anarchy does not build communities or unity; instead it forces people to fight for nothing more than survival. With politics and government, groups of individuals can act as one...and grow. Prosperity can not be attained by a solitary being, it is the result of many people coming together to further each other’s goals. Using politics, resolutions may be reached without violence or death. Having the power to govern one’s self is the start; but only when different opinions or ideas can flourish together, is there any real accomplishment. Marc has spent enough time alone, and now he craves a country for him and his people. A society where Hollows can do more than survive, but can achieve.


Solidarity -
Yet again, Marcelius proves himself to be slightly hypocritical. It is the conflict within him, that splits his desires and complicates his life. There is a great shame inside of Marc, one that has been with him since his first rebirth. This shame causes him to become very paranoid at times, even when unwarranted. To cure his paranoia, and quiet the inner doubts, Marcelius likes to escape from the public. Everyone enjoys quiet time, in which they can be themselves, but Marc actually needs it. He uses his time away from others, to clear his head and listen. When surrounded by others, Marc must restrain his thoughts and focus...lest he be swept up in the chaos of so many Noises living so closely together. When he is alone, far away from any other souls, Marcelius can listen to the world without worry of hearing something awful. Solidarity is recuperation, but it is not the bread which nourishes his joys.


Artists -
Simply fascinating. Most people in the world, share more views than they would like to admit. People may say things differently, even in different languages, but they will still have the same meaning. Artists are gifted with the ability to see the world differently. All people of talent can see something beyond the comprehension of normal eyes, but artists excel at re-imagining reality. Compared to the conversations with average, uninspiring people; Artists are the true beauty of any race. Marcelius likes to daydream about being an artist himself someday. To develop a talent, and share it with the world.


Sympathetic Souls -
More beautiful than the soul of any artist, is the soul of someone who truly cares. Typically, Marcelius has only discovered this kind of spirit in mothers. The song of a mother’s heart, rings truer and more powerfully for her children than the greatest man for his greatest ambition. It is supernatural, the feelings Marc has witnessed when observing truly empathetic beings. Their Noise has a power, much like Marc’s own, that changes the tune of every other Noise they touch. Empathy collects others with it as it goes, inspiring joy and relief with each new addition. The music crafted by such glorious souls, and the friends they collect, is more beautiful...more powerful than even the sun. Marc has tried to recreate this power, to use his abilities to craft another person’s emotions into such wonder. He has failed, every single time. Empathy is truly pure, and can not be cheated into existence. This is possibly the greatest tragedy of all Marc’s failures...


Human Cities -
They are simply marvels. Marcelius had spent centuries away from the world, wandering the depths of Hueco Mundo. In his absence, mankind became masters of reality in ways he never would have imagined possible. Working together, building off the strength of one another; humans have erected buildings that tower into the heavens. What could be confused for a mighty mountain’s ridge, are the clusters of these magnificent structures. Cities have ended the dominion of the sun itself, for light remains even after the day has passed. Streets and homes, nothing has to stop because the darkness has come. Where in his time, hundreds of people successfully living together was a triumph of kin and country; now millions do so in separate examples all over the globe. Truly, humans have created a dominion of great marvels in their world...now if only it could be reproduced for the People of Hueco Mundo.


Hospitals -
For a Hollow, it makes sense that he would enjoy Hospitals. They represent a constant supply of fresh Pluses within the World of the Living. For a beast who consumes souls, this would be the ideal location to scout out meals. It could even be compared to a grocery store; with it’s wide selection of products and brands. However, none of these provide much interest for Marcelius. His real reason for loving Hospitals comes from the emotions that reside within them. The strengths of peoples' hearts are often found in times of crisis. Times of crisis are often played out within the walls of a Hospital. Lovers will reveal their honest feelings, whether good or bad. Past grievances are forgotten and forgiven in the light of new tragedy. The fullness of human emotion and affections can be witnessed within the confines of a single city block. It is much like an art gallery, or some tremendous performance hall. Real beauty can be witnessed here.


Outdoors -
Marc’s affection for the outdoors was a result of necessity. Centuries spent exposed to the elements of both the World of the Living and Hueco Mundo. To him, nature really is lovely. From the softness of the sands in Hueco Mundo, to the awe inspiring scale of the Menos’ Forest’s trees. Even in the human world, Marcelius can indulge his delights for nature. There, no one can see him, and he is not obligated to react or even pay attention to other distractions. He can immerse himself in the most isolated regions, untouched by complications. With humans push ever outward into their world, leaving so little for nature to call her own, Marc has begun to fret. His only alternative is the soul Society...and even though it has a near infinite expanse of wilderness to enjoy; the Shinigami could always find him. He has considered, on his lowest of days, running forever into the great wilds of the infinite Soul Society. Maybe out there, in perpetual solitude...surrounded by simple nature, he could find some measure of internal peace. Then...he remembers cake.


Breezes -
It always sounds silly, but Marc holds true adoration for the comfort of a breeze. When the heat of the world is burning down, a breeze can bring a moment of reprieve. Such comfort coming from a source of pure happenstance. For Hollows, feeling anything can be difficult. For Marc, a breeze is a cooling reminder of his former humanity. Despite how much he has changed, all the things he has done, a breeze still feels pleasant on the skin. He is a monster now, in both actions and form, and yet he can still feel human. It gives Marc hope, that inside of him lies and answer to his pains...and that the same could be said for all Hollows.


Flowers -
Aside from their dazzling appearance, delightful aromas; flowers possess one of the greatest abilities in all of existence. Flowers can warm a woman’s heart. In truth, flowers represent a lot of great powers. They represent the allure of life. They symbolize such great concepts as: passion, happiness, peace, condolence, and love. As Marcelius has spent so much of his life in the lifeless deserts of Hueco Mundo, flowers have become a phenomenon to him. The rare opportunities he receives, to examine and enjoy the beauty of flowers, makes him enjoy them even more. The only real tragedy about living in Hueco Mundo, is that he may never cultivate a garden of his own at home.


Old Age -
Some will always cling to youth. In the afterlife, this holds even more meaning. Spirits who have supposedly existed for countless lifetimes, centuries or even millennia, present themselves with young vanity. It is a frequently squandered privilege, old age. There are souls beyond counting who have never experienced rewards of maturity. It is not a burden, to be blessed by experience. It is not a curse, to wear the years with pride. Wrinkles are badges of success, and evidence of a life filled with expression and vitality. Marcelius has learned, to never judge a book by the condition of it’s cover...but still has trouble accepting those who disguise their age behind false youth.


Sonido -
Probably the most useful skill in a Hollows arsenal. On top of having the most practical applications, Sonido is the most fun to use. The ability to travel vast distances by focusing on your destination and just going. Marc has trouble understanding how his brother and sisters do not enjoy using this technique all the time. Whenever any opportunity arises. Any real excuse is good enough to justify Sonido. The feeling of rushing through time and space, the pleasing sound of his spiritual energy humming, it is all wonderful. If only travel could always be so enjoyable. Such a shame it is so tiring.


Pesquisa -
Sensual, meaning experienced by all the senses, euphoria. When Marcelius activates his Hollow-dar, his five senses are sent on a roller-coaster ride of delight. The reverberation of energy off of all the Noises in his range, return to him like the 1812 Overture. He can see and feel it. Despite the powerful pleasure it creates, he does not use it frequently, as that increases tolerance. Plus, there are often great risks that Selfish people and Quicys will taint the music with their sound.


Gigai -
Quite possibly the single most useful and interesting tool available beyond the Land of the Living. A body that allows for the interaction with the living, and provides an excellent disguise for moving around the enemy unnoticed. For a researcher, or anyone who fancies themselves curious, this is their ticket to indulgence. When given the opportunity, Marcelius will dawn one of these bodies and quickly make his way into the field. Eager to examine and learn of things, which would normally be denied to him. If he can ever master the spiritual sciences, he would devote his new understanding and knowledge to the production and improvement of this most fascinating instrument.


Dislikes:

Fighting Hollows -
It should not be difficult to see why Marcelius dislikes fighting Hollows. Aside from them being his own kind, and his desire to lead them to prosperity, this dislike is connected to many of his fears. He does not fear the idea of fighting other Arrancar, he had to fight his kind in order to train with the blade. There are times when conflict with other masked ones is acceptable, but those moments are rare and always unpleasant. Maybe the biggest reason for this distaste, is the inevitability. Hollows have flamboyant attitudes and histories forged in pain and violence, there will always be ones who struggle against the others. This sad truth fills Despres with even more shame, and he does everything he can to not participate with infighting.


Fighting Death Gods -
The members of the Soul Society are a troublesome bunch to deal with. Fighting them is unpleasant, as they are organized and trained. They are the Hollows oldest, and most powerful rivals. Marc bears no deep hatred for them, as the Soul Society has at least made it a point to not hunt Hollows whom remain in Hueco Mundo. There is speculation as to why they choose not to come hunting his kind. Some say the Shinigami fear to walk in Hueco Mundo. Hueco Mundo could be thought of as some kind of prison, and maybe the Death Gods feel it is a better punishment to leave the Hollows to rot. For whatever reasons, the Shinigami stay out of Hueco Mundo and that makes them more agreeable than Quincies. When Shinigami do come together to pursue Hollows, it is always disastrous for the defendants. It would be nice to not have to fight them anymore, but that's what dreams are for.


Loud Sounds -
Annoying sounds are an irritation for many people, including Marc. The only difference between Marc and the rest of them, is he hears different "sounds". Everything has sound for him. In Hueco Mundo, the very walls seem to sing and speak. To this effect, annoying or loud noises cause Marcelius to lose focus rather easily. He has dedicated much time and patience to training his resistance, but there are times when it is simply not enough. If only ear plugs actually worked against the Noise.


Stages -
The stage, the spotlight; Marcelius dislikes the idea of having to put on a performance for others. To be the center of attention, blech. He approaches the idea of an elevated stage with philosophical amnesty. Over analyzing the tradition, Marc believes raised position of stage performers, implies an undeserved sense of superiority. This ideal does not hold too well for common actors retelling some story; but it does apply very well to the actions of self-important thinkers. there is nothing worse than an enemy treating a battle as a performance or play...something to be enjoyed, or used for entertainment. A stage is a tool of the selfish. An arena for narcissism to bare it’s ass and demand the attention of humble, superior people. It is a means for the pathetic to elevate themselves on the momentary praise of others.


Small Places -
A lingering discomfort from his former life. Marcelius spent his last days, suffering in a tiny cell. Then, after death, he remained in that cell to witness the suffering of one he loved most. In return for all his pain, he has been left with a passionate distaste for small, cramped areas. Rooms within Las Noches take tremendous effort to develop comfort in. At “night”, when he tries to sleep, he has to overcome the constant nagging thoughts that the walls are closing in. What did not help his disaffection, was his lack of exposure to it. For the entirety of his time as a Hollow, he lived among the vast, open wastes of Hueco Mundo. He never had to come face to face with tiny living arrangements. Every night is a struggle, but every night makes him a little more comfortable. Maybe one day he’ll enjoy the small things again.


Selfishness -
Every soul has a sound. Marcelius can interpret a person's mood and feelings just by the echoes they make. Selfish souls are displeasing. Their sound is a screeching wail that desperately tries to call attention to itself every hour, of every day. Even while they sleep, narcissistic souls cause pain with their Noise. The best cure for beings who care only for themselves, is to let them die alone. Marc does not wish to kill unnecessarily, so his objective has always been to manipulate the selfish. Greedy spirits are the easiest to bait, after all.


Immaturity -
By favoring old age, Marcelius has developed a short patience for immaturity. He attempts to be polite, even when faced with childish antics, or juvenile mannerisms...but it is difficult. It is not simply every little joking response, or enthusiastic outburst; the immaturity Marc hates involves the devaluing of life. There is nothing more disrespectful, than an person willing to discard life...including their own. To make a life, to preserve a life, takes tremendous effort and dedication. For someone to haplessly throw something, that required so much to craft it, away...is disgusting. In fact, immaturity in the topic of death is not something Marc dislikes...he is sickened by it.


Apathy -
As Marcelius is not apathetic, he does not find it enjoyable. It is hard to say, what kind of person would enjoy lethargy. Marc takes a proactive stance on laziness, attempting to encourage any slacking Hollows he finds to be more productive. Something useful can always be done with free time. This isn't an outright war on downtime, just a lack of tolerance for repeat offenders. Fear the day Marc can achieve some sort of position of influence, for missions will be handed out quite frequently.


Zealots -
There is such a thing as too much passion, except in a relationship. Outside of romance, having too much zeal for an idea can be detrimental. From experience, Marc has dealt with just as many zealots as the next Hollow. Commitment doesn't become a problem until it gets in the way of rationality. Loyalty is always a blessing, until it blinds you from the truth. Zealots have been shown to sacrifice everything for their cause, and to Marc, this is an extreme waste of potential. To throw away an entire life for the furthering of a cause, is losing too valuable a resource. It is better to be patient, and spare a life, than to rush fervently into early demise. Zealots are people with the biggest hearts, fooled by the worst hearts.


Berserkers -
Zealots of War; a combination of two things that Marcelius cannot stand. Berserkers represent reckless destruction and self harm. They break, they take, they are terrible at parties. Marc has a hard time understanding how a being could approach combat with their attitude. For him, a fight is a painful necessity; something to be accomplished with speed, efficiency, and respect. These barbarians heave themselves into the fray with little regard for themselves or others, turning a sophisticated art of resolution, into a bloodied mess of carnage. Nothing good comes from the labors of these monsters, as they can not be focused or pushed towards accomplishing meaningful goals. All a berserker can dream off, is the next horrid kill.


Criminals -
Marcelius' reasoning for this particular distaste, stems from different reasons than the norm. Criminals are casted out and disliked, because they break the laws which insure order. Marc does not favor criminals, because he used to be one. Beyond the pains of his rebirth, there was a life that ended with imprisonment. Though the details of life before the traumatic conclusion are often faded, the Hollow knows he must have committed some kind of crime to warrant his punishments. Seeing lawbreakers brings back his memories of imprisonment, and they are not all that pleasant. In truth, Despres pities criminals and the suffering they endure to repay for their crimes.


Lawlessness -
Order establishes a standard of living. By applying rules to ward away the chaos a society can begin it's climb to power. Hueco Mundo represents the ideal of anarchy, quite perfectly. In the eternal sands, the only rule is fight to survive. Every citizen of the night must face challengers who seek their death and power, and they must overcome. Hueco Mundo has existed as long as the Soul Society; and yet it took a young outsider to create an illusion of order. Even under the "King", Hollows still act as cannibals and Arrancar kill for empty titles. Marcelius hates the sheer lack of progress in a lawless environment...as if apathy were a doctrine of government.


War -
What is it good for? The answer is, a whole bunch of things. Despres is not one to preach against war, but neither will he endorse many conflicts. War is struggle, a fight that is often waged for survival. As of now, the Hollows have a semblance of peace...but how long before someone comes to destroy them? War may not be fun, but Marc will fight when the time comes. Happy or not, he will protect his kind from extinction.


Weapons -
Marc does not hold any fondness for weapons. They are tools designed for taking life and deterring growth. Weapons are not evil, and Marcelius possesses the soundness of mind to not blame the instruments for the music they are used to create. It is hard to find a liking for devices of pain, they are at best, reminders of the mortality within us all. Marc has never felt strong by holding a weapon. Some people are intrigued by and adore weapons, but not everyone shares this sentiment. Marcelius would like to hope, that someday, Arrancar won't need their weapons anymore. He always was an idealist though.


Torture -
It is often hard to see, how anyone could feel anything different about the subject of torture. It is the most effective method of negotiation, getting the stronger everything it needs and leaving the weak with nothing. What really occurs, is a mutual loss. The tortured loses their valuable thoughts, and their sense of security. For the rest of their lives, long after the aches of their interrogation have healed and gone, they still feel the pain of helplessness within them. The torturer gives away just as much. For each pain inflicted upon the victim, a piece of the administer's soul is crumbled and destroyed. With each performance in agony, it becomes easier and easier to continue the horrible acts which have already been completed. Being a sadist, means abandoning the heart in search of suffering. Marc can not see the need to do or witness such cruel acts.


Capital Punishment -
The only portion of society and law that Marc finds wrong, is the penalty of death. It is important for any government to maintain discipline and control, but that is still no excuse for murder. Taking the life of an unarmed, unthreatening prisoner, is a waste of effort and life. The only killing that should be done, is on the battlefield. Once an enemy or criminal has been captured, and successfully incarcerated, then they have been dealt with. There is no need to pursue further punishment or try and make examples out of them. The sentence of death only serves the dark desires of the public or victims, who should find alternative ways to feel peace and comfort.


Prisons -
Yet another connection to Marc's former life. The old Hollow understands the need and usage of prisons, but still finds them uncomfortable. Most people find incarceration to be unpleasant, so this is not a bizarre opinion. Being inside of a prison, jail, or cage reduces Marcs ability to focus. Fortunately, there are very few reasons to ever visit a prison in Las Noches...as another one of Marcelius' hated acts, prevents the prisoner count from ever growing to high.


“The King” -
He is a Shinigami. This should be all that needs to be said. As an outsider, the man who leads the Arrancar has no real heritage to grant claim of the throne. He is strong, vastly so, and therefore goes unchallenged. Marcelius believes a Hollow should govern Hollows, one who can lead by example. In fact, Marc actually believes a council would be better. Maybe the Espada could share dominion. In the end, a non-Hollow could never understand the people he leads; therefore, is unfit to do so. Hollows will never advance without their own form of governance...one not mandated by the will of foreigner.


“The Stockyard” -
The title Marc has given to the first several hundred floors of Las Noches. In gargantuan corridors, powerful Hollows are stripped of any chance of dignity and dropped into a pit to eat their way to freedom. The strength of Hollows, as a people, is destroyed in order to breed a select few champions. Marc was unaware of the floors or their purpose when he first arrived to Las Noches. Had he known, he may not have decided to stay. The palace offers a chance for Hollows to share their lives as, typically, more rational Arrancar. There are still cases of mental deformity and deficiency, but it is an improvement on the whole. The price for this, comes from the King himself. In an attempt to produce stronger soldiers, the Stockyard is filled with exceptional Hollows who must fight to the death for freedom. Hollows often act like animals, but treating them as such will never encourage growth or improvement. Marc wants to see a better future for his people, and that must include destroying everything of the past...especially the barbarous acts of orchestrated cannibalism.


Slaughterhouses -
Since his discovery of the Stockyard, Marc has had horrible nightmares. When he ventures into the human world, he might occasionally travel near an animal processing facility. The thought of mindless, defenseless animals being herded to their own destruction, causes Marc to become ill. Imagining the horrors the Hollows of Las Noches are enduring in their feeding chambers, sends Marc into flashbacks of his own days of survival. It is not the building, nor even the act of killing animals in masse, that make Marc shiver. The thoughts that are stirred by the notion of a slaughterhouse; are the ideas that pain Marc's heart.


Cliques -
A corruption of community by the juvenile and weak. People who linger and horde themselves into posses of likeminded individuals, are souls too weak or frightened to become friends with enemies. Life is full of opinions and contradictions; and a spirit does not grow without adversity. Cliques provide shelter for those who do not wish to stand alone. These childish groups give a haven and cloak to hide behind, when the will of weaker person is attacked. Only the pathetic seek the comfort of other insignificant minds, hoping and praying for just a bit of understanding...while shunning anything even slightly different. Hypocritical, detrimental, and in truth...embarrassing.


Intoxicants -
Marcelius values the mind. It is the mind of each individual, that establishes its identity. The mind is the conscious spirit, which resides within all living beings. It is because of who a person is, that they are granted the powers they have. Unique abilities are crafted by the reflections of a person's heart and persona. As important as the consciousness is, why would anyone wish to weaken it? Intoxicants, such as drugs and alcohol, cloud and disrupt the mind. Inebriants delude the very fabric, the Noise, of who someone is. Unbalanced, and irrational, the intoxicated make choices as an entirely different soul...often the wrong ones. To Marc, watching a drunkard is like watching a possession. The person appears as themselves, often even sounding like themselves, but they are being controlled by a fiend. In fairness, Marcelius will indulge in these paraphernalia, but never to the point of inhibition.


Bars -
How could someone who does not condone intoxicants or violence, ever endorse an establishment such as a bar? During his trips to the human world, Marc will rarely prey on a bar. Though it is easy, to lie in wait for a drunken fool to kill himself, Marc refuses to consume unsober souls. Aside from the shame Marc feels while stalking them, their taste is ruined by the depression their consumption has wrought. The quality of a Plus is often soured be regret, when death comes in the form of a mistake made under the influence. Marc has, however, put aside his disapproval of these patrons; to linger about and manipulate the Noises of weakened men and women. Often he convinces them to change their routines and ways...pruning the corruption off of them. If his tending is successful, Marc may return sometime later, to taste the healthy crop crop.


Chopsticks -
Hollows are given claws when their first born, powerful hands that allow them to capture, prepare, and feast freely on their meals. It is those whom have no claws, that have crafted utensils to fill a need of convenience. Though the knife and the fork are useful, reminiscent of swords and spears, chopsticks remind Marc of broken twigs. They are tools of skill, some have said. Any skill that can be trained by making dinner more hassled, is no skill he craves. Besides, as long as one has hands or claws, why waste time fetching tools to eat with? Dignity is meant for conversation and the battlefield, let dinner time stay casual and loose.


Quincys -
There are few creatures in all of existence that match the depravity of the lost tribe of humans. These devils make Marc's Hierro shiver. Aside from their murderous crusades against the Hollows, the Quincies have encouraged the wrath of the Shinigami. If the Death Gods arrange the extermination of a species, while they have yet done this for Hollows, how bad must that make the species in question? In addition to the cruelty of their ways, the Quincies are very difficult to deal with in fights. Their sound is like a terrible vacuum that sucks all the noise around it into a bleak void. They mimic Hollow abilities and call themselves creative, the arrogance in their attitude is almost as appalling as the actions they perform. The new resurgence of their population is a terrible blight on the safety of Arrancar everywhere. Worst of all is their success. When a fight is lost with a Quincy, the losers are lost forever. Marc knows better than most that death is a transition and not an ending. With Quincies, death is oblivion. There is no rebirth, nor is there second chances. They are atrocities.


Habits:

Whistling -
It is fun d*** it. There should be no other excuse necessary for the sake of making this point. For Marcelius' unique perception, whistling is like; spitting fireworks that tickle like silk as they explode. He whistles because of his cheerful, Sealed Form, attitude. It is simply pleasant to make music. The wastes of Hueco Mundo can often be crushing with silence, and all it takes to liven things up is a soft tune. Whistling also causes people to drop their guard, and announces the presence of the performer, both of which are helpful tricks as a Vasto Lorde among lower Hollows. It is a nonthreatening habit that makes Marc appear harmless and friendly.


Lip Biting -
Ever since the time of Marcelius' human life, he has bitten his lips as a means of relieving anxiety. When he became a Hollow, his habits followed him. During long pauses without food, he would chew on his lip to offer some kind of distraction from his appetite. Often when he indulged this oral fixation, he managed to draw blood from the wounds. As an Arrancar of Las Noches, he has more reason than ever to gnaw his flesh. Marc is constantly surrounded by others and desperate to be accepted. Mere inclusion is not his only concern. Before he was alone, living life responsible for his own. Now he has numerous brothers and sisters, all of whom he intends to protect. It is clear how the stresses have begun to mount up around him.


Arithmetic -
Math is not a skill reserved for the classroom or research divisions, and it should be more frequently used by everyone. It is a habit for Marcelius, to observe the world around him, and make calculations over what he witnesses. When watching fighters or dancers practice the routines of their styles, he counts the steps and determines which are simpler by the lower total. When younger Hollows train with their Resurreccions, he counts the seconds they take to release and the minutes it takes to conclude, all the while measuring the effectiveness of their energy by the vibrations they exert. Simple things, the whole day through, that build the foundations of his mathematics skills. It is just another kind of puzzle to solve.


Eavesdropping -
Not all habits are spoken of proudly. Despres has become notorious for his listening skills. Travelling the halls and courtyards of Las Noches, he accepts each chance to join any conversation he comes across. Sometimes there is no good moment to enter the discussion openly, so listening is all he is allowed. He has been caught, and scolded, several times. Still he continues to drop the eaves, wanting to know all that he can about what is going on at home. The wandering lifestyle in the desert, never offered such intrigue or entertainment, and once again he is making up for lost time.


Chatting -
One of the worst problems with being powerful, is losing focus on the threats of reality. Things that would be dangerous for others, you simply ignore or carelessly overlook. Marc believes healthy dialogue can diffuse dangers before they arise, thus eliminating the involvement for great power. With his soft spoken ways and amicable attitude, Marcelius is easy to talk with on most every occasion. His conversation skills are something he uses to great advantage. He loves talking, and there is always so much to talk about. Entire days can be lost to his jabberjaw fetish, if he can find a fellow Hollow to indulge him. He usually can't.


Walking -
Life spent constantly traveling will leave scars of it's own. A remnant from his lifetimes of wandering, is a strong enjoyment of walking. Now, a Sonido is always fun to perform, but it lacks the calm that walking provides. Marc finds it difficult to sleep most nights, blaming the voices in his dreams. To treat his insomnia, he often wanders through the large estate of Las Noches. Having lived in Las Noches far less than many of the other Hollows, he has managed to see far more of their home. Until a day comes when he can truly rest, he'll just keep on walking.


Smiling -
A tendency that is real charming, depending on the crowd. Countless meetings, briefings, conferences, negotiations, discussions, practice sessions, competitions, fights, and dances have been interrupted by questions about his smile. For many reasons...Marc is quite the happy guy right now. So many wonderful changes have occurred in his life, it is hard for him to not be cheerful. Being apologetic, he is often wasting much of his time simply saying sorry for his smile. If his new home has it's way, he will be stripped of both these traits.


Paranoia -
Due to his history, and profound emotional connectivity to his Aspect, Marcelius often becomes anxious over the thoughts of others. Normally, being in his Sealed Form allows Marc the freedom to escape paranoia. When he fails to fend off sudden fits of irrational shame, he will politely excuse himself and leave. Most times he just needs to get away for a moment to collect himself. Other times he experiences a full on attack. When he does suffer an attack, it causes his power of influence over others to become irregular. He could cause a plague of depression or a wave of mania through an entire populace. Even other Arrancar of Vasto Lorde Class could possibly be affected. So far he has always had sufficient time to distance himself, hopefully it will never become a real issue.


Flaws:

Idealist -
There may be no better, or worse, flaw to have. Marcelius has developed a vision for the future, that has Hollows as an organized superpower in the scheme of reality. Just as the Humans have their world to command, and the Shinigami too, Hollows should be a respected institution that lives alongside the other realms. No fighting or genocide, no conflict or strife for any of the nations. To accomplish this vision, Marcelius intends to guide Hollows away from unnecessary violence...starting with violence against themselves. Vowing to never kill or consume another Hollow again, Despres will lead by example and inspire all he can to share this dream. His kind deserves a future as bright as any other race, and nothing will stop his pursuit of it.


Soft Heart -
Mercy can be just as effective when shaping the world as killing will ever be. Knowing when to use restraint and create an example, is an easily lost talent for the hearts of the powerful and strong. Crushing opposition can feel so rewarding, empowering. The truth about mercy is, it is always used too freely. The typical man who values mercy, tries to put it above everything else. Sacrificing their advantages and lives, to spare cruelty a taste of deserved medicine. Marcelius is too hasty with his sympathy, unable to see through more devious plots when weighing the fate of others. It will be his ruin, and he will not see it coming. It can only be hoped, that his demise does not prevent Hollow prosperity.


Easily Distracted -
Puzzles, Math, talking...this guy is swimming in the clouds. The source of his absent mindedness is darker that his other traits. Going back, way back, we would find Marcelius as a hopeless human trapped in a cell. While he awaited the next round of torture to come tear at his skin and crush his spirit, he would long for freedom and relief. In his imprisonment, he found it quite easy to get lost within his own mind as a means of sanctuary. Hours he would spend, dreaming of anywhere else. His daydreams became safety, and they have stuck with him ever since. Centuries later, and he can still wander within his own mind as aptly as his did at 28.


Apologetic -
Hearing someone say they are sorry, often doesn't help much in the way of recovery. Saying sorry more times, similar to prayer, doesn't really change anything either. It becomes a habit for people who feel guilty, to find every way they can, to share apologies. Why should anyone apologize to a stranger for stepping too closely to them? Despres often finds himself apologizing many times in the same sentence, only afterwards does he wonder why he had.


Intrusive -
Nosey. Dropper of eaves. Some people are often compelled to know everything of gossip or interest going on around them. Marc goes a bit far with his curiosity, and tries to assist in every little issue that arises. Even personal matters, this Arrancar feels he can be of some help. The reason for his eagerness to assist, is his desire to stay in Las Noches. A community has members, because those members can provide. If a citizen ceases to be useful, why should they be kept? Las Noches and the Hollows that live there, are all Marc has...and he does not want to be seen as useless by any them.


Hypocritical -
This is a common enough trait for most Hollows. In truth, hypocrisy is a frequent issue for most people. For Marcelius, his dichotomy is formed between the just and the unjust. He believes the murdering of Hollows is unjust, but does nothing about the Hollows who hunt down human souls. He is aware of his moral fallacy, but does not speak of it. He tries to limit his opinions, as they can lead to more paradoxical philosophies. Maybe growth will take away this embarrassing shortcoming.


Fears:

Quincys -
The Quincy are worth mentioning twice. The feelings he has for these people go beyond any immature hatred. The Quincy are a force to be feared. They behave like Hollows, but they eradicate whatever the kill. Whatever they consume is truly gone. Having watched their powers in action as an Adjuchas, unable to silence their Noise which sings like a void, Despres has been scarred by them. If the Quincies continue to exist and destroy, everything, there won't be anything for anyone to fight over. Even the Quincies, if they survive, will be left to waste away through a slow and painful process of inbreeding. No good can come from their existence, it is a fact. No Hollow should flee from a Quincy they can kill, but they should all fear every Quincy they meet.


Liars -
Arrancar are in a time of transition. The world is an aggressive and changing place. Factions are sprouting up and growing strong, and Hollows need to be prepared to face them in unity. Liars pose a large threat to this existence. Betrayal is one of the greatest attacks any organization can face, and liars breed betrayal. Disloyalty can cause an army to crumble at turning point of war, and liars are the tutors of disloyalty. Thankfully, Marcelius is shielded from them. The Noise a spirit makes, alters when they lie. It is unavoidable, even beings who compulsively lie and twist the truth show signs in their sounds. Some kind of emotion is always triggered during a lie, and unlike a heartbeat, the vibration of a soul is much more sensitive to emotional shifts. The record should be set, Marcelius does not hate liars...he simply fears the trouble they can cause.


Merciless Killers -
Killing is expected. There is hunger, which is impossible to sate without some kind of death. Evil and weakness both spoil the world, and death removes them from the equation. Even those who oppose killing, can not deny connection with it. Killing serves necessary purpose, it is a tool with powerful possibilities. However, there exists a line in the sand. Those who kill and feel nothing from their actions, are cursed souls. Like a victim of paralysis, a merciless killer is numb and useless. When violence brings death, guilt is left behind to teach us. Nothing can be learned from killing without sympathy or remorse, and only chaos can follow. To some, chaos sounds enjoyable, but that is because they misinterpret it's true nature. If anything, Marc doesn't truly dislike remorseless killers...he feels sorry for them.


Jail Cells -
Captivity is a huge turn off. This fear spawns from his most vivid memories. While he was a human, he developed his fear for bondage and incarceration. To this day, he still becomes uneasy in small places. It is rational to want freedom, and fear the opposite. Despres dislikes imprisoning others, as it always makes him recall his own time spent behind a lock. He stays strong to prevent future capture, and would gladly choose death over arrest. Unless that death was at the hands of a Quincy...though he doubts he would get much of a choice from them.


Hunger -
Some fear going hungry. Missing a meal is never pleasant. Those who have the choice, gladly eat. Marcelius fears not the growling of his stomach, but insatiable starvation. He lived through it, for far too many centuries. Every waking moment, filled with the need to eat. Everything was food and a possible cure for all aches and pain. Nothing was sacred and everything expendable. There is no growth, no knowledge, no improvement, and no relief. The great hunger, that gave him endless torment before, has finally ebbed. What he fears is it's return. All the family he has found, the accomplishments he has made, could all fall apart in a mad flash of teeth and death.


Ressureccion -
Unlike the majority of Hollows, Despres fears his true self. It is true, that a Hollow's release is it's power and identity. Marc simply fears himself. Locked away in his sword, is a great emptiness. The emptiness is suffering yes, but even more so, it is possibility. While he wields his full power, his mind is tormented by the embarrassment and guilt of all those he's consumed. Everyone one of the spirits who built up his strength, speak to him in a chorus of hate. They don't just shun him and tug at his heart, they also whisper to him...the speak of all the things he could have done differently. It is sometimes forgotten, that Remorse is far more than pain caused by the actions we made. Remorse is also the despair over everything we did not do. Because of all of these thoughts come attached to his Resurreccion, he fears it. Even more so, Marc fears the situations that force him to use his release.


Goals:

Prosperity -
Instead of having many goals, Marcelius has one major goal that requires many individual successes. Hollows have been trapped in an endless cycle of war and destruction since before Marc was born a human. They have had to grow strong to survive. Now Hollows are mighty, and numerous, but still they do not thrive. Something is missing from The Hollow way of life, and without it they will never grow. What is lacking in Hueco Mundo, is Unity.


There is the Palace of Las Noches, with it's Shinigami leader, and it is start. There are factions that exist desperately, which need to be brought together. All of Hueco Mundo needs to raise a single banner and it's colors should mean freedom and prosperity for all Hollows. Marcelius desires strength and knowledge, companionship and sensibility. Marc needs many things to accomplish his goal. A nation for Hollows. His kind needs to work together, to succeed together.


Power is his goal, power for his people. All of existence have cause to fear his kind, and they will one day have cause to respect them. It may take time, several generations even. Marc may die before the goal is achieved, but he will live his life in it's pursuit. When he does finally leave, changing form to never return, he hopes that the name of Despres will remain connected to the rise of "Free Hollows".


"I have lived long enough, that I have forgotten my own name. The one I use now, nothing more than stolen property. If the pain in my bones speaks truth, the name before was no less authentic. I am old. I have seen more of The Sands than any of my brothers should. Each grain, a day of my life. Time will catch me soon...and I will rejoin that body which forever laid underfoot. I will return to the dust. In my end, I do not seek glory or fame. I do not desire power, or treasures. Like all men I have grown, and my needs have become the same as all who stand at death's door. I wish only to die...in comfort, knowing that my life had been of use to someone. I can dream of no better end, than one spent in the company of someone who would care to see me go. Yes, I do hope for prosperity for my people...but selfishly, I crave a family most of all. This I know. This I accept."


Alignment:
Lawful Neutral. Good and bad are simply perspectives, different opinions. It is only by thinking beyond constraints of opinions, that rational decisions can be made. Law is law, simple as that. We need rules to survive together, and surviving with others is the reason for living.


Aspect of Death:
Remorse. The burden of a guilty demise. Executioners in his presence feel shame that carves away at their resolve to kill. Defendants feel empowered around him, their desire to live bolstered into a stronger fighting prowess. The hum of his Spiritual Pressure radiates into the world around him and echoes with the sounds of every death that brought Marcelius to his current strength. He is: a Paragon of Guilt, an Avatar of Shame, and a Crusader for Sympathy.


Overall Personality:
Marcelius has become a Father. It has been centuries since he was youthful and fit to dominate the world. Instead, his tremendously long life has stolen the arrogance right from his heart. Where Hollows fight and struggle to forever grow in power, Marcelius has already known the various flavours of triumph and strength. Now he seeks to simply live out the rest of his days. With his newly chosen destiny, he is afforded quite a happy demeanor. Peaceful, this is the mood of his preferred routine. Never raising his voice or speaking in anger. Never becoming excited; though finding it quite easy to become distracted. His fancies include the aimless wandering he does within the halls of Las Noches. For the greater portion of every day, he will walk the pristine corridors and greet every Hollow he meets. It is not a trouble for him, as his personality is far from off putting. He carries an aura of trust and kindness with him, one that is devoid of both maleficence and outrageous goodness. Possessing a skill with words, and an even greater capacity for sympathy, he can make a friend out of any challenge. In truth, this has become his new ambitions. Having spent the earliest years of his life climbing to the top of the heap, he now wishes to mingle among it and live as one of the community. That would be paradise, a community of his Arrancar brothers and sister.


Honestly, it is a bold claim he makes, that he can make a friend out of anyone. It is true, Marcelius is quick to consider most individuals friends, but this is a error of his judgment. When he meets someone, he quickly learns the greatest portion of who they are. Before introductions have concluded, he can understand a person as if they had been his dearest friend for their whole life. Better still, he becomes as a parent with his knowledge. This level of intimacy often plays to the advantage, allowing him to discuss with his audience, the intricacies of who they are. The challenge being, who Marc has had to deal with a majority of the time. Since becoming an Arrancar, there have been few to actually hone his speechcraft with. Unfortunately, Arrancar are born from the sort of circumstances that flaw their character and social skills. In the complex workings of all his fellow Hollow, he finds it is not always easy to navigate or grasp the reasoning they have for their various actions. No, it is often times a seemingly impossible challenge. First he has to dissect the cause of their behavior. Then comes the manipulation, long and tedious efforts made over a great many weeks in order to shape the personality that they have allowed to fall into disuse. Pulling them away from their dog eat dog mindset, exposing pain inside of them, Marcelius allows them to express feelings they have had to bury and hide. Giving freedom to all the other walking prisons who share his world and his sorrows.


Worse probably, are the souls who value their pain. The ones who cling to the suffering they have endured, as it has become a crutch for their insecurities and weakness. These are the souls Marcelius is actually the most akin too. Once in his life, he found the utmost pleasure in the suffering of others. When the pain of a fresh victim screamed inside of his memories, he felt an ecstasy that has been hard pressed to replicate. He is the embodiment of Remorse, but he has long since fulfilled the duties of such a title. Truly, the Aspect of Remorse is supposed to wrought the faith of every living thing until each one of them feels the same guilt of their frailty. His life proceeded as such for the longest of times, till the day he finally went insane from all of the atrocities that had been building up. Causing a derecho of change to burst through him, expelling the sinister fetishes with it’s mighty gale. Marcelius; however, has not caused another soul such suffering in a great many years. No, instead he has fought for the counterpoint of Remorse. Sympathy and Forgiveness. He approaches those who suffer, or delight in their suffering, and he offers them a new perspective. Painting them grand new ideas and emotions to support those dreams, he opens up a world of possibilities as he sees it. Empowering others, eliminating their Grief and Loathing, he expands their desires so that they might continue to grow. All he wishes, is to see others escape the pain that troubles him. Having grown old and complacent with his own agonies, he lives vicariously through the efforts others make under his influence. As a result, the greatest goal for him as of now, is to see the Hollow race excel and achieve greater happiness than they currently possess.


Finally, there is Marcelius' behavior in actual combats, and it is quite disappointing. Marcelius will act disinterested, because he truly is. Fighting is an extremely unsatisfying ordeal for him. He ever worries, never fears of death. The most enthusiasm he can muster, comes from his opportunity to learn something new about someone new. Fighting the same person twice, is something he tremendously loathes. When fighting, he will avoid striking out at the opponent until attacked. Once actual combat has been engaged, the shortest and safest way to disable the enemy becomes his focus. Like any father, he has no qualms with dealing out punishment. Marc never goes for the kill. As a Hollow, it is hard for him to not cause immense pain...this is simply a means to force his enemies' surrender. The cliché, "This hurts me more than you.", is a common line. The reality is, Marc does feel the pain inside. As shameful as hurting others may be, Marcelius is capable of inflicting astonishing injuries. In the end, Marc uses his disapproval of conflict to justify his pacifying methods. Enemies are to be stopped, not beaten or killed. In an environment or situation where he can not be allowed to escape or avoid it, Marc can be pushed to act proactively. This is against his nature however, and is very rare...often times causing him to make terrible mistakes. Like most elderly, he does not operate well outside of his element. But there was always exceptions to each rule. Situations far beyond the boundaries of commonplace; which call upon immediate action. It is uncharacteristic of him...but that itself, is one of his characteristics. No matter how he may be forced to behave or act, sparring an opponent is always his greatest success...and he will seek that success fervently.

[Marcelius]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Powers}

-Powers-

Fighting Style:
To better understand why Marcelius chooses his specific Terms of Engagement, it is necessary to understand how he perceives the world. Unlike most other sentients, Marc has the keen ability to interpret the secrets of spiritual energies. The ability to see, hear, and feel...the Song of Life. Marcelius views the world through a different lens. He sees the same reality that everyone else does, but with added touches. Every life, every thing with a soul, has a Song of their own. Some are fast and pleasant to the mind. Others are dark, slow, and fill the listener with dread. Others are coarse, shrieking for all to hear and despise. He listens to this mucus, and determines the secrets therein. Truths, that with proper focus, can be discerned. The Songs are often described as auras. Bodies of light that hover around the physical form, producing colors, waves of energy, and alternating sounds...all at one. This is how the layman would interpret them, Marc would also accept this notion. However, where others may feel the pressure of the Songs; Marcelius can also feel the lyrics. Words, that has both purpose and meaning. These vocals give away such information as; their name, the active thoughts or points of their focus. Combined together, all of these characteristics can allow Marc to understand and comprehend his friend, neighbor, or enemy...as well as someone who has known them for years. So, when he decides how best to fight his opponent's...he is ALWAYS having to fight someone who is "close" to him. This causes him to hold back, and restrain himself in almost every circumstance. The results of such restraint is a style of swordplay which focuses solely on parrying attacks and a martial arts which focuses on nonleatal submissions.


Light
Light and it's color, defines the specifics of a target's Emotion. But how does this come about? Songs are often considered auditory events. They are sounds of the music and the words, coupled together. But just like normal music, there is always much more beyond the senses. There are Emotions. When one closes their eyes, and allows darkness in, they can almost see them. The lights; which fill the mind in the cadence of music. Marcelius went without sight for so long...that he learned to see the brightest of the colors...and know exactly what they mean. Depending on the color of an a soul, and the brightness with which it shines, Marcelius can identify the current Emotions of his target. Every living being is bathed in this beautiful light. Shifting in color and hue, becoming saturated or washed as the soul experiences various stimuli. No matter how a soul might be altered or influenced by it's environment, it will always keep some color. It is as natural as a fingerprint, except it's location is on the soul. More specifically than this, the light always rises up from the center of a being's mass. In this way, it is not unlike a heart. This unifying quality means, that no matter how damaged or cursed a soul may be...Marcelius always knows where to find it's feelings. With special cases, it require more stain or focus, but the results will always remain the same. After all...somewhere inside, all life feels something.


Learning how to find this information, is something he has trained since his "youth". It is was the search for color and lights in other souls, that developed his analytical mind. It was a necessity for him to become adept at interpreting these lights. Without eyes or ears, this became his only way of grasping the features of those beyond his touch. It was his only means of interacting, and it was his only viable skill for hunting. In those early days of discovery, the gleaming auras were almost blinding to him. Despite the intensity of the beacons, he longed for them. It took time and patience to not be as greatly afflicted by their glare. This quality still remains. When he examines truly powerful spirits, ones with passionate emotions, it can almost be blinding. This will cause him to cringe in a noticeable manner. All of this exposure; however, taught him to recognize even the most subtle of shifts. It was not necessary for the lights to change their base color, for him to spot differences. This discovery helped him understand the stages of emotions. By focusing and studying on the different saturations of singular colors, he found them to be wildly complex. Now he understands that the darker the color, the more zealous the feelings being experienced. He learned that this also made them much more difficult to manipulate...but more on that later.


Vibration
Vibration and the stimulation it provides, defines a picture of the target's physical and spiritual potentials. Actions made in the Spiritual Worlds, especially in the immensely dense atmosphere of Hueco Mundo, carry certain effects on the environment. Whenever a spiritual being exerts themselves, whether it be a show of might on behalf of the body or soul, vibrations are created in the spiritual particles that surround them. Much like waves in an immense ocean, these ripples carry themselves quite far and wide...in all directions. For those like Marcelius, who can understand these waves with dynamic intuition; the vibrations of these waves holds wondrous secrets. Though this is easily understood when considering the movement of reishi and the flexing of a soul’s pressure, it is a much harder concept to grasp with basic physical movements. Once again, it only takes a practiced and learned understanding. Every action, has an effect on the world around it. It is easy to grasp this concept for observers who study only the pressures and strengths which the a soul can exert. Powerful beings carry so much weight in their spirit, such magnitude, that even those numb to the knowledge of energy can be crushed by their gravity. No knowledge is required, to understand the vastness of such souls.


But when Marc was still hunting, he had no reason to understand or track such behemoths. His focus was finer, aimed towards prey which could actually be caught and consumed. To this end, he sought to apply the same values shared by massive spiritual pressures, to more sensible application. One such skill, was the ability to detect the effects of physical might on the environment. An exertion of strength, causes a massive spill of reactions. Waves, ranging from small to immeasurable, come cascading past Marc. They do not harm him, or even bother him...he simply observers their passing. Physical strength, when regarding a being composed of spiritual particles, has just as much effect as one's Spiritual Pressure. The body in question must use energy and push against the latent Reiatsu within the world. However, it can be confessed, detecting physical potentials is vastly harder. The information comes second hand, being passed from the subject ; into the spiritual particles around them; which then trigger Marcelius' senses. This inaccuracy is still minimal; however, and still paints an acceptable model. Fortunately, it is not simply strength which influences the world. When a spirit utilizes supernatural amounts of speed, they push forcibly against spiritual particles. Like ship waves, which are produced by boats cutting through the water, so do spiritual beings create similar waves. These tell, quite clearly, the amount of force needed to create them.


Ah, but this is how he detects potential energy across great distances. Anything beyond the reach of typical senses, such as sight. The method changes dramatically...when he has a clear line of sight on his prey. The reality is, that energy is used and pushed upon whenever a spiritually aware being sets their body in motion. Reiatsu is constantly traveling through the body, waiting to be used, and it shows up on a delicate sensors perception as increased intensity. Flexing muscles and stretching tendons, filling and expelling the Reiatsu that passes through them normally. A metaphor that helps with this, is the comparison to an MRI. The naturally occurring Reiatsu in a spiritual body acts as the dye, and the sensitivity being within Marc acts as the electromagnetism. Instead of showing simple images of the interior of another creature, it shows the maximum amount of Reiatsu certain areas could contain. This creates intensity that can be felt by Marc. The higher the intensity, without signs of damage or breakdown -as with Failures unique composition-, the higher their potential can be speculated. As before, physical energy offers only approximate figures. There will always be a level error or lack of certainty. So, without 100% accuracy, what is the point? For starters, unassuming figures and disarming personalities will not be able to pull a fast one over on him. After all, how can he appear to be the wise and seasoned Sage, if he can be tricked by crafty juveniles? As a note, he thinks everyone else is a juvenile.


But as always, there is more. Vibrations are not simply caused by the body, no, they are are more fervently inspired by the spirit. When a capable soul, builds their Reiatsu to any effect, Marcelius can experience and know the measurable growth. Through learning and memorizing, he can recognize energy patterns and determine their intentions. If an opponent utilizes Reiatsu to perform some feat or attack, Marc will know what it is in the preparation stage. This is a combination of knowing how much energy they are using AND hearing the lyrics of their plans...but more on that later. This trick, though useful, does not extend beyond the apparent value. Marc feels this elusive skill, will soon find it's way into his arsenal. He has spent centuries, lifetimes, simply observing the way others move and react. What he did in the beginning, as a cautious hunter; he does now for pure curiosity. He hopes discover the secrets of motion, the ones others could never perceive. So far he has become almost clairvoyant with determining patterns. He hopes to extend this talent; possibly to find the farthest most reaches of a single person's choices.


Pitch and Tempo
Tempo, both the changes in pitch and the frequency of beats, is what allows for a general understanding of the target. For each specific race among the count of the world, a certain sound carries. These "racial" sounds, remain the same from one individual to the next. As time, a person like Marcelius, can come to know these as plainly as accents between different peoples. But is there more to the sound than simple origin? The answer is yes, but like most things, it requires careful analysis and study. The first and most significant variation of a certain species tone, is the pitch. How high or low provides the knowledge of the subjects age. This can be widely varied, and often difficult to pin to an exact year. However, this allows for a basis to work with; while more accurate answer are sought. One way to improve the accuracy of this scale, is for Marc to limit the distance between himself and his target. The closer the source of the Soul, the less distractions and interference which could throw off the reading. Another way, would be through the release of large amounts of energy. Whether it is Marc's or his targets, it would stimulate the sounds coming from the soul. Marcelius' interacting with the source would cause a splash, while theirs being released is quite self explanatory. But still, there is more which the sound can illuminate.


For if he can acquire a clear enough reading, then Marc could also determine basic statuses of the body. With all the energy bouncing around inside of spiritually active souls, it resonates with their organs much the same way that normal sound would bounce off of them. From there, it only takes a studied intellect on anatomy to determine if major issues are at work. This obviously cannot diagnose the specifics of a disease or identify cellular maladies, who would expect it to? But it can register broken bones and could even identify accelerated breathing. This cannot register things like fevers of course, as Reiatsu does not frequently respond to minimal changes in heat. Regardless of the minute details, it can assure Marcelius of the well being of his target without the need of direct line of sight, and that is the true beauty of it.


Lyrics
It is appropriate for music to have words, seeing as the first songs were nothing but words. Lyrics tell stories, revealing the much more personal aspects of the soul. The words of a song often speak of the soul's name, their memories, and even their fixations. Thoughts, grand or slight, are the messages of the lyrics. Of all the secrets that a soul's lyrics can expose, the true name is the most bold. To learn something like this, Marcelius need only be in range of his desired subject. From there, almost every thought which spills from them uses their own name to identify themselves within their thoughts. This would lead one to believe it takes a a narcissist to learn a name, but that would be immature. Every create, humble or arrogant, must consider itself in almost every one of it's thoughts. In the end, hiding one's true name from Marc is quite the spectacular achievement. Ah, but even if he cannot learn what moniker to give his prey, there are other truths which the soul's poem may share.


Within all beings, there lies a chance to decipher their very thoughts. This comes in two distinct ways. First are fixations. These are the focuses and desires which drive the soul's core. The initial use of this trick, is to spot what the subject his examining. In battle this could show Marc hints of a planned target. At a party, this could show the Arrancar which person his subject finds the most interesting in the crowd. These are surface thoughts, notions which spawn from stimuli to the senses mixed with decisive thought. Though this glimpses come quickly and leave just as soon, they can prove invaluable. Ah, but sudden reactions are not the only thoughts being sung about. For many people, their everyday attitude is defined by emotions and habits. But where do these come from? What establishes how an individual should feel at any given time? Especially if every soul reacts differently from the other?


Memories are the answer. Significant moments from each of our pasts which shape our ideas and beliefs. Because these are the source of most emotional responses, they have become a delicacy for Marcelius to savor. If enough feelings can be stirred by an individual memory, then it may crawl from the darkest depths of his subject's mind...and share itself with Marc's inquisitive light. Childhoods, happy or sad. Momentous events, whether triumphant or crippling. These are "great movements" within a soul's concerto. Listening to them, while quite informative, is often immensely entertaining. Ah; though the information is almost infallible, there are issues with making use of it. If and when he learns something from his opponent, it is at the same pace. Meaning, they have to create the notion before he can hear it. The only way he could ever hope to reach a conclusion before his opponent, is by guessing. Though his instincts are quite magnificent, this would still prove a very difficult feat. So, if he wishes to make use of the knowledge he has gathered from his opponent; Marcelius must be quick to act before them. This can be difficult, but does not hinder his acquisition of knowledge in the slightest.


Terms of Engagement
Marcelius' preferred form of fighting is none. Having a unique gift of Sugerencia, Marc will endeavor to persuade the concession of his opponents. Preferring not to feel the effects of a long, prolonged struggle as it warps both his and his opponent’s minds. When he is unable to bring about a peaceful resolution, he begins planning his retreat. To Marc, few circumstances are worth the cost of one’s life, and all battles wager on that cost. If the situation has escalated, with diplomacy and absence as non-options, Marc will defend himself. He well practiced with a sword, as of late, and favors a very defensive approach. He will not display aggression or strike at his opponent first. Standing his ground, prepared for whatever attempts might be made on his life. He will plies his patient craft. Once they have exhausted themselves sufficiently, Marcelius will attempt to persuade them once again. If his second attempt at persuasion fails, he will attempt to flee. If drawn back into the fight, he will continue his efforts with wisdom he gained from the previous exchange. This is how he handles himself, when armed. When he is left to defend himself without a sword, he changes his tactics. Once a Masked One, he is well versed in hand-to-hand struggle. However, pleasantries are lacking when forced to fight by tooth and nail. Using Instincts he fostered as a regular Hollow, he makes every effort to break the opponent in a quick succession of movements. Hoping to simply injure his attackers to the point they no longer desire conflict.


Escundar de Armas
"A weapon as a shield." For a passive soul such as Marc, who neither seeks nor values harm of any kind, this is the only solution. Eda's swordplay is crafted from extensive examinations of all the martial art forms. Eda embodies Marcelius’ will to act and his desire to avoid bringing unnecessary death into the world. He has built his own individual style; which sacrifices all formal methods of aggression. His method is now a defense, unparalleled and unbroken. For when he fights, he does not aim to kill his opponent, but endures whatever force they may bring to bare. Using every second, of every fight, to attain knowledge from his efforts. Once he has discovered their secrets, he strikes to dissuade them. Immobilizing his target is the preferred result. By not killing them, he is assured another opportunity to face them again and anything new they learn or develop. By allowing others to live, he insures himself no shortage of challengers. As time goes on, if he survives, he will only continue to improve.


Form -
His stances are always defensive. He has honed only such postures, so that his body will react accordingly without delay.. There can be no hesitation or debate for his instincts, as he will always choose defense over the attack. Inspiration for his form and footwork, came from the most dominant feature of his home. Sand. A rigid and earthen material, sand behaves rather uniquely when faced with opposition. If the impact is weak, the sand will shift and accept the pressure exerted against it. To avoid destruction, it adheres to the desires of a patient attacker. When the force is increased, and attempts to overcome the sand with brute force, the grains join together to resist. No matter the strength of the opponent or impact, it cushions the blow and scatters the efforts within it’s great multitude. To Marc's alternative perspective, this was a grand triumph of the miniscule. So he has taken the methods of sand into his own conflicts. To start, Marcelius does not move unless it is strategically sound. He will not take steps that are risky, to gain momentary advantage. He will not sacrifice his firm footing, to lash out with aggression. In his patience and sturdiness of structure, he will simply wait out the opportune moments that come from an active enemy. His stationary method will often grant his opponent the first swing. If any attempt to push or harm him is made, he will slide and counter like sand. Using smooth steps to move with and around the assault. If an attempt to overpower him is made, he reduces the power. He does this by relaxing his body and letting it become a conduit of motion. The energy simply moves through him, escaping into the ground through his feet. The fluidity of water, with the sturdiness of a mountain; this is the strength of Hueco Mundo's sands. This is what Marc emulates.


Motion -
More than any other in all of reality, Marcelius has a tremendous respect for motion. It's physical, mental, and spiritual properties. It is used for everything, occurring everywhere. The exchange of mass and energy, the transfer of force, the shift in thought, and the ambitions of the soul. Every spare moment of Marc's time as a Hollow was devoted to exploring these facts. He would spend hours watching his muscles twist and turn through the corpse of a fresh meal. Observing the flickering of light that was the dwindling of their life. He became masterful at determining sources of least and greatest motion. The most common application of his understanding, is in the manipulation of emotions. However, Marc has also come to use his knowledge for the sake of his swordplay. He utilizes the least amount of necessary force to face every challenge. This is an extension of his personality, as much as it is efficiency. He always seeks the path of least resistance when combat is involved. His movements are quick, but more importantly, they are short. Despite his size or age, he moves with precision of a man half of both...maybe more than half his age. He can deflect attacks within fractions of fractions of a second, by using unorthodox movements. Through his great practice and conservation, he simply does not become fatigued from use of his blade. Although vigorous movement such as running, jumping, and other such exercises, do still tire him out as normal. If he can maintain his position, he can patiently fighter for much longer than could ever be anticipated. All thanks, to his unparalleled insight into motion conservation.


Sensitivity -
To each and every aspect of the world. Sensitivity as a warrior, may sometimes appear as a weakness. Fighters are meant to be strong, resilient, and certainly not exposed. However, Marcelius uses exposure for what it was intended by nature. Hunting as a Hollow, taught him to remain constantly aware of any and all changes. Luckily, when it comes to feeling the world around him, Marc has a distinct advantage. He can see reality through a lens that others have difficulty imagining. He reads the very lives of others like, seeing all the aspects of their being with just a very glance. Their secrets are coded messages, which he alone has deciphered. When they move, he feels the motion before it is visible. When their fatigue slips, he hears the fall. When they bolster their spirit, they are as a light in a cave. His adversaries share knowledge of themselves, like a dear friend. With what he learns from watching, he is never surprised. Just as he can become a conduit for aggression, so can he also absorb insight. Utilizing every sensation he can detect, Marc feels the battle for every detail it contains. To rely on a barrier for defense, can inhibit one's ability to perceive the enemy. What good is a shield which blinds? Instead of hiding, Marc remains open and welcoming to all forms of assault.


Preparation -
Taking place before conflict ever begins, preparation seems an expected addition to any martial style. Often, fights will start without any warning or courtesy; preventing this trait from having any use at all. For Marc such a fight would not be condoned. He will not face any opponent without sufficient cause or information. He will learn his adversary; studying everything about them long before ever laying eyes on them. If he can not do this, then there is no fight. He will not participate, nor respond to any call. The reasoning for this is two fold: first, it is infinitely unwise to face a rival with no prior knowledge of them; second, Marcelius appalls killing needlessly. If he must fight someone, it must concern some vastly important reason; as the conflict may result in someone's death. For a soul as passive as Marc's, true tragedy is needed to compel him. If all the necessary factors come into place, and his heart swells with determination, then he will have both passion and strategy on his side. Fools rush into a fight with hope, and no plan. Marc...is no fool.


Random Pattern -
By alternating and combining four Key Motions, it is possible for someone to encourage the flow of the fight. Outright control is impossible, every opponent possesses the power of creativity. This is simply a system to compel their muse. The setup is fundamental, devoid of useless complexities. It also contains a secret, but nothing as ostentatious as an "Ultimate Attack". It is a simple trump card, one that is fueled by the deception this half of the style embodies. A Neutral Motion. A fifth movement that offers no suggestion or false information. Just a sturdy posture and definitive response. By mixing the Neutral movement into the pattern, it's possible to reset the efforts that have been made so far. Several PLUSes have the enemy driving home into one location again and again; a Neutral response erases the lie of weakness. After a Neutral posture, the steps of combat begin anew.


PLUS: Intentional faults that produce increased aggression from the enemy. By exposing weakness again and again, the threat of a critical blow increases.


MINUS: Powerfully driven blocks that give the illusion of aggression. Used to encourage the opponent to strike alternative zones that appear to offer less resistance.


Push: Forward stepping blocks, used to suggest a less direct response from the opponent. Success will guide the enemy into changing styles, re-positioning, or indirect combat.


Pulls: Blocks that are accomplished by stepping away. By stepping back, it is an invitation for the opponent to charge or swing more powerfully.


Escundar maintains the discipline, that simplicity and planning are paramount to success. A brash enemy will charge into the suggestions, falling for the ploys and freely follow the advice given to them. A wise enemy will see the schemes, but be defeated by planning. When a wise enemy utilizes an ambush; the odds are already stacked and only a fool would gamble. The real weakness of Escundar is the user. Marcelius is too willing to give his life, for Escundar de Armas to achieve any greatness. He will obsess over the protection he can offer with his style, until the day generosity claims his life. The individual techniques that have been forged through trial and error, will go unnamed. Eda is not to be passed down or taught. It is not art to be shared. It is not a method of killing. It does not propagate war. It is not an exercise routine to keep one healthy. It is certainly not a sport for enjoyment. Eda is a Shield, used to protect instead of destroy.


(OoC: So...you know how the Canon stuff from Kubo usually sucks, but then sometimes there is really cool shit? Like, for instance; "Arrancar, somehow, are just natural born killers. Every Arrancar knows how to fight, without training, with seemingly NO explanation?" Well...Doc made and explanation.)


Hollow Style
As one might imagine, this section is going to be very bitey. Against popular belief or assumption, Hollow Style is more diverse than it may ever receive credit for. It is the accumulation of hundreds, if not thousands of years of observation. It is by far and without rival, the oldest of all forms of “Martial Arts". By examining the hunting techniques and mannerisms of other Hollows, as well as including many breakthroughs from his own Masked history, Marcelius has developed the fundamentals for Hollow combat. Everything from the stance to the motion, both the offense and defense, all comes from the power of Hollow animalism. The best place to begin would be the fundamentals, no? Les notions et les principes, qui? The beginnings of Hollow Style are the Instincts; think of these as the pillars to the lifestyle. The Instincts include: Predation, Aggression, Subjugation, and Conservation. Each Instinct defines an entire genre of techniques and strategies; which cater to the specific needs of the individual. Hollows choose an Instinct as their own when they kill their first meal; whether they have the sense to know it or not. After they have chosen an ideal to define them, by actual choice or just actual action, they begin to develop. From this point on; the more incredible or efficient their Instincts, the more devastating their style becomes.


Instincts are not schools or doctrines which must be studied or practiced, they are skills of survival that are experienced and evolved. Only the most rare and clever of Hollows can hope to learn multiple Instincts...as they come to define the Hollow's very being. This is not rigid Martial Arts or even Kung Fu(Hard Work). Instead of memorizing routines and mastering regimented steps; Hollows are required to respond to develops answers as new threats are presented. The answered devices, are then defined by one of this core foundations. It is by survival, that the best techniques are passed on through the victors. The learning does not end with the breaking of the Mask. As evolution forces the Hollows back into humanlike forms, so do their Instincts and Styles adapt. Even after Hollows ascend from their beastial forms, to either Vasto Lorde or Arrancar, they will retain their skills. Whether it is known or not, EVERY Hollow utilizes Hollow Style..as the methods and teachings are naturally ingrained into their very soul. So, now that this basic description is out of the way, it is time for more details. First the Instincts, and then Marcelius’ own preferred style.


Instinct of Predation -
The First Pillar. The initial Instinct which every Hollow feels, is Predation. Predation focuses on situational awareness. Of all the Instincts, this is the easiest to experience and pursue. It starts in the very beginning, with the first growl of an empty stomach. From the very birth of a Hollow, they need to feed. It is a total domination of their being, this Hunger without end. The way every Mask -since the Christening of Cain- has fed their immense hunger, is with the death of other souls. By feasting on the flesh of “Pluses” or even the bodies of their kin, Hollows have sought to consume their way to relief. It was discovered by the first Hollows, that food would not simply come to them...that they would need to track it down and consume it. And so, the Instinct of Predation arose. It trained Hollows to quiet themselves and hone their senses. It commanded the growling stomach to be still, so that the mind might feel it’s way towards a meal. Predation is the first Instinct to guide any Hollow, and it often leaves them as beasts.


It is thanks to the Instinct of Predation, that Hollows were able to develop such skills as Pesquisa. Raising awareness is the key goal of Predation, but is not the only facet to it’s existence. Hollows which focus themselves on this Instinct are also more capable in regards to stance and posture. As any Martial Artist can attest, proper stance and motion patterns can be the only deciding factor of combat. Fighters of less strength can out maneuver their opponent and displace the benefits of the superior participant. Predation, unlike the other Instincts, is far more concerned about matters outside of open conflict. Predation begins with the acquisition of an appropriate target, meaning, Hollows more immersed in this skill will pick fights better suited to their talents. Hollows can mimic intelligence using this Instinct, by appearing to devise plans and strategies prior to conflict...while in reality, they are using previously developed knowledge and superior reflexes. As time goes on, Hollows devoted to this Instinct will make noticeable use of careful footwork and speedy reactions. These are Hollows who fight with response, not necessarily proactive.


Instinct of Aggression -
The Second Pillar. This, without doubt or question, is the single most common Instinct of the four. The Instinct of Aggression takes hold of every Hollow at least once. Whether during their first hunt or the first time they are nearly killed, they will eventually resort to this Instinct. Some simply choose to stay. The principles of this Pillar are ferocity and strength. The larger the Hollow, the more likely it is to follow the Instinct of Aggression. When these Hollows hunt, they are quick and they are dynamic. They strike with force that is unparalleled. These Hollows aspire to overwhelm their opponent with either the speed of their attacks, or the sheer magnitude. This Instinct pushes Hollows to strengthen their body and increase their Reiatsu density. As they grow and evolve, their bodies change to suit their dedication to this Instinct. Their size and raw power increase to accommodate their increased Aggression. These are the Hollows which develop a tolerance for pain and blood loss, unrivaled by their nonAggression siblings. In no other Instinct, are the effects more blatant.


This Instinct is driven, when in combat, to perpetual motion and momentum. By illustrating the Aggression Instinct with only words, someone might believe it is berserking. The truth is, Hollows are often simple beasts, and therefore, lack the passions or rage needed to actually berserk. The reality of Aggression is that an animal will take defense, as well as offense, into account. The defense for this Instinct, is that the opponent never gets to attack. If the prey does manage to retaliate, then the effectiveness of their struggle is meant to be diminished by the lack of openings or stability. Methodical barrage, which offers no freedom; this is Aggression's protection. When fighting a true progeny of the Second Pillar; prey should know only faltering steps and shaken nerves before their body, mind, and soul are all ripped from the weave of life's threads. In the end, the Instinct of Aggression supplies many Hollows with the means to overcome odds that are otherwise weighted against them...either that, or they die off quickly and strengthen the herd.


Instinct of Subjugation -
The Third Pillar. This is a far more acquired taste than either Predation or Aggression. When the phrase "acquired taste" is used, it is meant quite literally. Subjugation usually develop in Hollows who prefer living meals. Instincts of Subjugation are most commonly found in physically meek Hollows. Something about that may seem odd -the idea of a scrawny Hollow trying to subdue the mighty brood of Aggression- but that is a product of unimaginative thinking. This Instinct is harnessed and empowered by Hollows who use their powers to defeat the forces stacked against them. Hollows with gifts that go beyond raw strength of spiritual presence, these souls seek to cripple the talents of their prey and capture them. Sharing more in common with those of Predation Instincts, capturing the enemy requires more craft and cunning. How does this translate to combat?


Easy enough. The Instinct of Subjugation pushes Hollows to act before their target can. Much like the hurried stampede of Aggression, this Instinct finds victory by taking proactive measures. Studying the opponent as the fight commences, Hollows who grow in this Pillar will identify the focus of their prey and hamper that skill. Instead of using speed or ferocity to remain safe, Subjugation causes injuries to reduce the threat. Opponent favors Aggression, hamper their joints. The meal is quick and flees from attacks, hinder their senses or force them into a corner. "Wounded prey, is better prey." This Instinct guides the Hollow to establish superiority before risking a killing blow. Hollows of Subjugation favor grappling more than any other, when forced to fight claw to claw. In all honesty...this Instinct is birthed strictly from cruelty.


Instinct of Conservation -
The Fourth Pillar. The rarest of all the Instincts; which developed in only the most specific of Hollows. The Instinct of Conservation. Hollows of the final Pillar have adopted a means of combat which prioritizes personal safety or minimizes strain. They commit themselves to the idea of waiting out the enemy, enduring their attempts to do harm, and then striking when no stamina remains. Most commonly, these are Hollows with thick defenses or unmotivated personalities. As beasts they appear slower or less concerned with their surroundings. Most peculiar of all, those with immense Instincts in Conservation often do not seek out food with the same insatiability of typical Hollows. It is as if this group does not feel the pain of Hunger as fiercely, or simply possess a resistance to it.


They, unlike any other Hollow, seem unfettered by the escape of a potential meal. Most noteworthy of a Conservation Hollow's arsenal, is patience. Knowing when and when not to expend their precious energy, they will end every fight feeling fantastic...or die trying. This is their nature, to limit risk and maximize their efficiency. In terms of growth or evolution, this group does advance the slowest...but of them all, they are the most likely to achieve Vasto Lorde. That is right, Conservation is the instinct which most consistently produces Vasto Lorde. Of all the methods of development that Hollows could be embodied by, the final Pillar is the most intelligent...why, because they have to be. Eating less frequently and utilizing less than full potential through most fights -to avoid over exerting- they HAVE to be more clever. Obviously this will always be a matter of debate, but the facts currently concede to this truth. Just don't tell the progeny of Aggression that...


Marcelius' Hollow Style
Marcelius' is a Subjugation Hollow. In the earliest days of his development, he devoted himself to the Predation Instincts. His senses were never very keen, but his mind was forever aware of all life around him. Naturally he pushed hard under the First Pillar. Studying all the prey which surrounded him, he always took into account their strengths and weakness. As time went on, he discovered he could grasp strengths and weaknesses faster than his opponents. Marcelius could LITERALLY feel the delayed realizations with his meals' minds. Because of this, his mentality changed to that of Subjugation. No longer devoted to constantly observing and planning careful ambushes; Marc sought to utterly pulverize his food one weakness at a time.


Form -
When preparing to enter unarmed combat, Marcelius adopts a blatantly open stance. Typically leaving his arms at his side, and standing fully upright. Were he frozen, he might appear as a training dummy. Though he may look untrained or even foolish, this stance is HIGHLY stylized to his unique combat Instincts. Given that he is quite an observant fellow -who favors understanding his rival before fully engaging them- it is necessary he provide a window for them to showcase their desires and talents. With his open, almost oblivious pose, he illuminates his entire body to their analytic process. No enemy -living or dead, trained or untrained- can prevent their mind from planning an assault on his waiting figure. Whether their scheme be complex, or "Hulk Smash", Marc will hear it ringing in their mind. Like beautiful music, they will sing their ambitions and intents. Those who think themselves clever might make multiple plans, or prepare devious feints...but that leads to the second marvel of is unassuming stance. Flexibility...yes, even for a dusty old codger. No matter what choice is picked from the lot, he has an equal amount of distance to travel for whatever block or parry needed. Since he does not devote himself to any particular form at the start, he leaves himself every available option. Though not an ingenious strategy, it is an effective one. Certainly for an individual with his talents; which the Third Pillar taught him to exploit.


Obviously, his initial stance has little use once he has exposed his opponent's primary strategy. Once the conflict closes in, Marc is forced to switch his posture. Step one; keeping his feet at shoulder width. The idea of holding one's ground is shared throughout all fighting styles...but for Hollows, it was an instinctual prerogative. Specifically for Predation; which was his foundation Animals only feel confident when all their feet can touch the ground. Though he has come a long way from his wilder roots, this mentality has not changed. When fighting with nothing more than his claws, he will step carefully and soundly. If his feet sense even the slightest disturbance, then he will retract the motion for another. This is where a small pattern can be uncovered. Unstable ground will always create blockades for his sturdy movements. In this way he can be trapped by his opponent, as well as luring to them. What negatives one might suppose about this, are easily reversed to advantage...so be warned. Such consciousness is essential for maintaining balance and providing acceptable range of motion. Again, given his age and speed, the old man must maintain a sturdy footing to avoid being trampled by sudden assaults from zippier youths. By never raising his feet from the soil (Kicks are for acrobats...and donkeys.), Marc hopes to remain stable throughout the confrontation. With a firm foundation, his legs are left responsible for movement and elevation. If he needs to adjust his striking angle, he trusts his strong back to twist and lean. Given that all of his attacks are crippling in nature, but not frequently used, his arms will often take positions much like those of Boxers in the world of the living. This is a protective arrangement. High up so to intercept and redirect blows away from his torso and face. Obviously, with comparisons to boxing being apparent, his legs would be his assumed weak point...which is what he wishes to be believed. More on that later.


Motion -
OK, let's be real for a moment. Marc is old as fuck. Because of his age and deterioration, he no longer has the stamina to jump and flip about. To be fair, when he DID have the energy to do such things, he still did not. Exaggerated motions, such as flips and spins, are used by frailer people to strengthen their force. Marcelius, being the stocky galoot he is, can punch through just about anything besides Dwarfism Mithril. Now, with that kind of raw strength, Marc gets to skip all the dramatic attempts to improve force. The truth of the matter, is fighting like a beast never suited his identity. Though the animals do well with what they have, there are reasons why Hollows evolve. What may have suited him in days of cannibalistic predation, will no longer suffice against the strength of modern enemies. As a Hollow, all motion was devoted to keeping a steady footing and throwing the next claw. Now, as an Arrancar, he can exercise more finesse.


Instead of trying to overwhelm his opponents, Marc has discovered the benefits of trapping them. Steps are taken to eliminate exits and opportunities for his enemy. Cutting off wide swings and interceding into acrobatics; Marc would hope to interrupt the opposition's flow with calm, stern movements. Strikes are made with the hands, so as to attempt grasps. The aim is to not simply injure the prey, but to catch them, and force the conflict into a very limited space of raw Strength vs Strength. Momentum is another story, for no potential of strength can compensate for a good flow of movement. If he must strike, he would do so in hopes of causing ripples in their muscles. This Arrancar focuses on woven attacks, which utilize devastating blows to churn up momentum. Instead of aiming to push back the opponent and constantly throw off their balance or stance, Marc's intents are more -dare I say it- sadistic. See, Marcelius can sense energy...to the freaking nth degree. When attacking beings made of Reiatsu, he can feel ripples coursing from the impact throughout their whole body. (Thanks for the tip, spirit particles.) What Marc aims to do, his catch those ripples before they escape through the feet. Seeing as the motion causes extra tension in the flesh as it passes, it leaves nerves and bones exceptionally vulnerable to additional force. Where the gooey beef of a living organism might absorb and disperse incoming trauma, the area would already be preoccupied. Basically; what Marc hopes to achieve with his attacks is a 1-2 combo. Creating resistance where it may not exist and then using that resistance to fracture the area. Bones will break, muscles will tear, and nerves will suffer one hell of a shock. Unfortunately, he does not have the ability to litter his rivals with several blows...thus he is Subjugation and not Aggression. Instead of a flurry of attacks, Marcelius prefers a rhythmic waltz with pleasant back and forth. Given that he is unarmed, and reach is limited, it is important to him that he keep his target in arms reach. The range of his efforts might seem limited, but he has a way around this as well. Answers as to why, will come later.


Focus -
Another method that is often used to diversify individual styles of martial arts, is to account for what the style targets. Maybe the goal is to cause a knockout? Maybe the objective is to maintain a constantly flow of motion? The Focus of any particular style could be as simple as where it prefers to strike. The head? The limbs? The joints? The vitals? All of these questions can differentiate between even the most identical of styles. So then what Focus has Marcelius given his rendition of Subjugation? The goal, from start to finish, is pacifism. With every step, dodge, or combo; Marc hopes to eliminate his opponent's desire to fight. Killing has not been his imperative for centuries now. It has only been recently, that he could reinvent a means of self defense which did not require him endanger his foe. With his modernized version of the Subjugation Instinct, Marcelius can feel confident to engage his prey once more. To make things easier for himself, he did not falter far from the path of his original Instincts. Though his appetite is far better managed these days, he can still remember the ways he used to use it. Considering the effectiveness of the previous renditions, Marc has decided it best to keep the basis Old School. Traditional, in this context, means Marcelius will adjust his target as his opponent attacks him. With the same passion that his former self used to claw out for food, so too will he quickly reach to clasp upon an opponent's limbs. Once he has a hold of them, the fun can begin.


No, he is not going to bite with his Hierro dentures. What the old Hollow WILL do however, is snap whatever he can catch. Eager to see his victim slowed and incapable of escape, he finds that a broken limb often serves this purpose well. Nothing say "stop that", quite like the cracking of bone or tearing of cartilage. The pain which is caused his never pleasant, nor does Marc enjoy it. However, suffering has shown itself to be a phenomenal deterrent. This simply the most quick and effective way to draw conflict to an end. Well...for most cases. There will always be the stubborn healers and unstoppable brutes...for such special cases, Marcelius prefers to adapt. Doing so is almost nostalgic, taking him back to his bloodier days. He hates it, but what can be done? In the end he is still the same kindly soul...and though his methods seem brutal, they can be endured.


Versatility -
Now the time has come to consider the final aspect of Marcelius' evolution of Instincts. Given that he is now an Arrancar...his style should incorporate the benefits which that involves. Not only can he utilize complex techniques such as Pesquisa and Sonido, but he also has the superior lobes of his brain. Yes, both the imaginative and emotional spheres of thought. Any shortcoming his style may have had in his previous incarnations can now be accounted for. Difficulty keeping up with quicker opponents, there is a Sonido for that. Difficulty managing the limits of his reach, there is Bala for that. Does Marc happen to exhaust himself when suffering through long battles, there is a Gonzui for that. In the end, Marcelius’ Hollow style is still evolving...for whether he has broken his mask or not, there is still more development to achieve. Simply put, until the day he finally does die…he will continue to expand his abilities and compensate for his deficiencies.


Zanpakuto Appearance:

SPOILER: Click to show

{Marcelius' Alma de la Hoja}

The Executioner's Sword. Though typically the length of the standard British Longsword, Marcelius' is of a more custom fabrication. With a shortened length, and broader fuller, Marc's sword could be considered more Broadsword or Cleaver in nature. Given more credibility to the Clever's claim, his sword appears to be missing it's point. Reaching the end of the blade, the eyes see a rounded surface devoid of edge or refinement. It simply ends in a dull slate, much like the face of a hammer. Honestly, it looks a lot more like a paddle than anything. It measures 36in from tip to pommel, with the hilt occupying 16 of them. The blade is 12in wide, the fuller measure 9 or so. The blade's width remain constant, with no visible declension. It is normally a two-handed weapon, but the reduced length means it can be easily wielded with one. The purpose for such a tool, would be the cleaving of necks. Heavy, displaced weight provides stronger chopping swings. The overall design is poor for armed combat. The intended victim is expected to be bound, and incapable of fighting back. Marcelius can make up for the design due to his inhuman strength, and highly specialized swordplay. Beyond the style of sword, there a few specific aesthetics. The pommel is in the shape of a rounded gavel. There are dual quillons that appear as two tuning forks extending from the sides of the blade. The Cappe of the sheath, as well as the interior of the cross guard of the grip, are both wrapped in blonde fur. The lightly colored pelt remains visible while the sword is sheathed, and appears to be connected to his Hollow Form. The Scabbard and Belt are both colored a creamy shade of white, like that of bleached bone. The Locket and Chape are a dark metal, appearing as burnt steal. A second belt made from a Lily Yellow sash, has been added for aesthetic reasons. The word "Culpable" has been carved along the fuller...but thanks to countless parrys, it is almost illegible.


Release Phrase and Appearance:
[smear:FFCC00]“Compadecer, Acusado”.[/smear:FF3300]


Acusado; also known as the Guilty Dead. After speaking the phrase to release the power trapped within, the Executioner's Sword cracks under the pressure of the escaping Hollow. The cracks quickly grow, encompassing the length of the blade in full, before the loud sound of shattering echos through the world. It takes some time for the Resurreccion to complete, as it is in Marc's nature to reject the power of his Aspect. Still, an audible sound of weeping begins to flow from his direction. As the sobs of the dead within him continue, tears begin to stream from his eyes. Oh, but these are no ordinary tears. Soon, it appears as though his face is running with the tears. His flesh begins to warp, sag, and slide off his skull. What it reveals is the bone beneath, which is his former Mask. In the end, all the tissue except for his lips and chin, has fallen off. Beneath their appears to be they typical Hollow skull, in a similar size and shape to his regular head. The differences? There are NO eyes. Not even holes or cavities where they should go. His cheekbones and frontal bone have smoothed out the distance between each other. The disappearance of flesh stops at the top of his forehead. His hairline becomes better defined as the creamy white contrast of bone now reaches his follicles' base. As for the sides of his head, the resurgence of the Mask has stretched back at cheekbone level. It leaves the cheeks and the jawline still covered in skin, but the ears dissolve away. Where there should be holes to allow the capture of sound waves, there are not. There is still a cavity for his nasal passage, so at least that detail seems mildly human. However, though the cheeks, chin, lips, and jaw all keep flesh, tears still drip from them.


Despres' figure, excluding his mask and tears, stays entirely the same. His power was never one of physical achievement, so there are no physical additions that would aid him in it's use. Even typical changes, such as hair length and body proportions, are not visible. Why does his face became covered in such a way; with his eyes hidden but the rest of the features exposed? It is a tool which he uses to reinforce his power. After all, the eyes are windows to the soul. If Marcelius' eyes cannot be seen, then neither can his soul. Obviously this does not make him invisible, but it does offer some "camouflage". Whenever he uses his powers to share memories of the defeated with his opponents, the intense emotions and haze of battle, will twist his face into appearing like those he has eaten. This is a minor illusion, one broken within the second glimpse. Using this, he builds a better stage for the transcription of emotions. Most importantly, this slight trick of the eyes provides further evidence that fighting him is the same as fighting a nation. He IS all of the souls he has consumed. They are many, living in one. His partially covered face, is simply a medium for this truth.


Marc was a Vasto Lorde when his mask was broken, he had regained much of his human shape after centuries of eating and building power. It would not matter what his released form looked like, as he would never appreciate it. In truth, once his power has served it's purpose in battle, Marc flees from the sight of everyone around him. It is hard to endure the paranoia that comes with his true form, especially around others. Some have argued, that a pathetic visage such as Acusado, is really the persona of Marc's inner weakness. This is an ironic truth. His form is crafted from the clay of countless dead. His body was forged with strength and cunning, and a great many have fallen to build it's power. For each he killed, all those he consumed, he has found another great weakness in himself. It is a paradox, strength built on weakness...and it is a perfect metaphor to explain all mighty Hollows. Marc appears weak, because he is made of the weak, and he has accepted this truth. He is grateful for one aspect of his true self; the shards of his mask that shield his eyes from the incriminating glares of the world. We must all be thankful for the little details.


Overall Ability:


"A Weeping Executioner. Living Empathy for the lives he ends; for he is one of them. He is Acusado. He is The Condemned."


Sugergencia, Emotion Control
Marcelius’ powers and his Resurreccion, revolve around the concept of Emotional Empathy. From the beginning, his soul has craved to have other’s understand and share it’s joys and sorrows. The manifestation of this desire comes in the form of Emotion Control. Marcelius’ will, as well as every aspect of his being, possess the capacity to change the hearts and sentiments of others. In truth, the theme is really Connectivity. After all, it is only through connection that understanding may be built...and it is only understanding which can shift the moods of others. So, being the "Master of Emotions" has quite the many uses. There is an entire spectrum(color joke, hue) of ways to express the merits of this theme. Memories, either recent or long forgotten, can carry significant messages to the present. Emotions can burden the mind so wholly, that they turn to pain which radiates throughout the body. Traumatic Stress, moments of such emotional devastation, that the victim now hallucinates and shivers in agony whenever they are reminded of those feelings. Besides all the possibilities and variations of this ability, how does it work? Through contact, either physical or by way of Reiatsu, Marcelius can shift the Mood of his target. To do so with Reiatsu, requires the use of mediums such as Cero, Bala, or creatively used General Reiatsu Techniques. The shift can only be achieved based off the “Natural Flow”; which is described later along with the Mood Wheel. Subjects who have either Superior Class are immune to the Mood shift effect. Having a Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, makes one immune to this effect. Class 0 targets are immune to this effect, unless Marcelius is Class 0. Having a 3 in various Skills, can shift the Mood given to them by Marcelius to whatever they desire, at the end of their next post. (I.E. Strength of Will, Battle Focus, or Focused Eye.) The resistance offered from Skills is not counted if Marcelius' Aura equals or exceeds the value of their dominant Aura. (I.E. if Marcelius' target has a 100 Light/ 0 Dark Aura, and Marcelius' is 100 Light/ 0 Dark; then his Light Aura equals or exceeds his targets' and they lose the Skill based resistance.)

SPOILER: Click to show

{Mood Wheel}

Core Moods: The eight foundations of emotion. Rage, Terror, Ecstasy, Grief, etc. These are the most passionate, and noticeable of emotions. Being the purest incarnations, these present the greatest difficulty in shifting. It is only possible to transition down to the Tether Mood which is directly connected to the Core. (I.E. Amazement to Surprise.) Core Moods offer the most resistance when trying to sway an individual's heart.


Surface Moods: Being the most diluted of statuses, Surface Moods represent the "unenthusiastic" mindsets. Interest, Distraction, Boredom, Acceptance, etc. These are the most malleable of all the attitudes. Shifting from one Surface mood to another proves quite simple; however, moving towards the Tether Mood within the same spectrum is still the easiest accomplishment. (I.E. Boredom to Pensiveness.) Surface Moods offer the least resistance when trying to sway an individual's heart.


Tether Moods: Transitional emotions which allow the descent from the Core, to Surface Moods. It is possible to shift from one Tether Mood, to another that shares similarities. (I.E. Connects on the Wheel.) This is more challenging than traveling up or down the intensity. It is also more difficult to push from one Tether to another, than it would be to go from one Surface to another. However, using Tether Moods can provide shortcuts to desired locations...much faster than taking the Surface route. Tether Moods represent the intermediate in every way. When trying to sway an individual's heart; these emotions provide more malleability than Core Moods, but less than Surface ones.


Compound Moods and Effects: These are the synthetic moods. They are the combination of opposing spectrums to create complex, defining emotions. These are the sort of feelings which later become Life Goals. They are tremendously hard to inspire, requiring significant focus to succeed. Creating just one Compound Mood within a target, is the same as decades of growth and development shaping the very soul. A Complex Mood can become a person's entire world, reshaping their entire personality. They can only be encouraged when the subject maintains a Surface mood sharing a connection with the desired affliction. The mind must be at it's most malleable for the suggestion to take hold. Because of their multiple sources of origin, they provide unique and terrible effects. These Moods are unique in ability. Instead of influencing the way an opponent acts, or aligning the frequencies of opposing souls, these emotions bestow special conditions onto the opponent. Once infused into the opponent, these overwhelming psychological conditions remain with the target forever. The only way to rewrite the feelings created by a Complex Mood is to undergo psychological treatment...but the type of psychological treatment can vary greatly. Some sort of help is required, whether by a friend, lover, or professional healer.


Contempt; establishes a seething hatred on a fixation of Marc's choice.


Aggression; forces the soul into a berserker rage; in which, they forego all intelligence or restraint in a mindless assault.


Optimism; warps the subject into disregarding their safety or better judgment, making them much more agreeable.


Love; possibly the most dangerous, allows Marcelius to determine the obsession of one's heart.


Submission; forces the concession of a fight or argument.


Awe; coerces the afflicted into unyielding loyalty, with lasting after effects of respect.


Disapproval; can shatter the confidence, of even faith, of a victim's greatest commitment.


Remorse; is the one Compound Mood that Marcelius REFUSES to use. That is why no effects are listed.


Compound Mood Drawbacks:These are special, so pay attention! All of the Compound moods have lingering effects. These moods can cause permanent changes, that are difficult for anyone other than Marcelius to dismiss. The shift to a Compound mood can only occur while the opponent maintains a Surface Mood. The Surface mood must also share a connection with the Compound mood. (I.E. Acceptance OR Serenity for Love.) Because of their potential, Marcelius must sacrifice all of his Spiritual Pressure and Reiatsu Strength to utilize even just one of these emotions. The ability to inflict one of these moods only comes on his final post of Resurrection, presenting him with only one chance to utilize this power.


Harmony and Dissonance
With all the diverse categories and types of emotions, are there any constants which embody Emotion? In truth, there are not. However, there is one phenomenon that connects all Emotions, but only occurs when there are two or more subjects involved. These are the aspects of Harmony and Dissonance. Put simply: Harmony is experienced by two or more individuals, when their Moods are identical; Dissonance is experienced by two or more individuals, when their Moods are different. In the normal world, Harmony usually becomes associated with friendship and empathy. Dissonance is often expressed through hostility or disconnection, antisocials as an example. For Marcelius’ powers, Harmony and Dissonance gain actual attributes. Manipulating Emotions is the basis of his abilities, but these are the goals they are pushed towards. This is what they are used for, essentially. While experiencing Dissonance with other beings, Marcelius’ powers take on sympathetic qualities. Most everything his Reiatsu touches or effects, are pushed and pulled towards Harmony. Being Remorse means he suffers from guilt, and desires sanctuary from persecution. To make this desire reality, his very Reiatsu twists the hearts of others to be on his side...to be in Harmony. So then, what other purposes does Harmony serve? Simple enough; while in Harmony with other souls, Marcelius can shape their Emotions to be exactly what he wants them to be. This first takes the form of Harmony Resonance, which creates openings for Marcelius’ guidance to reach his pupils. Harmony can also allow him into others’ Minds, to tutor how they should think. Harmony can place Marcelius within their Body, to train them on how they should act. Harmony can express the truth behind Marcelius’ soul, so that others can see the true penance he pays for his mistakes...so that they learn to live differently than he has.


Aura
The amount of Light and Darkness within a target's soul plays just as much of a role in Harmony as the Moods do. When pleading a case, or being persuasive; it is imperative that a soul use a prerogative which their subject could most relate with. How does this become interpreted within Marcelius' effects? Firstly, regardless of the whether as soul is more Light or more Dark, if Marcelius can plead a case from a superior(higher number in a shared Aura) than his target; then they lose what defenses they have trained as skills. This is the effect most often witnessed in Religion and Politics, where a soul can overwhelm it's audience with sheer conviction...striping them of the rationale which would normally see through the manipulation. If Marcelius' Aura is superior to his target's dominant Aura; while being the same type(Light/Dark) then this effect will take hold. This has no effect on souls who are morally Neutral(50/50). But this is only the sheer strength of Aura, and not it's creativity. The second effect which Aura can have on a target, is tailoring Marcelius' attacks just for them. What does this mean? Well, given that Marcelius uses shared existence: mind, body, soul, and emotions, to convey his message...the Aura and beliefs of his target are important for the effect. If his target is primarily a Light Aura; then Marcelius will share experiences and emotions of others. This is to strike deeper at the heart of soul that is more kindly and gentle. But the woes of others could not possibly sway the heart of a Dark Soul. So instead, if his target is primarily a Dark Aura; then Marcelius will share experiences and emotions from that soul's own...personal tragedies. such selfish individuals could only ever be affected by the woes of their own lives, after all. Once again, his has no effect on souls who are morally Neutral(50/50). At first these rather diminutive alterations might seem harmless or insignificant...but just wait until the feelings really start going...


Prima Etapa:


Song Creation
Upon activation of Resurreccion, release of Acusado, Marcelius' powers of manipulation come into full view. Marcelius will manipulate the emotions, and thereby, the wills of his opponents to fight. But how does he do this? Primera Etapa allows him to use his body as a tuning fork. By exciting the Reiatsu within his body, Marcelius' causes the Spiritual Particles around him to vibrate. This reaction is what causes the "Songs" he plays. The purpose of the music, is to create aura based effects, which fill and affect large areas for a continued amount of time. So his goal is not only to find Harmony(Matching Moods) with his opponents, but to also expose them to his Songs for as long as possible. This method of technique is tiring and complex, and limits Marcelius to activating only one Song at a time. This is the biggest, most glaring weakness of Primera Etapa. Yes there is the resistance which characters may have, and there is also the limited range of the techniques...but only being able to use one at a time is the biggest drawback. Since only one Song can be active at a time, the techniques themselves are both versatile and powerful too compensate. Ah, but what else would you expect from an Arrancar's Resurreccion?


Mind, Body, and Soul
Now that we know Marcelius’ Resurreccion is used to create Songs by vibrating his Reiatsu; what are their specifics? To start, all songs have a set range or reach. This distance is a number of meters equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength. (I.E. Marcelius RS = 200, the Songs’ Range = 200 meters.) This distance is cut in half in the Human World, where Spiritual Particle density is reduced. (I.E. 200 RS = 100 meters of range, in the Human World.) The strength of the song is based on Marcelius’ Reiatsu Strength. The enemies ability to resist the Song using Reiatsu Strength, decreases based off of Harmony Resonance. The ultimate expression of Marcelius’ emotional powers is his ability to share his own feelings through Reiatsu contact. By pooling a large amount of spiritual energy within himself, he can release it as a sudden wave. This wave acts like a Song, having a range only as far as his Reiatsu Strength can carry it, but only lasts for a single instance. Being struck by this raw, emotional energy, shares all the feelings and memories which Marcelius used to produce it. This is only the most primal representation of his Primera Etapa powers; the other’s being far more intricate. Of the three Songs which Marcelius’ can produce in Primera Etapa; each targets a specific aspect of his opponent’s wills.


Marcelius shapes the Mind, by invading the thoughts and learning their secrets...all the while leaving suggestions and sympathy in his wake. This is how Marcelius uses emotions to control the mind, through gentle instruction and emotional sensitivity. Next comes the Body, which is far more stubborn aspect to break. Marcelius’ powers do not work through death or slaughter, emotions require living, conscious souls. So instead, Marcelius’ takes a lesson from the Choir within himself. By linking the bodies and hearts of him and all of his opponents through empathy; Marcelius can ensure that everyone knows the true value of the wounds they inflict. Whenever an individual harms another, the contact will share all the feelings, sensations...even pains, that the aggression spawns. This is the only way to teach those obsessed with their physical selves, of the importance of emotion. Finally there is the Soul. Rather than invade the mind or heart like his raw emotions or mental manipulations, targeting the soul requires help from the Choir. Instead of drawing on the Choir as inspiration, as was done with the Body; afflicting the soul uses the very Choir itself. By opening himself to his opponent’s exposing the weaknesses within his Spiritual Pressure; Marcelius can create a song which reveals the Choir to his opponents. The Choir takes the form of spirits, built solely out of Marcelius’ Reiatsu. Though they appear this way, the truth is they ARE his Reiatsu. Through interaction with the Choir, Marcelius’ opponents can learn their feelings and memories much the same as they learned each others when dealing with Marcelius’ Song of the Body. With all of these various songs at the Primera Etapa’s command, Marcelius can tailor his message of understanding to suit the situation at hand. The downside, unfortunately remains, that he can only provide guidance for one aspect of emotions at a time.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Aguda Emocion}


"This is my heart...careful it does not leave you as empty as I."


Description: Unlike the rest of Marcelius' abilities or techniques, Aguda Emocion was not constructed. Instead of time and discovery revealing great truths, this was what he was born with as a Hollow. Despite how he has evolved, or in what ways he may have changed, this is pure and unique to him. If he had such a thing, as an 'ultimate attack'...this would be it. Since he was first given his Mask, Marc has witnessed and crafted a great many emotions. The reasons as to why he has done this, often vary. In one instance, he may have craved a particular taste from his meal. In others, he had hoped to distort the focus of a superior foe. Maybe he hoped to establish Harmony with his soul and another; or perhaps break it? In the end, all efforts he has ever made to control those around him...came from one singular source. Marcelius IS Remorse, and like all great miseries, other must be brought to join him. Aguda Emocion does what his soul craves most, it unifies others with his torment. Whether it is joy or sorrow which plagues his soul, he will not endure it alone. So, by gathering energy within himself; Marcelius vibrates the reiryoku which forms his very soul. The similarities between this attack and his Songs, shows where they come from. He expels a wave of Reiatsu in every direction; which can echo as far away as his spirit can reach. Everyone caught within the wave will find their emotions suddenly shifted. For a short time, he may include those nearest in his internal chorus...so that everyone might know Remorse.


Appearance: For any observer with 200 Energy Sensory or less, nothing happens. For any observer with Energy Sensory exceeding 200; a flash of light bursts from Marcelius. Appearing similar to Pesquisa, without feeling like it. Those with adequate Energy Sensory, can detect the color of the Emotions he uses.


Effect: Aguda Emocion produces a wave of energy that passes over spirits and objects, without harm. It stretches as far as Marcelius' Songs, spreading a number of meters equal to his Reiatsu Strength. Aguda Emocion replaces the Mood of those affected, to Marcelius' current Mood. Those affected also share whatever thoughts or memories of Marcelius'; which are responsible for his feelings. If the affected already share a Mood with Marcelius (A.k.a. Harmony), Aguda Emocion will only implant Marcelius’ current feelings without shifting their Mood. Those incapable of feeling certain or any Emotions are NOT immune, as this is Marcelius' feelings which invade them. This effect lasts only till the end of each combatant's next post, at which point they return to their Mood of choice. The ability to resist Aguda Emocion or any of the Cancion’s with Reiatsu Strength is reduced by Harmony Resonance; when in Harmony with Marcelius.


Drawbacks: This technique has limited range of meters equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength, and moves at a set speed equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength. Having a Superior Class makes one immune to this effect. Having a Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, makes one immune to this effect. Class 0 targets are immune to all Acusado effects, unless Marcelius is Class 0. This technique costs 100 Reiatsu per use, and may only be used once per two of Marcelius' posts.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Cancion, Frunido Complice}

This is the Cancion of the Mind. Developed by Marcelius, to represent his Shame and Empathy.


Description: The first movement, and the first Cancion that Marcelius ever learned to play. Like most prodigies, this song came to him out of the spontaneity of brilliance. It came to him as a cure, to inoculate him from a most terrible affliction. Shame. In his earliest days of recollection, Marcelius can remember a great many things. What he recalls best, was the unbelievable shame. In consumed him, made him, and followed him wherever he went. It could not be gotten rid of, or lost, or bargained with. When he was not starving, hunger clasping at his throat and threatening his life, his mind was a prison where his guilt kept him down. Then the day came, where he discovered he could make music with his soul. Having been locked away inside a dungeon of Remorse for countless centuries, his first objective was to free himself. He did. Others now experience this "freeing" as Dissonance . By shielding his soul from the influences of their world and it's inhabitants, Marcelius can be free to do and examine reality in his own way. It took away the fear of persecution and the discomfort of being different. While in he sings his Cancion, without concern of the pitch or tempo of others, he can perceive the world more vividly than most could ever dream of. However, this only caused him a new grief. Curiosity. In his unhindered view, he discovered that he was not the only one with shame and secrets that were hidden deep inside. Prying into the souls and hearts of those he met, he learned that his first song had a second part. Harmony. While in Harmony with one more minds, Marcelius can flawlessly see through them. Not only does he learn all their secrets and hidden things, but he also learns why they have tried to hide them from him. He develops a form of empathy that parents everywhere have longed for since the first rebellious child, Lucifer, was cast from Heaven. Knowing and seeing the world as those linked to him in Harmony, cause him a great deal of distraction. Fortunately, the experience is very short and very telling.


Harmony: While in Harmony with Marcelius' Emotional State; Marcelius' may see the world from his opponents' perspectives. Able to think as both himself and his opponent, Marcelius can make informed decisions on any situation from all possible viewpoints. Marcelius literally thinks as his opponent does; while peeping through their eyes. The effects of Harmony only work on alternating posts. (I.E. The 1st post, then 3rd post, then the 5th post...) Having a 3 in various Skills can resist the "Suggestion" effect. (I.E. Strength of Will, Battle Focus, or Focused Eye.) The resistance offered from Skills is not counted if Marcelius' Aura equals or exceeds the value of their dominant Aura. (I.E. if Marcelius' target has a 100 Light/ 0 Dark Aura, and Marcelius' is 100 Light/ 0 Dark; then his Light Aura equals or exceeds his targets' and they lose the Skill based resistance.)


Dissonance: While in Dissonance with Marcelius' Emotional State; Marcelius can not be affected by techniques or abilities designed to: trick, deceive, distract, confuse, alter, or damage his mind or thoughts. Marcelius' mind is considered immune to all outside influence. In addition, Marcelius' perception of others is highly increased by means of his newfound focus. Marcelius may change an opponent's Emotional State without following the guidelines of the "Mood Wheel"; he may choose his opponent's Emotional State unabated. Changing their Emotion still costs 50 Reiatsu per use. In order for Marcelius to manipulate opponent's Emotional State without obeying the guidelines of the "Mood Wheel", he must not attack or otherwise perform any form of aggression.


Drawbacks: This technique has limited range of meters equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength, and moves at a set speed equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength. Having a Superior Class makes one immune to this effect. Having a Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, makes one immune to this effect. Class 0 targets are immune to all Acusado effects, unless Marcelius is Class 0. Marcelius can only have one Cancion active at any time. A new Cancion cannot be activated in the same post, if Aguda Emocion was used. Switching between Harmony and Dissonance ends all effects, and removes all effects already active. Harmony: Marcelius' focus to become divided among many minds, which reduces Marcelius' ability to react between those minds by half. Marcelius cannot command the will of those he embodies, but may leave suggestions. Dissonance: Marcelius' is only protected from mental attacks, physical and spiritual attacks are unaffected. Techniques exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, bypass this protrction. Techniques of Superior Class can bypass this protection. This technique costs 200 Reiatsu to activate, and costs and additional 50 Reiatsu per post to remain active.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Cancion, Nuevo Vista}

This is the Cancion of the Body. Developed by Marcelius, to represent his Suffering and Survival.


Description: The second movement of Marcelius' performance, one crafted to educate the sadists and the torturers. Once this song begins to play, pain becomes more common than breath. Hearing this melancholy tune, as it passes straight through the mind, is an unsettling affair. First comes the cold disconnecting prelude, shutting off the listener from their selfish habit of feeling only what they need. The body becomes numb and heavy, but the performer is does not lose control of it. They must continue to play in this orchestra of learning, and through their contribution they will learn the purpose of this dirge. Pain. The unifying blight of all living things. It is known by all, though not always respected. It is only through individual suffering that lives learn to grow or become strong, but often the lessons are forgot the moment the goal of power is achieved. Marcelius' song returns pain to those who have forgotten her. Like a spiteful lover, discarded at the first opportunity, pain returns with a passionate vengeance. For every ounce of suffering that occurs within Marcelius' performance, all of his musicians share the sensation wholly. Pain felt by Marcelius, pain felt by rivals or allies, all of it becomes unanimous suffering. This is the Dissonance portion of the song, and only those who learn from their cruelty may escape it. For every time pain is shared among the masses, each performer in the symphony is pushed a little bit closer to Harmony. Soon, they will all be proud survivors, reeducated in the lessons and love that pain can possess. Finding compassion, begins the next meter. Harmony. Only after enduring the gauntlet of the Cancion's opening, will any minstrel reach the country of perfect tune. It will appear to them as their inner mind, and whatever world that has become over the course of their life. Here they will be trapped, safe from any real harm. They will undergo a trial, one of their own design, in order to return to the real world above. No matter what happens, a lesson will be learned within this world...one that is sure to impact both souls who occupy it.


Harmony: While in Harmony with Marcelius' Emotional State; opponents are forced into an "Inner World". Here they must establish a goal for themselves -much like a PP goal in a Social Thread- and achieve their objective. Marcelius will attempt to intervene or guide them while they pursue their goals. The "Inner World" appears as Marcelius wishes it too, limited only by imagination. The images produced can range from accurate to dreamscape, making it possible to determine the change of location by the targets. Any events which happen within the Inner World happen within an instant. The time spent inside the Inner World will always appear to be a memory, rather than an experience as a result. Success frees them from the Inner World with no ill effects other than those the impose on themselves. Failure frees them from the Inner World, but disconnected from their physical being. Those who fail within the Inner World cannot bring themselves to attack Marcelius or anyone else: physically, mentally, or spiritually. They may defend themselves, only if attacked. These effects continue until the end of Acusado(Resurreccion). Having a 3 in various Skills, allows one to continue attacking Marcelius, regardless of success or failure. (I.E. Strength of Will, Battle Focus, or Focused Eye.) The resistance offered from Skills is not counted if Marcelius' Aura equals or exceeds the value of their dominant Aura. (I.E. if Marcelius' target has a 100 Light/ 0 Dark Aura, and Marcelius' is 100 Light/ 0 Dark; then his Light Aura equals or exceeds his targets' and they lose the Skill based resistance.) These Skills do not allow one to attack others besides Marcelius, until the end of Acusado(Resurreccion).

Dissonance: While in Dissonance with Marcelius' Emotional State; all of Marcelius opponents become bonded with one another Emotionally. As long as they remain within a number of meters equal to his Reiatsu Strength, his opponent's and allies will remain connected to him. What purpose does this connection serve? Whenever physical or spiritual contact is made between those in Dissonance with Marcelius, all of the sensations are shared. Whether it be the excitement of happiness, or the agony of a wound. This shares all the thoughts and emotions contained within an individual, in an instantaneous flash. The effects are not limited to just Marcelius; however, and can be triggered between other occupants. The breakdown goes like this: If Fighter A -from here on referred to as "A"- is fighting Marcelius, then all sensation felt by Marcelius is shared with A on contact. If Fighter A and Fighter B are both fighting Marcelius, then all sensations felt by Fighter B and Marcelius, are felt by A on contact with either individual. Wounds causing debilitating loss of Speed, or that prevent concentration, inflict these effects onto A without actual risk of bodily harm/loss of life. Fatigue felt by anyone other than A, is shared by A in the post following the affliction of fatigue. "Fatigue" can include the defects caused by excessive use of Speed and even Type instilled exhaustion. Joy or Sorrow, as well as all other emotions, can be shared between A, B, or Marcelius through simple contact. If wounds are inflicted, the physical agony is shared. If stress or emotional disturbance is inflicted, the mental agony is shared. If encouragement is offered, it emboldens them all. The fact is, everyone in Dissonance experiences the same things when in contact with one another. This effect only applies to anyone affected by "Cancion, Nuevo Vista", and those who are immune notice no changes or danger. Now, how does Dissonance create Harmony? It is pretty clear how such an ability can educate individuals on the importance of compassion, but there is more. Whenever contact is made, either physical or spiritual, than those involved will be drawn closer to Harmony. Interacting with one another, causes Marcelius Reiatsu to react, and drag their Moods towards one another. The more times feelings, pains, or senses are shared; the quicker his subjects will achieve Harmony. After 5 instances of contact, if Marcelius does not alter their Emotional State, the opponent will achieve a state of Harmony. This number may drop, depending on the initial Mood of the opponent. When Harmony is achieved or "Cancion, Nuevo Vista" ends; all pain, emotions, and other status effects caused by Dissonance are lost and voided.


Drawbacks: This technique has limited range of meters equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength. Having a Superior Class makes one immune to this effect. Having a Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, makes one immune to this effect. Class 0 targets are immune to all Acusado effects, unless Marcelius is Class 0. Marcelius can only have one Cancion active at any time. A new Cancion can not be activated in the same post, if Aguda Emocion was used. Switching between Harmony and Dissonance ends all effects, and removes all effects already active. Harmony: success frees the opponent from the "Inner World" with no negative effects. Additionally, those who are of Superior Class or Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, are able to assault the "Inner World" presented to them, and destroy it. Dissonance: Marcelius is given no protection from the wounds he might suffer, his opponents do not receive actual wounds from Dissonance. All effects, negative or beneficial, fade when either Harmony is achieved or "Cancion, Nuevo Vista" ends. This technique costs 300 Reiatsu to activate, and costs and additional 50 Reiatsu per post to remain active.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Cancion, Presion Euforico}

This is the Cancion of the Soul. Developed by Marcelius, to represent his Burden and Enlightenment.


Description: The third movement, one that challenges Marcelius as much as his performers. A Cancion to weigh down the soul, before freeing it. Surrounded by the seemingly endless images of Marcelius past victims, the musicians must guide their way through using their sound. Only by opening themselves up, and feeling the world with their soul, can they hope to find Marcelius hidden among his devoured. For Marcelius it is equally as vexing, as it is much more than a simple matter of awareness. Facing down a visualized production of every victim he has ever claimed, puts him at risk of Sugerencia's effects as well. For the spirits who linger in the eyes of the players, are actually there. No illusion, no trick, they are present inside pressure that Marcelius' reiryoku exerts into the world. As each of them was the building block for that pressure, they are doomed to embody it forever. They are intangible, motionless, and do not observe or move at any point. They do no assist Marcelius, in any way, as they are just as much his enemies as they are his power. Each of them is dressed as Marcelius is. Each of them with their own Hollow hole, exactly as his. Each with mask fragments that clock their eyes, and pour with "Petrified Tears", just as his does. They may not be touched, or looked through, but can easily be dispersed. By using Reiatsu, anyone may break apart on of these spirits as if they were Hollow shells. These "Sombras" do not fight back or struggle, as they have already been defeated. Instead, their second demise produces two separate effects. The first being a blind and deafening display of light and sound, whose effects pass away almost as quickly as they begin. This may alert other members of the fog, as to the location of their fellow artists within the "Sorrow Congress". The second effect, strikes at the emotions of the guilty. Forcing images of the destroyed spirits death, their former one, and carrying with it unnatural sensations of empathy and remorse. By crushing this spirits, one may force their soul down a path of discovery. A path that leads to only one location. Harmony. In the very moment, faster than light or the souls ability to feel, all of the spirits are gone once more. Left alone is Marcelius, to conduct his remaining ensemble. Gushing forth from him, to display the power with which he lives his life; the luminous flare of an untold amount of souls as well as the calamitous sound of just as many souls moving in unison. All who witness him, learn why he became blind and deaf. If someone fails to protect themselves in his majesty, they their senses are struck down like angels with hearts of rebellion. This effect is so magnificent, his presence so imposing, that Emotional States are sent into shock. The motivations and desires of others mean nothing in the face of this soul, and they are left to toil and grovel in whatever ways he permits them to feel. This is a crescendo, one that shakes heaven and earth to reach it's audience.


Harmony: While in Harmony with Marcelius' Emotional State; the opponent is freed from seeing or being affected by the spirits from Dissonance. Instead, Marcelius seems to develope a new form. Marcelius' opponents view him as if he were the walking will of lives beyond the counting. All the lives he has consumed to be specific. When he walks, he sounds like a marching army. Being touched by his hand feels the same as being entangled in the grips of numerous mobs. Whenever he speaks, he is a unified nation of voices. This experience is unique, in that Marcelius appears to be thousands of thousands of souls all standing in one location. This is such a burden for the senses -being something truly otherworldly and surreal- that often times observer's will describe seeing multiples arms, legs, and even heads while Marcelius moves about. This additional appendages appear more solid than "ghostly afterimages or blurs", as if there physically exists several entities in one location. What is this new form exactly? It is the Enlightenment promised from before. Marcelius' song now produces an effect, which allows those caught within it to perceive the truth. The truth that Marcelius sees everyday. They see Marcelius for what he really is, a congregation of consumed souls. What does all of this cause? Shock, plain and simple. Those who witness this form will be forced to flee from his presence. This ability does not cause bodily harm, as it is not a power focused on reaping death and destruction. Beings of Superior Class or x3 Marcelius’ Reiatsu Strength, can mentally withstand the barrage and ignore the "Flee" effect. Having a 3 in various Skills, can also be used to resist the "Flee" effect, but must be used creatively. (I.E. Strength of Will, Battle Focus, or Focused Eye.) The resistance offered from Skills is not counted if Marcelius' Aura equals or exceeds the value of their dominant Aura. (I.E. if Marcelius' target has a 100 Light/ 0 Dark Aura, and Marcelius' is 100 Light/ 0 Dark; then his Light Aura equals or exceeds his targets' and they lose the Skill based resistance.) Those who resist using Skills will be burdened by the overwhelming psychological pressure. Though they can continue to fight, their reactions and concentration will suffer under the immense pressure.


Dissonance: While in Dissonance with Marcelius' Emotional State; the collection of spirits that Marcelius has consumed over the years, become visible like an endless collection of hovering apparitions. They make it impossible to see from one side of his Spiritual Pressure to the other, or easily discern individual sounds over their singing. These spirits are intangible, they can be passed through without effort. The spirits do not attack and they do not move. Each spirit is an individual who constantly sings about the death they suffered. Because there are so many souls crammed into a small location, the singing is an unintelligible chorus. Each appears as they did in their human lives, all with unique sizes, shapes, genders, and races. They dress identically to Marcelius, and also possess a Hollow Hole and Mask fragments in there same places as Marcelius. When standing still, Marcelius blends easily within them. Not only in looks, but also in energy. Whenever he speaks during Dissonance; the closest possible spirit -singular- will begin to speak to his opponent with Marcelius' voice. All of these singing, identical souls make identifying individuals using sight or hearing, almost impossible. More so, these spirits are not images, but actual souls trapped within Marcelius Spiritual Pressure. If they are struck by any form of hostile Reiatsu -technique, release, or even moved through with a Step maneuver- they are destroyed. When destroyed, the spirits project their most important memories onto the one responsible for their destruction. In the matter of a single moment -1 second- the guilty will experience an entire lifetime of memories. Though this can leave someone open to assault, they are typically kept safe by the field of spirits around them; which hinder the use of Reiatsu. The purpose of this sudden flash of history, is to shift the guilty parties Mood. This can affect Marcelius as well. These memories fill the mind and distracts the senses. If 5 or more spirits are destroyed without Marcelius altering their Emotional State, they will be forced into Harmony. This number may drop, depending on the initial Mood of the opponent. The spirits immediately disappear and can no longer be destroyed, if Harmony is achieved or "Cancion, Presion Euforico" ends.


Drawbacks: This technique has limited range of meters equal to Marcelius Reiatsu Strength. Having a Superior Class makes one immune to this effect. Having a Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength combined with his Energy Sensory, makes one immune to this effect. Class 0 targets are immune to all Acusado effects, unless Marcelius is Class 0. Marcelius can only have one Cancion active at any time. A new Cancion can not be activated in the same post, if Aguda Emocion was used. Switching between Harmony and Dissonance ends all effects, and removes all effects already active. Harmony: Marcelius does not receive extra strength or power with which to fight. Superior Classed opponents and those with Reiatsu Strength exceeding Marcelius' Reiatsu Strength and Energy Sensory combined, are unaffected by his presence. To them it appears as an illusion or not at all. Dissonance: Marcelius has to find his opponents in the crowd of spirits, as they must find him. Energy Sensory of 200+ can locate Marcelius immediately. Energy Sensory of 150+ can feel for Marcelius, within a five meter radius. Marcelius may interfere with achieving Harmony, by destroying the spirits himself. Each spirit destroyed depletes Marcelius' Reiatsu by 10, as they are representations of his Reiryoku. If enough spirits are destroyed, Marcelius will be left completely unable to fight after Resurreccion ends. Superior Classed opponents can ignore the memories and the distraction they cause, as well as obstruct any attempt to manipulate their emotions. This technique costs 400 Reiatsu to activate, and costs and additional 50 Reiatsu per post to remain active.

[Marcelius]

SPOILER: Click to show

{History}

-History-

Birthplace:
Exmouth, then Madrid, then Forest of Menos, then Hueco Mundo, finally Las Noches.

Current Residence:
Las Noches

Memorable Figures:
Perro, the only friend he can remember.
Caulderbane, the best-worst instructor a masochist could ask for.
Kuroi, the pinnacle of Hollows' achievement and Universal style. #SoClassy
Miho and Llusia, the two bestest daughters a family man could ever ask for...except for all the subpoenas he's received. #SoSassy
Zeruel, hope for a brighter future for all Arrancar. #Kekeke
Myzaraphiston Synderfell, the most determined of Hollows. #FatePuns

History:
The beginning, was noise. Marcelius remember the chill of the ground on his skin, and the roar of the wind around his head. Rebirth was similar to waking from a great illness. Pain alerted every nerve. The body he was becoming aware of, ached to the very core. The interest in himself faded quickly, as a new distraction was muscling into the forefront of thought. The Noise. In every direction there were vibrations. They were stories, coming to him from all forms of life...and death.

Memories of Humanity -
Instead of his ACTUAL human life, these are all the lives he can vividly remember. The reality is, these are loves he has consumed and experienced thanks to his powers and Aspect of Death. Though none of these are truly his history, they have had JUST as much impact on who Marcelius Is...as any other person could claim their pasts to have. That is what is important after all; how does the past affect who a person is, in the present. Some might claim Marcelius has no real history at all...the reality is, he has more than anyone. From here on out, lives will be listed chronologically...as their individual importances are all equal.

Takeshi Shouga, 1599-1626
(OoC: Except, maybe this one...) Shouga Takeshi was born on a cool and rainy day. The the skies were covered, the sun still shone through the clouds. His was the last birth of summer, an omen which many told him, would provide good fortune the rest of his life. "You'll always be the last to keep your warmth, and your smile." These were the stories which surrounded his birth, and they were cherished by him. Mostly he enjoyed them, like any child would, because he was their main topic. But more than that, more humbly for sure, he appreciated the value of being born with such a fortune. To be the very last one to ever lose hope, that was his destiny! It became his life's philosophy, to never give up and always seen the silver lining to the storm clouds. His optimism became the trait his fitness recognized him for most, above even his looks or his cheerful grin. Whenever he and his mates would go adventuring in the forest, he was always the happy samurai who gave to freely of his kindness. It was he, while the others fought for their families or their honor, who would devote himself to happiness of the people. Needless to say, his friends thought him a little strange...but oh how they found it difficult to hate him. That was Takeshi in every essence throughout his youth, too nice to be understood or hated.

Maybe he would not have held onto such a cheery disposition, had his mother and father not both supported it. As a child, he went for nothing...granted, his desires were very simple and down to earth. With his father a fisherman, and his mother a midwife, there was always a supply of food and people. It kept his belly full and his time occupied with visitors. There was always something good to eat, and someone new to talk to. It was the perfect environment to foster a positive soul. It taught him how to share, not only his meals, but his stories and ideas. The couples who came to his mother, to bring new life into the world, always provided new perspectives for how other families live. Given his lack of isolation, Takeshi was well versed in charm and social etiquette. Ah, but not all of his time was spent gossiping with the families at home. No, many of his days were sent with his father, learning his trade. Fishing, one may not know, was the most pleasant of careers a man could ask for outside of nobility. Even fishermen who work to feed large families, find life to be much simpler and enjoyable. Everyday, Takeshi was immersed in the joviality of his father's cohorts. Men who were more friend than coworker, and more family than friend. These men taught the younger Shouga what it meant to not only be responsible, but to enjoy it. They were rivals, the lot of them; yet the embraced their competition as a means of self improvement and comradery. Takeshi learned how to challenge, but to do so with respect and sincerity. It was astonishing, really, the good fortune of this young boy. Ah, but like all fortune, it was not simply the gift of fate. As Takeshi experienced, taught by the wisdom of his father, it was the product of his attitude which presented him with such a valuable life. Once again, Takeshi received all the reason he could ever need to keep his optimism.

As he grew, the years passing by like waves upon the shore, he felt his youth had ended far before the mark. The result, was that even into adulthood, he kept his passion and kindness of childhood. Once again, he would be the last of his friends to lose his warmth. The last to give in to the chill of age. Picking up his father's trade, he found moderate success at fishing. It took time, as it often does, for him to grow competent enough to live on his own, but that time came with great satisfaction. With such a pleasant future laid before him, he became quite content with his life as it was. His early adult years were a blur of sunny days and night spent at friends homes, sharing in sake and song. Often he thought of the life before him, and each time he sighed with absolute satisfaction. As far as he could imagine, he had everything he could need. And then the day came...when he met her, the woman who would remind him of all he had yet to attain. And all because of a simple change of route.

Muira Kaori, Takeshi would always remember what he thought of her. "What a stick in the mud." she seemed thin, and wore working clothes which seemed passed down from a big brother. Seeing her slumped over and hard at work in the Muira farm. Well, to call it such was quite generous. Takeshi was not much of a farmer, his family never working the land in such a way, but he did walk past enough to know the proper size. It did not appear they were lacking in available acreage, but for whatever reason, did not cultivate it all. Either way, it was no Kaori's appearances which earned her such low consideration...it was her attitude. Yes! She always made it so difficult for him to be his normal, happy self. Every morning, whilst making his trip to the bay, he was forced to pass by her family's land. This was the result of his former route being unmade for the sake of landowners establishing boundaries. Properties would grow or shrink, and roads would have to be redirected. Such events were troublesome more so for those not directly involved. One such a soul was Mr Shouga. With his old favored path now being converted fenced off and declared private...he would need to find new avenues. The one chosen, noteworthy only for the one girl. Given the early hour of the morning, the two of them were usually the only two about. With no one else about to take his attention, Takeshi always did the Takeshi thing and greeted Miss Muira with a hearty hello. When raising his voice and dipping his head pleasantly, no retort or even reaction came from his intended recipient. Even to someone as sweetly mannered as Takeshi, this seemed oddly cold and disrespectful. It grabbed his attention so much, that he challenged himself to learn the name of this "stick in the mud"! How easy, in a small community such as theirs, such a task was.

Starting with his second day of travel along his new course, Takeshi once more came across the busy Kaori. Yet again, he found her toiling away in the field. Once more wearing clothes unsuiting even a woman of labor. Once again, unwilling to greet him in return! Oh, if Takeshi could feel anger...he might have. Instead it turned into curiosity, as most of his frustrations often did. Why was she refusing his greetings? Could she not hear him? Was she ignoring him intentionally?! Not one to take personal offence in these matters, Takeshi simply let it eat at him. Yes. All day and all evening, while trying to catch his daily quota, the thoughts toiled in his head. Why does she not reply to me? Am I appearing rude? Have I offended her? How could I have even done so?! No no no, that cannot be it. Unsure of much, he was certain he could not have shown any disrespect. What then was the issue for this? Superstitious fishermen scare away the catch...needless to say, this day went down in Takeshi's memories as one of his least greatest. That's right, it was still a "greatest". Glancing through Shouga's history might lead one to wonder, how he always managed to turn each day into a triumph. Yes, triumph. For even though he had been defeated in his attempts at courtesy...he had found a new challenge to greet each day!

Few souls are often meant to be together, and at this point in their lives, neither Takeshi nor Kaori could have predicted their compatibility. Regardless of their ignorance, the their day of love's dance had begun! During his usual morning trip, Takeshi passed by the Miura farm yet again. As he had the two morns prior, he issued a resounding greeting to the working girl. What was different about this day, was the timing at which he caught the focused Kaori in her labor. The sudden outburst of his noticeable voice, caused her to lose her balance in the paddy. In a sudden and very cold splash, the young farmer was sitting belly deep in the muddy pool. Now, Takeshi had decided the night before...that he would not give an inch, nor back down from his challenge. No matter what it took, he would make peace with the distant young lady. Kaori had come to a similar conclusion the night before. She had determined, that if this jovial fool was to try and bother her just one more time while she worked...that she would put a terrible stop to him. Without realising it, each of the them had come to a steadfast decision on the other. Though the individual choices varied, each shared the other's passion...a rare harmony, indeed. All of this was before Kaori had been startled, and tumbled into the freezing morning water. Where before she had simply been annoyed with his overwhelming candor; now Kaori was simply furious. All of this would be revealed to Takeshi later in his life. For the moment, what he could remember best about that moment; was doing everything in his power not to laugh.

It was not a cruel or malicious heart which compelled his mirth, it was complete and total surprise. Just the day before, when he had been so irked by her neglect, he had wished several times for her to fall onto her rump. Why...why then, did it have to happen after his irritation had ended?! No, instead it happens now...when he could be clearly blamed for it! Without wasting any time, he rushed forward to Kaori's assistance. Why, well, he felt awful that he had startled her so. Stammering through the marshy field, he reached her with haste. Helping her back to her feet before she could even find her footing...it was one big awkward exchange of arms, hands, and sorrys. Takeshi would never again feel as guilty as he did in this moment. A true sign of love, any who have ever known love could tell. Still, with wobbling postures, the both of them stood once more in the paddy. Trying desperately to speak his many apologies, poor Takeshi would find none of them held merit. Kaori burned with a rage hotter than the sun, made worse, when she discovered he had trounced her freshly planted crop in order to help her! "W-Wha...LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" "I-I am sorry! I only meant to say hello! I did not mean for you to fall!" "Fall? FALL?! Who cares about that! You've crushed my crops!" "I...I'm sorry!! I thought you might be hurt!" "And what could you have done if I was? Hmm? Are you some kind of healer? HMMM?! AND WHY DID YOU FEEL IT NECESSARY TO YELL AT ME?!" "N-No, I'm a fishe-wha...BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE IGNORING ME!" "OBVIOUSLY, I was!" "THEN I WAS RIGHT!" "GOOD FOR YOU!" This continued, as neighbors later detailed, for a solid hour of the morning. It was not the duration which was impressive, but the fact they still had voices afterwards. When the riled passions finally ebbed, each fevered soul went their separate ways. Though they were out of each other's sight, they did not leave each other's mind. Or so Take would learn latter. The entire day, the fisherman dwelled on Miss Kaori. For even though she had yelled most of her words, she did not ignore it. It was not the kind of conversation he desired, nor had it made him very happy...but at least some ice had been chipped away? In hopes of making amends for his sleights, both the scare and the trampled rice, Takeshi returned to the Miura farm that evening. Coming to the door, he politely called out to the residents. Introducing himself respectfully, he made an offering of his finest catch...to repay for the rice. To his surprise, it was Kaori who answered the door. She dressed differently now, in clothing more suiting to her looks. It was like seeing an entirely new person, one to whom Shouga could barely speak. Though he expected more grim remarks, follow be silent refusal...she accepted his apologies and even, introduced herself back. "Kaori Miura." The sound of that name sparked a joy in Takeshi, the likes of which he had not felt before.


The following morning, and every morning past that, became an amusing struggle. While Takeshi was now living as dream...Kaori confessed latter to having had doubts at first. Everyday he would pest her with an obnoxious below and each time she would do her best to not blow him off. Where he had plunged into love with her, it seemed she was still resistant self. But given that he now had her name, and that he was still Shogua the Optimistic, he greeted her once again! "Ohayo, Kaori-chan!" The level of informality in his tone was burgeoning on the line of insane. Given his knowledge of Kaori's personality thus far, he had truly set himself up for execution. Still he lingered by the roadside and awaited her frustration with blissful zeal. How then might anyone imagine his face, when she startled him with, "Ohayo, Shouga-san." Sure, it had not been as friendly as his own greeting...but compared to the wintry chill he had been facing the many days leading up to this point...it was like the warm sun of spring!


So the couple began a year long courtship, filled with Takeshi's smile and Kaori's patience. In time he came to know the lovely woman for more qualities than her work ethic. Every day he would greet her in the morning, dream about her till evening, then stop at her house to await her. Always offering her his finest catch, never forcing or insisting, he slowly worked her into chatting with him. They would talk about each other's days, where he would ask her everything he could about farming. As far as he knew, her knowledge on the subject was the most astonishing degree of skill in town. He learned that their farm was small, but still produced as efficiently as any other larger family. She showed herself to be a dedicated servant of efficiency. The reason why she never spoke to him, was due to her dedication to her work. This gave Take great relief, having feared much more annoyed reasoning. In time he learned of her family and their plights, which lead her to be the only worker. A mother that died from fever, after her birth. A brother who had disappeared sometime when she was still very young. All that was left of the Miura Household was Kaori and her father. Okusa. (I am so bad thinking up Japanese names...) As time went on, Miss Miura continued to share more details of her life such as these. To repay her, Takeshi shared about himself as well. Unfortunately, he was a jabberjaw, and quickly confessed everything about himself. Luckily, he was full of grand tales shared by his coworkers, and that Kaori accepted such tales in lieu of personals. Well...she accepted the ones which were good. Soon enough, the two of them were the closest of friends...even if neither could confidently admit it. All of this changed, one fateful morning, when Takeshi shared one of his fun stories. This time, a tale about a Fisherman...who falls in love with the Queen of Winter. Though he wrote this particular tall-tale himself, he was thrilled to see Kaori enjoyed it. Especially, when she coke to realize how hard the Fisherman had tried...to impress a beauty beyond his class. When the optimistic soul proposed to the snowy Queen, Kaori happily said yes. Before demanding that he never forsake his talent with fishing, to pursue a life as a storyteller. Takeshi promised, to try his best.


A few years later, and the couple had grown quite settled into their family home. Having brought Kaori's father with them, Takeshi learned from where her obstinacy had come from. In time, what won Old Man Winter's heart, was none of Takeshis's kindness or jokes...but the beautiful face of a granddaughter. Named after the grandmother who had not lived to see her splendor, young Miho became the brightest addition to the family. These were the happiest years of Take's life. Every day was spent working the fields with his one true love, and every night was delicious -though humble- dinners with his family. The days of rest were usually spent taking picnics, or playing on the beach with little Miho. As his father had before, he taught his little one the basics of fishing. Then he used her irresistible charms to drag ol' grandpa out with them both. Had it not been for her, Takeshi swears, "Gifu would never have liked me...but how could he hate me, when I helped make such a beautiful little one?!" One of his fondest memories, of all the laugh filled nights and sunshiny days...was of Miho's 8th birthday. A whole day of fun with the family; a beautiful seashell necklace, with a lovely little pearl he pried from a clam; the best yakisoba his wife had ever made; the first time Miura-san ever told Takeshi that he appreciated him; his own family finally moving to share his land; then the evening, where Kaori held him close...and once, without begging or coaxing..."I love you Take, silliness and all." Truly...perfect.


When Takeshi realized what was happening, it was beyond his belief. Standing in his former den, he could feel the flames burning hot against his face. There was such confusion, so many questions, that he could not begin to make sense of any of it. In the next room he could hear Miura-san coughing...fighting to escape his quarters, but failing to do so. He started to rush to his Gifu's aid, but was caught by a more terrible sight. Laying on the floor, pale as the moon, was the body of Kaori. Falling to his knees, he desperately tried to scoop her up...to shake her, to stir her motionless form. It was useless. His hands, simply feel through her. Doing so, caused such an awful chill. No matter how hard he tried; no matter how loudly he cried...his love would not look at him, she would not tell him to stop yelling. She was beyond his reach, gone somewhere...he could not feel. All he could feel...were the tears dropping from his chin, and the emptiness her absence left behind. "Daddy!!" A scream tore apart his grief, urging him to seek it's source. "Daddy-y!!" This time the sound was worse, as though spoken through sobs. He did not hesitate, nor did he even think. Bolting from where he rested, he flew into the room of his only child. There...he saw her, wrestling against the hands and bindings of hooded figures. For the first time in his existence, he felt his fist clench in rage. Without breath or question, he lunged forward with all of his fury and determination...swinging hard for the nearest gheist. How weak he felt; when his assault faded straight through his target. How helpless he was; while his innocent little girl...was wrangled and stolen away from their home. How wholly he was consumed by regret...as his life collapsed in a terrible blaze around him. But he could not leave. As much as he wished to shield his eyes and not believe it, he had to watch everything be taken away from him. Forced to endure, it was if a chain had latched to his heart...and bound him with the burning earth. For all of his life, he was always told he would be the last to ever lose his warmth and smile. In these moments...he found no joy for life, or in death. His optimism was gone, completely lost to the cruelty of truth. He would never again know love. He would never again feel splendor. All that was, was Remorse...


Marcelius Despres, 1166-1194
This is the Life he presumes he lived before. It's memories are as faded as all the others contained within his soul, so the truth is questionable like all time before death. It is like a dream we forget upon waking. For Marcelius, his life had been quite the success story. Travelling with his parents, he remembered his father working with stones and tools. Loud clicking sounds filled the work days. These were the earliest memories, the ones left to wither at the bottom of the pile. New people, new parents came into his life. It is vague, but there is still a profound sense of loss. Perhaps his other parents had die, maybe just his father. It was sad at first, but the change brought joy. It was like getting a second life.


There is only blank darkness from that time with new parents. What should have been exciting teenage years with lasting, impressionable memories, are just empty blanks. There was a distinct pain of labor, at the very least. Then his life as a human flourished once again. There is a beautiful bride, dark hair and skin, with mysterious eyes. Happiness and passion, it lasted for a time. The haze of joy makes recollection impossible. Perhaps there was a child? Perhaps two, or three? Maybe the years of marriage were wanted and blissful? Maybe there was never a marriage at all? What can be recalled, was the ending to it all. Like most stories, the middle fades to grey, while the final burns brighter than the sun. For Marcelius, the ending shines...and in the light, there is great clarity.


He was captured by men, they were faceless behind masks. They had come for him while he slept, but unlike thieves, they made no effort to hide their intrusion. Bursting into his home, his room, and pulling him from his bed and partner. Hauled away, to a dark place where the walls were polished stone. They were men of faith and devotion, and they had come to rout the evil. For so long, Despres was put to the trials. No court, no jury, nothing but several angry judges. Beaten for testimony, tortured for confession, and threatened for honesty. The body he had, was broken many, many times over. Promises were made to end his pain, and all he had to do was speak what needed to be said. He squalled like a child, one that could endure no more punishment, and gave the interrogators everything they wanted. After speaking the lies they scripted for him, and signing the paper that condemned him, the cool touch of a sharp dagger was his reward. The blood that split from his neck, the life that flew from his breath, all of this was just another lie. Promised peace and relief, his spirit found nothing but burden and pain. A ghost, bound by chains that looped through a great hole in his chest, lay trapped in his bodies former cell. Even death couldn't get him out from behind those bars. It was in his cell, that he screamed and begged for someone to come. Someone to find him, to set him free. Sadly, someone did come. A beautiful woman, dark hair and skin, with bruised and weary eyes.


They had twisted his words, and broken their promise. The men of cloth, had killed him only to seek out his lover. By some cruel grace of fate, she had been given his former cell. In the same walls that held all the pain of his last days, she was put to the same trials. Just as Marc had suffered before, so too did the love of his life. Worse than reliving his worst days, was having to watch hers. Unable to help. When they came to the cell for her, they never brought any confession to sign. What they did to her, they did for pleasure. No matter how much Marc called to her, or the priests, none of it ever stopped. This went on for days and days, until the last punishment was prepared. While Marcelius screamed and screamed, his spirit ripping apart in his suffering, the captors arrived in her cell. This would be their final visit to her, so they brought no devices other than a sharpened dagger. When they had finished with their entertainment, they shared a secret they had been keeping all along. This secret was more devastating than any forged weapon. They told this poor, disgraced woman, why she had been brought here. They spoke of a man, the man she knew and loved. They told her how he begged for his wretched life. When they offered to free him from his cell, he was willing to put anyone in his place. So they asked for her, and without hesitation they say, Marcelius sold her name to them for his freedom.


Two hearts shattered at that moment. One, still beating in the chest of now broken woman. The other, the last link of a binding chain, that kept a spirit trapped in torment. When her heart cracked, she slipped away into death, crushed. When Marc's heart cracked, it caused such a thunderous sound. Thunder that didn't stop, it rushed into the world for all to hear. This first vibration, shared with Marc, all the secrets of life's sounds. With the echoing of his smashed soul, he heard the very first chords of Musica de la Vida. He could see the happiness of the twisted jailers. The anguish of the prisoners.The disgrace and humility of his former love. Her sound, was a misery he had never before comprehended in life. It was he who had lead his one love to her fate, his weakness forced her to suffer. He had betrayed her, he had failed her, and he was completely responsible for her death. Darkness set in among the noise, crushing and suffocating. All Marc could do, was beg to be hidden from his great shame...he begged for a mask.


Yuri Orlov, 912-949
The earliest memories were of cold and wind. Chilling and constant. There were many days of darkness, spent feeling the world move all around. The only time he could recall any light, was the times when he fed. The warm skin of someone, his mother he supposed. Those days could have been long, or they could have been short. It was like dreaming, all the time spent either sleeping or being awake with no way of knowing. There was very little room to move, everything always felt very tight and warmth. The icy pain he remembers, only came when the light work it's way in. His face would go pink, blistered by the the frigid air. His eyes would always close near immediately, to defend from the brisk onslaught. The pin would last only a short time, and then he would be covered again. These dark days were his youth; which he would later learn he spent bundled up and away from the open air. What felt like a lifetime when looking back, was actually no more than a few weeks. His family had set off to travel, at one of the worst of times. As the stories were later recounted, Yuri learned of the terrible winter...which was far more wet than any other the elders could remember. Villages were being uprooted everywhere, as people rushed to escape being buried alive in a blizzard which might never end. Each night would be spent bunkered down. Each day, after digging to freedom, the travelers would push on for as long as they could. Children were dying, unable to survive in such terrible conditions. The seniors were going missing, assumed to have lost energy and vanished into the pale flurries. Young or old, they all felt it was the end of days.


These were his history lessons, when he was just a boy. Drilled into him everyday by the adults who had become the new "elders" for their family. They sought to remind and educate those who survived, on the horrors which lead them to their current lives. Yuri, and his few siblings, were all that remained of the next generation. Their lives were blessings from powers beyond this world. Being mere children, with no more experience than the few years which separated them from the time of travel and now, Yuri and his siblings never grasped the measure of their fortune. Some of them, they were warned, never would. Each lesson would be in the morning, during breakfast. It was a stretch, to call what they had breakfast. There was hardly ever any bread, a treat which their childhood dreams were filled with. Instead, most mornings began with watery milk and whatever roots had been collected the day before. On special occasions, yams would be served...but only on the most sacred of days. Regardless of what they ate, it was rarely enough to satisfy. Yuri can remember the others, always making noises of discomfort. Only he and his oldest brother Yvanos, kept their discomfort to themselves. Yanos because he was the eldest, and it was his duty. Yuri, because he wanted everything to be like Yanos.


After sitting around the kindle, and hearing the cautionary tales of the elders, Yuri and his siblings would be cast out into the world. Not only them, but everyone in his family would go out. Siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and great aunts and uncles. Everyone went together, out into the field, once the sun was up high enough for anything to be seen. It was the responsibility of everyone, to take care of everyone. There were jobs to do, both in the field and the woods. Those were smaller, and too poorly built for intense jobs, were sent to gather roots and whatever else from the forest. Those more hearty and robust, had to keep the farm and whatever livestock was acquired for the year. Then there were the elders, the one's still able to work, who went to hunt. This was the warm years, when the sun seemed to stay longer in the sky each day. The clouds were often afraid of the light's might beams, and kept hidden at the edges of the horizon. Though his skin no longer cried when exposed to the air, his muscles could not boast the same. The warm days were filled with toil and labor. Where before he could barely track the time which passed, during his working years, he counted every second.


The labor was hard, and it was long. Others found comfort in complaining, filling their lungs with air and expelling dissatisfaction. Yuri remembers one particular cousin, quite scrawny for a field worker, who hated having to till the earth. He complained about hitting rocks, and then always seemed to find the most. To Yuri, it was funny, watching his gripe and receive more to gripe about as reward. It would have been a moral to observe, had Yuri not already learned everything he needed to from Yanos. His big brother, who was strongest, lead the workers in the fields. It was job that an adult should have done, but Yvanos was more than capable. It had been this way for as long as Yuri could remember, his brother keeping everyone in line and working hard. His brother had become much like a father, since no one was actually there to play that role. He was told that his father had passed away while their people relocated, but no one ever wanted to tell him how. "How is not important." And, "Just remember that you are here, because he is not." That was the way they were told to think about death. When one life continues in their family, it is because others died to give it the chance. They work for each other, and live for each other...and when the time comes, they die for one another. Inspiring words, perhaps, but not much more than that. So, for the rest of his answers in life, there was Yvanos.


Both the village and it's children, grew up fast. Soon Yuri was of age, and was no longer considered a child. In truth, it had been a lifetime since lived like a child, but now it was an official thing. In the recent years, elders had come and gone. New members of the family were born, or arrived from outside. Some of his cousins left, to seek a life beyond their family. With time, they would either return with a new family of their own...or not at all. To Yuri, the ones who did not come back, were the same as dead. For whether they yet lived, it did not matter, for they had not returned. It never truly bothered him to watch some leave and not return, not until it was Yvanos who left. When his brother told him he was leaving, that the family was strong enough to not need him, Yuri became quite cross. Yvanos made it clear that he had wanted to leave for a long, long time...and that it was only because Yuri was such a capable man now, that he felt he could go. It was difficult to hear these words, considerate as they might be.


To Yuri, it was insulting to think his brother had not seen his talents until now, after so many years. There was not much of a fight however, as Yuri had learned to not voice his unhappiness when it would not serve a purpose...but his brother knew his anger. It would not have been so bad, had Yvanos planned to return. But he did not. He was leaving them, all of them, and did not wish to return. The decision was a cold danger, which dug deep into Yuri's back. Whenever anyone left the village, a celebration was always held. Whatever extra food or sweet yams could be spared, would be. If they were to never meet again, the idea was, then their final memories should be splendid ones. Out of the dozens of attendants to that party, Yuri was the only absentee. With next morning, Yvanos was gone. Even though he had lost both parents, and countless others...even though he had come to accept death has the most natural thing this harsh world could offer...Yuri had never felt more cold, or alone...than in that bright, summer dawn.


The years which followed Yvanos' departure, were some of the best the village had ever seen. The family continued to grow, and new settlers had even come to join their brigade. The community grew and it prospered as best any of them could hope to. One of the souls responsible for this growth, was Yuri himself. Having taken the role his brother abandoned, the young man became one of the most successful and praised workers in his village. With more successful fields, sturdier walls and fences, and even the most successful pest trapper...there was nothing which Yuri did not excel at. Time had made him the eldest of his generation which still remained, all the rest having left to seek families and fortunes. With such a title, and such a responsibility, he pushed himself further and harder with each day. Soon, despite his youth, he was asked to join the elder's when decision making. Whenever a choice had to be made for the betterment of the people, his opinion was considered insightful and wise beyond his years. Thanks to him, and the inspiration he gave to others, their village quickly grew into a town. Everyday, more people who find their way to this settlement.


Mr Orlov, that is the title he began to go by. This gathering was no longer a family, it was a collection of separate ones. Even though his youth should have enjoyed this, seeking to learn and experience the changes going on around him, he kept focused to the old ways. Working ever harder, doing ever more; Yuri wanted the village to keep growing and expanding. Why, was often asked. Given his disinterest in the new comers which seemed to pour in, which everyone mistook as distaste; why would he want to further the expanse so badly? The answer, which he never wasted the time to share, was that he hoped dearly his brother would be one of those many new comers some day. Still angry with his elder sibling, there was no denying that Yvanos was the only real 'family' Yuri ever knew. More than just a bond of blood, oath or commitment, Yvanos had been his closest friend. Most days were spent disposing the sibling for leaving, or disposing himself for not saying goodbye. It took time, yes, but Yuri eventually began to hate Yvanos less and less. His frustrations turned more inward, on his foolish actions. Why could he not have faced his brother on that last night? Why could he not have tried to talk him out of leaving, or at least given him wishes of luck? Now he wished for his family's return, but had he given any reason for his brother to even want to return?


A few more years had passed now. Yuri was growing older, far more quickly than the rest. Each day was spent alone, working hard from sun up to sun down. The time and effort had begun to show in his face, with small wrinkles and bloodshot eyes. His hair never once went unstained with sweat, nor did his hands ever get very clean. Where his achievements had become a source of praise and story in his newly formed town, it was not enough for anyone to desire his company. Where in his youth he was just quiet, in his maturity he was viewed as unpleasant. The days just continued to be lonely, with what chance of happiness being tossed to the side in favor of his work. With each new family that arrived in the town, with every new face that was unfamiliar...he began to regret his existence even more. It was his farms and his livestock, which kept him sane. Staying forever busy, he never gave him time to be alone with his doubts or suffering. Had the weather stayed the same, his life may have continued like this for quite a long time. But the weather did not remain so content, and one fateful winter, a terrible blizzard set upon his home.


It was as fierce as the blizzard of his youth...forcing people indoors for weeks without end. For Yuri, this meant time alone and with his thoughts, trapped in the one room shack he had lived in for years now. In the dark of the night, as the wind howled outside, Yuri thought of his earlier days. The worries over his fields and animals went away, as nostalgia creeped in through the shadows which surrounded him. Remembering the days of cold, and the times he was told stories of great snowfalls. He remembered his brother, who sat with him at breakfast. Yvanos, who taught him everything he knew today...before abandoning him. Before his hurt and his loss could claim his heart, he thought of something once told to him in his lessons. About where his family and people came from, and how they had to leave. It was a blizzard like this one, which in the past, uprooted his community. It was believed, by a few, that the blizzard was a message. It was a sign, from the higher powers, that change was needed. Had such a time come again? Was this a message meant for Yuri, that change was required in his life? Maybe the time had come, for him to leave his home as well. Just as he had followed the guidance of his brother before, he could do so again. By leaving his village, he could set out to find happiness in the world. Perhaps, even, he could locate his brother...he could find him with his own family. The more he thought on the idea, the more he knew it must be fate. Feeling excited, for the first time in years and years, he could not be made to wait.


Gathering everything from his home, that he knew or thought he might need, he began to pack for his trip. He did not know where he might go, but like his childhood, he would follow in the direction his brother had taken. At first he considered waiting till spring, till winter had taken its full course. By then he could tell others, those who still knew him, of his plans to go. Quickly such thoughts departed, as he could think of nothing he would dislike more than a farewell party where people issue goodbyes both honest and shallow. So instead, he planned to set out at next warmth. It was not long thereafter, that the blizzard began to ebb. Having to crawl through an opening in his roof, Yuri found his entire property a white blanket of ice. Still, despite the thick cover of snow, the sun was high in the sky...and the clouds appeared to be gone. It took very little time, before he convinced himself that this was his chance. So eager to get going, to start his journey, he set out in in the middle of the snowy season. There was no way he could have known, it had become so difficult to track the days accurately, nor had he been trying. All the same, he marched outwards into the snow...past the edges of his town, and into the woods which divided them from their distant neighbors. Despite the nip in the air, and the shivers in his teeth; Yuri was happy for the first time in a decade. As he marched his way past the treeline, a chance arose to look back on his home once more. Yuri, however, just kept walking.


By the time Marc had finished with this one, and licked his teeth clean...he looked to the body which remained behind in the nonspiritual world. Yuri, a man of any 27, looked at least a decade older than he should. Hunched over, resting on his knees, the snow nearly reached his waist. His skin had long since lost the blistered pink which Marcelius usually found such bodies colored with...and instead was a distinct pale blue. Taking time to examine the carcass, the Hollow had little ability to determine how long it had been this way. Considering how many links were left on the Pluses chain, surely it had been a few days. When inspecting the body, remembering the taste of the soul which shared it's features; Marc began to understand the situation more. On his face, shimmering through the creases of premature wrinkles...the Hollow could identify the smell of frozen water. It seemed his face had been wet when he finally gave out, with streams trickling down the cheeks and chin. That is what that strange flavor was, the one beneath the joy Marcelius had infused into him. It was grief, quite salty too. Taking a moment, reviewing the recent meal he had enjoyed...the Mask recalled something significant. It was a face, bold and strong. As he thought hard, tracking back through the glimpses from the past...he found a name to go with that visage. Yvanos. Yes, Yvanos was significant...but how. Only after asking such a question, did the beast look to the weathered stone which stuck halfway from the icy turf about it. Tilting his, feeling his Reiatsu as it echoed off the earthy surface. The memory suddenly struck him...deep to his core. "Here lies Yvanos Orlov..."


Ayman Ibn Saqqaf, 7 B.C.-10 A.D.
There is only the whisper of this name, with more to come...


Miwei Batari, 2,771-2,830 B.C.
There is only the whisper of this name, with more to come...


Icnoyotl, 4,037-3,986 B.C.
There is only the whisper of this name, with more to come...


Ebiuwei Chibueze, 12,093-12,180 B.C.
There is only the whisper of this name, with more to come...


Memories of Hollow -
A rebirth in screams. The beginning was pain, loud and screeching. His hands grasped at his face, while he tried to gasp for air. Why couldn't he breathe? It was then he discovered, the sounds that had startled him awake were also stealing his breath. He was screaming, so loudly it sounded like a death howl. It continued, for how long is unsure. Even when his own screaming stopped, and he caught his breath, there was not any silence. There was sound coming from everywhere, deafening and foreign. Grasping his ears, Marcelius discovered he had none. In fact, the features of his head and the hands that felt them, all felt wrong. Looking to his hands he saw that they were his, but nothing that could ever belong to him. He had claws, long and sharp. His skin was hard and cold, like he had been chiseled from rock. It's color was grey, but opaque. It tricked you into thinking it was possible to see through the skin, to the flesh below. But all that he saw bellow was nothingness. He was hollow.


He found a mirror, in which to inspect himself further. There was surprise at first, disbelief of what he saw. A large and powerful body, devoid of covering or even gender. His face, covered by a bone white mask. The mask was mostly featureless: no holes for eyes and a rigid forehead structure, a cavity that matches the nasal opening of a typical human skull, square chin with symmetrical and triangular cuts along the jawline. Reaching to touch his face, to confirm it was his. Feeling the smooth calcium that covered his eyes, he was amazed it did not imposed his sight. His appearance was strange to him, but no more peculiar than seeing a new haircut or freshly shaven face. He looked different, but he was still himself. He didn't know where he was, during the dark time, he had somehow moved to some large city. He suffered from glimpses of a dream he just had. He remembered men, who hurt him. There was a woman, her face was lovely, but looking at her caused such a weight to crush his chest. These memories made him ache. He tried to forget them, but they stayed...they lost shape or form, but never went away. They became nothing but emptiness, a void where all that remained was incredible guilt.


Wandering the city streets, his body felt tremendously heavy. Heavier than it should, something pulling him down and making him weak. He felt, as if he were at the bottom of the sea. Crushing dark water laid all around, leaving his body heavy and slow. Everything that existed among the depths of this great ocean, caused ripples in the water. The ripples cut through the density of space, and traveled to find Marc. What they were, he did not know, but they did distract him from his memories. It was night, he recalled, shadow and silence covered the world. Or it should have. In every direction he looked, the land was filled with dancing lights and sounds.


Seeking out the noises and colors that danced through the darkness, Marcelius felt called to them all. It was hard to move, a great labor that exhausted him quickly. Hunger announced itself, having been spoken over by the noise of the world for too long! It demanded satisfaction, it demanded sustenance. What was there to eat? Where could he find a meal to end his pain? These questions had a wonderful answer. He finally reached one of the brightest lights from before, he'd longed for it more than any of the others. The way it shined and moved, and as he had drawn closer, it made his body tingle. The light came from a woman, beautiful and seemingly lost. With her dark hair and skin, she looked positively delicious.


With a twist and a groan, his stomach announced his presence to her. As her weary eyes fell onto him, her face cringed in a look of aghast. Seeing this expression, reminded him of all that shame he was carrying. She caused him pain with her stare. He would have given anything to stop it, gouge out her eyes or even rip off her head. He did all of those things, and while she screamed in agony, he licked his teeth in anticipation of the taste. Eating her, bite by bite, gnawing every inch of her till she was nothing more in this world. Surprising, she tasted familiar. His gullet was warm, happy...but he could not enjoy it, as his chest began to ache more fiercely than before. That cursed dream was going to haunt him forever, he feared.


No sooner had he rested his jaws from chewing, did the hunger return. He must not have had enough, but luckily, it would be easy to find more. Those darling lights, thee helped him so. Often times, the noises sung to him, guiding him to fresh meals. Other times the vibrations were weak, and lead him to things he could not eat. He scoured for so long, consuming the brighter ones as he went. He was eating several meals a day, enough for any growing boy, but still his stomach cried for more. If only to make matters worse, when he had finished each meal, that painful feeling kept returning to his chest. So bothersome it all was. Eating and walking were about all he knew. Meal after meal, he grew to love his guiding lights more. Though, he was often disappointed they left once he finished his meal. To think of it, whenever he ate, the lights grew both brighter and louder. It was like they were excited he had found the prize they lead him too. He owed them so much, for all their kindness. There was one special occasion, where one light seemed to fill the world. It came as quickly as the dawn, and was louder than thunder. Almost drooling with excitement, he could not wait to taste what his lights had found!


It was a person, young, and very appetizing. Dressed strangely, dark covers over most of it's body. It was speaking to another person, desert as it would seem. Marc crept up on them slowly, maintaining stillness in body and in his noise. Before he could catch the meal, the second course vanished in a cascade of light! There were vibrations, so many many motions. His body tingled as the one being vanished, he could feel heat and hear a deep humming from where the food had been. Now, there was only the first meal. Despres wanted to hurry, to leap out for surprise, but this entrée was prepared. Marc loved exotic food, but this one seemed to be armed. A knife hung from it's body, which stirred memories of dreams in which he ate using tools instead of his hands. So peculiar.


While he observed this strange new dish, it seemed to be doing the same to him. It stared, as if looking at him, but Marc had ducked his head to not be seen. When the person couldn't see, they instead tried to feel. Marc knew this trick, he'd used it too! Was his dinner like him? While vibrations poured from the stranger in black, Marc made sure he produced no sound at all. As fate would have it, his excitement still gave him away. Soon, he felt the vibrations increase in their tempo, till the trilled at him. Lifting his head to see, the strange creature had managed to start a fire in their hands! It glowed quite brightly, and was the cause of all the motion he felt! Before he could figure out how this happened, the creature let the fire go. It came barreling at Marc, who ducked in surprise, then charged beneath the soaring flame to grab his dinner.


This meal fought for so long, swiping and cutting at Marc with it's knife. Every second he spent struggling with his prey, made him crave it all the more! While the fight rolled on and his hunger grew, Marc began to notice his own vibrations again. They were loud and fueled by his impatience and excitement. Each time the black dressed fighter approached, Marc's vibrations made it stop. As his hunger grew, the motions of the person's lights began to slow. The smaller sounds were being silenced by the larger! Held, beaten, crushed! Victory was near, Marc had no doubt. Unfortunately, while he watched his prey struggle and run, his body began to feel heavy. The pain in his chest, it was returning. It had been so many meals since he last felt it, and now it was worse. Seeing the quivering of this warriors light and sound, seeing it struggle to push back against his own...it all made Marc's chest lock up. He stopped his pursuit, the meal would have to get away. So odd, a foe who could fight back and exhaust him so thoroughly. There was pain too, surrounding the hole in his chest. It felt like a great weight was resting on him, laboring his breathing. A deep grumble erupted, his stomach voicing it's disdain for his failure. He still needed to eat.


Marc began practicing now, even on the weaker meals. He would stalk them, observe them, and listen to all the different Noises they made. As he studied the way people acted, he began to develop a taste for meals with certain vibration. This vibration came when he captured his prey without their knowledge. Sneaking upon an unsuspecting person, and ending the struggle before their Noise had time to shift. So his practice continued, his appetite would grow and grow as he carefully approached his target. His excitement and pain would be at it's greatest, just before the attack. Forcing himself to endure the suspense of subtlety, every bite that followed capture was euphoria. This patient and careful approach, taught him how to suppress his own noise more than anything. Things continued, deliciously, until he found another particularly loud opponent. The discovery, was a shocking one. He had indeed found a meal, and it's vibrations were tremendous. The problem being, the meal was also tremendous. It was no person as he had seen before. This creature was broad and slouched onto all fours. It had powerful hands that looked more like clenched hammers, and a scrawny pair of hind legs. Inspecting the Noise of this one closer, Marc discovered it to be similar to his own. It was unlike any of the people he'd hunted before. His dinner would require more tracking, careful examination.


Following his new and noisy adversary, Marc paid great attention to the sheer size of it's vibration. When it moved or changed it's mind, the resulting noise stretched out much, much farther. The way it lumbered through the buildings, it's movement's reminded Marc of hunting. This thing was just like him, and he had caught it on the prowl! What a great chance to learn how another catches food. Luck would have it, that breakfast was about to be served up. Ahead was a young man, and from the shakiness of his Noise, Marc knew this person saw the approaching mask. Very direct, nothing interesting in the method of stalking. When the other hunter realized he had been seen, his energy began to grow into a mighty ruckus. Balancing on his little back legs, the creature raised his hefty forearms and dropped the palms of his claws onto the ground. It created a mighty blast that deafened the ears and disoriented Marc's observation. This is why the Noises were so important, because they told Marc of the attacks second effect. A wave of force that rolled over the surface of the ground in a fan shape. This force cut the very feet out from under the fleeing gentleman. Disoriented and tripped, the meal was served. Marc watched the victor claim his earnings, but envied the gluttonous sounds his rival made. The observation didn't end with the meal. Such a powerful trick this other masked one knew, Marc wondered if he could do the same. His claws were not of the same size as his competition. They were not bulky or very heavy, instead his claws were lithe and sharp. He did try though, clapping his hands together with as much force as he could physically muster. The effects were far less substantial. How then, could he use such a crafty technique? Or rather, what technique could he use? He needed prey to try out his new ideas!


Seeking out a dimmer light, he found an elderly woman sitting quietly by herself. She never even noticed his approach. In his mind, while keeping a close eye on the target, he replayed the events of that impressive attack. Over and over he re imagined the assault, to look for what he might have missed. Then the thought struck him. The other mask had caused such a loud racket with his Noise before attacking...that could be the secret. So he knew now, what to try first! Unfortunately, the old lady was leaving her seat! Marc quickly broke from his hiding, and pounced after the old woman he followed. His excitement gave him away, and she began to flee for the life she obviously loved. Marc drew up his hands, and began to focus his concentration. His Noise started to ring, nothing like the sound his muse had made, but it grew louder all the same! When the Noise grew to much for him to endure, he quickly clapped his hands to the ground. His attempt at mimicry had failed. There was no loud boom, no feeling of trembles in the air or earth. There was only a long streak of light that chased and engulfed the old woman.


From the moment his attack touched her form, she fell to her knees, her Noise nearly smothered into nothing. She did not, or possibly could not, move. Marc advanced slowly, trying to discern what he had done. All he gathered, was that his energy had drawn the very rhythm from her Noise. She was motionless and quiet, and it seems he had made her that way. He had changed her sound, he'd changed her. How it had worked, he would have to learn. At least for now, he would not go hungry. Several more trials followed the demise of the old woman. Each time Marc chose a target with a different tune. Every time he raised used his focus and lashed out with his Noise, he produced the same result. His targets would fall, and their Noise would be diminished and muffled by his own. This always left them weak, and unable to resist. Sadly, this always ruined their taste. It was a fun trick to learn, interesting to use, but nothing should get in the way of a fine tasting meal. His rival should have learned the art of delicacy.


Time passed with great meals coming and going. Marc had returned to the old ways of caution, and savory reward. He had grown curious though, in the time between hunger, of the other masked one he had seen. Why hadn't he seen him since? Where could he have gone or hidden himself? Was he a threat to Marc, and should he be dealt with? Could he be eaten? The answers to all of those questions were soon to appear. While out getting groceries, a particularly tasty looking girl became the focus of two shoppers. Marc had leaped from his hiding spot, to pounce on his meal, only to be blasted away by a magnificent force. Once he collected himself, the humbled mask rose to face his familiar foe. Apparently the two were destined to meet once again. It was a standoff now, the two of them staring each other down. The Noise coming from the more heavily armed mask, had begun to change. The sounds coming from him felt like an earthquake, each note cast by this creature caused Marc to shake. He, was afraid. Not one time when he had struggled with all the other meals, had he ever felt fear. This was new, this was unpleasant. The thought of running came to him. He wondered if he could get away. By the time he turned to try the strategy of flee, he was already being struck.


Marc came crashing down, writhing in pain from the first real hit he'd ever received. It knocked his senses all about. Before he could gather his thoughts, a second attack pressed him deeper into the ground. A growing Noise was becoming unbearable, and it was coming from within himself. As the other being slammed downward onto his body again and again, Marc's sound seemed to welcome the blows. His body hurt, but his soul craved it. Trying to get to his feet, he couldn't overcome the desire to simply give up. Another strike fell and the awful sound of his cracking body sent him into a shock! While in this haze, his arms desperately clawed forward, trying to crawl beyond the reach of his assailant. Another attempt to stand once more, he barely made it to his feet. Body aching and mind blurry, he was barely able to stay awake. While he tried not to fall back down, a huge clap echoed behind him. Another blast wave from the other mask, and this time felt immensely worse! Marc's chest began to feel heavy, pulling him down so he couldn't get back up. The Noise of his rival was steadily approaching, coming to strike him down once and for all. While his mind simply waited to be crushed, his body fought against the inevitable. Things started fading to darkness, as silence slowly poured in.


A flash woke him up, a blinding light and crashing sound. His claws felt cool, and the ground was so very soft. As he scraped with his digits, he could move the very earth itself. Sand, this was sand he felt. Soft and course, all at once. Rolling his face out of the dirt, he brought it injured body to sit upright. Remembering the struggle he was having in the city, it was alarming to wake up in an empty expanse of sand. This dessert world was bizarre, but it felt...good. It felt good just to be here. Was this home, did Marc have one of those? Hunger stuck once more, causing his innards to writhe. If this was home, it would have food.


There were lights here, just as the world before. The lights were harder to see here, everything seemed to be lit up. There was a constant hum in the air that made hearing difficult. Neither of these things were unpleasant; actually, quite soothing and hypnotic. Once again Marc was left to walk. He'd grown to enjoy wandering, but it seemed to always be happening. The wastes of this new place, were quite delightful. Once he had adjusted to it's sound, he could see for miles and miles in every direction. Out in the vasts, more and more lights began to flicker into view. They were bright, and loud, and Marc was aware of each and every one of them. He searched for smaller lights, weaker prey for a weakened predator.


Finding food was difficult. Every light he tracked, turned out to be another mask. There were many of them here, and as his search stretched on and on, he feared that they were the only other residents. What was he going to do, what was he going to eat? Hunger had been haunting him for so long, he was getting desperate. His wounds were going unnoticed, the pain of his stomach was far more important. So much time had passed, all of it spent searching for something edible. A day came where his search ended with a masked one, but Marc's appetite had grown too impatient to notice. He would have food! A slow one, fat and bloated in every way. It shuffled along with arms clawing through the sand, while it's legless backside slithered side to side. Marc watched this creature from a safe distance, tracking it by it's Noise. As his stomach begged and pleaded for attention, Marc considered all the risks. The last encounter he had with one like this, one like him, he proved to be the weaker. What if he's weak again? How will he escape again, he still did not know how he survived the first time. These question were appropriate, but they were also irrelevant for the fear of starvation.


Marc surprised his fat friend by crashing down on his back. Digging his claws into the flesh of it's back, Marc squeezed and twisted in hopes of tearing out something vital. The chubby snail cried out in pain, before thrashing about to shake away his attacker. Marc watched the creature's noise change, the attack having quite the effect on it's mood. Interestingly, his assault did not produce a rage or aggression from his opponent. Instead it's Noise became like the old woman he devoured so long ago. While the larger body throttled beneath him, Marc clawed at it again and again. Tearing whatever he could touch, he raised one hand to shovel all that he had removed into his mouth. Wrangling with one hand and feasting with the other, dinner was a hectic ordeal.


With every bite he realized more, just how amazing these masked ones tasted. It could have just been the near starvation talking. Whatever the cause, there was only one effect. Marc began devouring his victim before death could arrive. In every bite Marc learned more of what he was consuming. He learned how it felt, that it was scared, and even who it was. Yes, it was once a person. Marc now knew, that all the masked ones he'd seen, were once people he would have eaten. Denying what this might mean about him, his hunger compelled him to rejoice at the discovery.


His body would not go hungry in this place, so long as he fights smart like he had just now. He would just have to get smarter! Better at hunting! He was so happy to be eating again, that he never thought twice. He did not even notice the pain in his chest had returned, and become far worse than ever before. He was willing to do and ignore anything, to seek comfort from hunger. He did grow smarter, and stronger. He grew too. As he got bigger, he ate more and more. Eventually he consumed enough, and his satisfaction allowed him to sleep deeply. While he rested...his body remained at work.


Memories of Menos - (Disregard this section, I did it for the Funs.)
HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY


KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL


EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT


HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY


Memories of Adjuchas -
A steady sound, like rolling thunder that would not stop. Marcelius was standing, his body was trembling, as he listened to the enormous sound. It was like the sky crashing down on him. He looked all around, he felt wrong for some reason, like he wasn't himself. No, he felt as if he had just woken from a unpleasant dream. He was in, a forest? How did he get here, what was this strange place? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, the trees were so unusual. That is when he felt the heft in his hand, he was holding something. Looking down, he saw a white plate that still had the chewed, wet, and bloody remains of something...he'd been eating? He lifted the plate up, sniffing the leftovers he had left, they smelt so much better than they looked. He licked the dish clean, his tongue delighted in every flavor it scraped up. Finishing the meal he must have fallen asleep to, he looked once more at the strange flatware he was eating off of. Turning it over to see the other side. Discovery surprised him, making him jump and drop the item. As it fell to the ground below, it landed bottom up, exposing the mask like face of the other side. Menos, it was the mask of a Menos.


As with all awakenings, a good startle is the best way to accelerate the mind. Marcelius took time to think now, how did he get here? He remembered, eating. There were others, large bodies draped in black. There was heat and fire, only it wasn't fire. A struggle, that is where the fire was, in a struggle. Marc had won. He won, and because of his victory he got to eat. He was so hungry, he was dying of hunger. There were so many, so many others. Looking back around, Marcelius realized he was standing on top of bloodied, black scraps. Inspecting the ground where he stood, dried blood had ruined the soil. There was also a pile, a large mountain of white masks. Menos, dozens and dozens...everyone one of them licked clean of every morsel.


His body grew so very heavy all at once. He came crumbling down to his knees. What was this pain, he wasn't hungry and yet it felt so much worse than even that. He grasped at his body, his large, stained claws reaching for his hole. It had moved, yes, the hole in his chest was lower now. At the base of his chest, above his abdominal. His hole was the direct center of him. It hurt, aching like a constant throb, but there was nothing there. Like an amputee feeling stinging pain in the arm that isn't there anymore. Whatever caused his suffering, began to fade. Once again, after several moments of panic and agony, he was able to regain his composure. This phantom wound was still such an issue, after such a long time. By now it should have healed, or at least he should have grown tolerant. No, there was no healing or resistance...cursed hole. Sitting and staring at the pile of...mass grave, Marcelius began piecing together the memories again. He remembered coming home, finding others like him. Hollows, that is what they were, that is what he was. They were all Hollows, living in this desert...except now it was a forest. Had he slept so long that the world began new life? With the strangeness he felt for his own body, had he begun a new life with the desert? With no mirror or window, surrounded by nothing but woods, he would have to inspect his body the old fashioned way.


First his claws, they were no longer lithe, agile digits. They were strong, with broad palms and thick claws that grew from out of his knuckles. His fingers hid in smooth grooves beneath each claw, making the bone protection and weapon. Reaching up to his face, his bizarre new appearance was something to gawk at. His skull mask was still without eyes, just calcified indention where eyes should have gone, and yet he could still see so well! The rest of his mask felt sharper, the cheeks and the chin were all serrated and refined. His nose was still a cavity, only a large pointed ridge stretched down from his forehead between his "sockets" and over that cavity. His forehead was still rigid and defined, but now he felt hair. Hair, yes, a thick pile of it lay matted and bloodied. It covered his head and seemed to stretch all the way down his back, similar to a mane. Except his mane did not expand around his neck, or over his chest. The rest of his body was in good condition, defined muscular form with no wounds or anything missing. His skin was grey in tone, that seemed suiting...for some reason. With a good bill of health, he was now free to indulge his busybody ways.


Looking around this haunting new residence, he familiarized himself with the towering trees that seemed to stretch into forever. Taking time to simply sit, and to think, he began to notice abnormalities. The world around him, for quite some distance, hit was if he could feel it. To his right, he felt the steps of a large creature as it slipped through the trees. Menos, that is what it was. Turning his head to focus in it's direction, it was if he could see it through the wall of petrified wood. It's huge body, slouched over as if it were in pain. Actually, it did feel in pain, and a very familiar pain at that. He watched this hungry giant saunter through the forest, he could hear it's frustration and starvation in every step. Marc himself laughed, as he could relate with that frustration very well. Dinner was nearby, thankfully, and it was weak from going days without food itself. How cruel the world's irony could be. Licking his polished teeth clean, Marcelius gnawed and licked the back of the freshly cleaned out mask. His prey was quite the noisy one, had caused quite the commotion while blasting away with it's Ceros before the end. Marc had ripped it apart, watching it's Noise as he did so. Learning all he could about the feelings of anger, fear, pain, and finally...well, being delicious, Marc supposed. Still, while his meal settled into his stomach, the Adjuchas started thinking about that Cero. He knew what it was. He'd done it before, he believed. With nothing better to do, he sat upright and aimed his focus down through the trees. Focusing his mind while his belly was full, he envisioned the energy pouring from him and blasting through the woods. Nothing happened.


Time passed, and Menos grew bland. He had too many of these complaining behemoths, it was time to find something new. He imagined his former home, the one with all those delicious people just sitting around and waiting to be caught. They never fought back, to his knowledge, and they always tasted different from the last. He wanted to go back there, to hunt the sweet ones again. Sitting back and dreaming over it, the Hollow was soon overcome by an odd feeling. The world around him started fading into darkness, he quickly jumped to his feet before the void took him. It passed soon, luckily. When the light did return, it revealed that old world Marc had begged for. He was back, it was so strange! This was the second time now. The second time he brought himself to another world...he grew so aggravated that he didn't know how he did it! He was curious if he could do so again, jumping back and forth between worlds on a whim. His experiments would have to be paused though, as his eyes were lighting up with countless Noises. Looking over the ocean of movement and life, he quickly felt the full power of his empty stomach.


His first day back, and he feasted like it would be the last. Having been gone so long, he forgot how easy it was to hunt people. They never made any real fuss at all. Well, they fussed, but it stopped nothing. Eating so quickly, he actually stuffed himself senseless. He had to rest, dozens of dinners in such a short time...it was too much for even him. He had a moment of clarity now, and with it he thought more on the sensations he was feeling. All around him, the food went on about their days with little hesitation. He had time to observe them while his stomach caught up with his success. He observed the old, and the young. He saw happiness and laughter. Sorrow and loneliness. There was bravery, and cowardice.


Such a large display of colors, sounds, and feelings. He found himself enthralled by the excitement of the world. It wasn't long before he began formulating patterns and recognizing repetitions. It the passing of only a few moons, he had begun to understand what the Noise was saying. He used his own words to describe it, as the Noise never spoke or explained a language of it's own. Before long, Marcelius was capable of learning everything he needed to know, using the Noises alone. He knew which spirits were the youngest, freshest. He knew which ones were happy, sweetest. No matter where they went, he never lost sight of them. He could even tell which ones could see him, the brighter ones that possessed such strong wills. Then he began noticing, some that were completely different altogether.


A particularly elusive meal had become the Hollow's hobby. His diet had forced him into a larger city, bigger population meant more opportunities for feeding frenzies. It was in this urban environment, that Marc found all sorts of new and wondrous things. The most interesting of all, was a human soul that sounded nothing like any other soul he'd tasted before. It was like a vacuum, it seemed to pull other sounds towards it constantly. It sure had no trouble pulling Marcelius to it, either. Trouble was, it always ran when he came closer. It knew he was following. Time passed, several close calls came and went, and still no exotic meal. Marc's luck would not remain so bad; however, as he finally caught a glimpse of his adversary. The Hollow came across a young couple, one of which sounded madly in love. The other...was a bit strange. In his excitement to finally catch a sigh of his tricky opponent, he nearly blew his cover. It would seem this strange person, was quite enthralled with a lady friend he had found. So distracted by her, and her delicious qualities, this interesting young man paid no mind to the hunter's advances. Marc was able to get so close, he could hear them speaking.


The boy was flustered, and even though his Noise didn't say so, Marc could read it on his face. This was the first time, in so very long, that Marcelius could not read a person's Noise. There was no time to be upset, the young man was winding up his conversation and soon his awareness would return. Marc needed to do something to this scare this boy, fill him with fear so that he could not flee. Then he remembered, the trick he had developed so long ago. Reaching up with his claws, he raised the volume of his Noise and lashed out with the power he built from inside. The wave he produced came crashing down upon the two, but only the girl fell. Her Noise played the tune of despair and grief, she wasn't going anywhere. The boy seemed unaffected, irritating grub.


Marc moved from his hiding spot, and came towards the two. Maybe the male would be to distraught over his friend to turn and run. To the Hollow's surprise, the boy did the furthest thing from retreat...he struck back. A blinding flash that ripped through the air like a lightening bolt, and struck Marc in his chest with terrible effect. The large body of the Hollow, ached quite bad. He landed on his feet, but his skin was smoking from the attack. He looked to his body, fine for the most part, then stared back at the boy. The two of them faced each other with new understanding. This strange young man, was holding a bright light in his left hand. His weapon quivered with an awful, grinding sound. Before Marc could guess at it's abilities, his opponent lifted it for another demonstration. It was some kind of bow, and when it was drawn back, it formed it's arrow out of light. The boy stole the very motion from the world around him, and pulled it into a silent bolt of terrifying power. Bracing himself, Marcelius was unable to read any aggression in the archer's Noise, he would have to dodge on instincts.


There were a few arrows, that all went zipping by the nibble Hollow. They grazed him, and seared the skin a bit each time. Being quite old and experienced with combat, Marc was doing well in avoiding the assault. While his rival was quick at work, delivering shot after shot, Marc was losing his desire to eat this meal. How good could he possibly taste, when he made sounds like did. Fed up with trying to avoid all of his attacks, Marc lifted his head and mustered his Noise. A Cero ripped through the air, and sailed towards the spunky marksman. When the light cleared, and Marc's senses came back, he found the archer thrown back and motionless. Running to assist him, was that sweet girl he'd been speaking to before. Marc ridiculed himself for forgetting her. He was glad to see the sweet thing again, Ceros leave a Hollow awfully famished.


He waited. He waited a long long while, negotiating with his impatience. The boy was finally coming around, the world had turned to night in the time it took him to wake. When he did, Marc was truly grateful. The boy being conscious, meant he could eat. So long he held the treat in his claws, having pried her willful soul from it's shell some time before. With his enemy now aware of his surroundings, Marc took the chance to repay him for the awful sounds his arrows had made. The Hollow made his own terrible music, a song he knew the human wouldn't forget. Tearing and ripping, drooling and savoring...he devoured that succulent young woman for her suitor to see. It was then Marc could finally hear it, a normal sound from that boys soul! It was grief, and it was intense...the Hollow felt like he had heard it somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. All the same, the sound of grief meant the taste of the soul was spoiled. He allowed the strange one to live. Such a shame, his long and passionate hunt only produced rotten meat.


Starting to grow tired of this world now, so much excitement had really taken it out of him. Something about that weird man, was making his chest hurt, oh so badly. It must have been that first shot he surprised him with, that seemed likely. Either way, it was time to go home. Hueco Mundo. Home is where the substantial meals are, and Marc was quite famished. Getting back home, proved challenging at first. The large Hollow just sat in a human park; trying to re-imagine that forest from before. He failed, time and time again. His frustration was growing. Growling his annoyance, he could not open a door of any kind. While he sat, complaining to the sky, a frightening orchestra began stringing their instruments.


Marc was surrounded, in all directions they were positioned. He looked around, and saw that there were many of them. Whatever they were, they were organized. More terrible creatures, just like that boy he spared before. Now it would seem, his tribe had come to deal with the Hollow. It would have been flattering, if Marcelius didn't find their presence frightening. The situation was certainly bleak, when the drew their bows, it filled the night with vibration and lights. Examining his collected foes, he cursed them for the way they hid their emotions and secrets from his perception. He wasn't ready to accept his end, not yet. Marc had never intended to die as hungry, and these strangers would offer him a meal...even if it was to be his last.


Marc had no experiences of war. None of his lives had ever been a member, or witness, of great conflict. Without any knowledge to the contrary, Marcelius believed a fight with a dozen of these archers was worse than any war could sound. He burst with sudden movements, pouncing after each of their largest groupings. He did what he could to keep them separated from each other, when they were together, their dreadful music would harmonize. Countless arrows went flying all around his body and head...only a few seemed to hit. More than the pain, the vibration of their strikes hurt the most. Marc managed to snag a few, two or three he recalled. They tasted worse than he could have imagined. His pride was damaged too, when he realized he could only catch the inexperienced youths. Within their unsavory flavor, he could distinguish their naivety.


Marc remembers, clearly to this day, the horror of fighting those bowmen. The way they hunted, was well practiced. The method of their attack, unnerving. The source of their power, was unnatural. Something about the way they scared him, seemed to solve his problem with the doorway home. Losing the fight as he was, he was very glad to have escaped when he did. They made a show of him that he would not forget. Someday, he'd find better ways to hunt and fight those strange ones...and as bad as it would taste, he would consume them all. Home at last, aching from his venture. Marc tried not to think of his stomach. After having such a close call with destruction, he needed time to just be quiet. Unfortunately, his hunger could not be neglected. Dinner took care of itself, seeing as he dropped in on a small group weaker Hollows. He had interrupted them, they were bickering among one another. Even though Marc found their communication interesting, he found their taste to be more so. Dodging their Cero was easy enough, those damn humans helped him exercise the talent. Once he had shut the three hollows up, and devoured the rest of their sounds, he could finally rest. He'd be satisfied for a while, he hoped.


Memories of Lorde -
Despite the complexities of his development, this period of his life remains shrouded in the densest haze. He can not remember, the shape of his body or the structure of his power. He does not remember where he first awoke to this life, or if the fragments he retains are real or dreamt. This was the first time, that hunger had not ruled him. He did not crave for the flesh and sustenance of all life. No ambitions to consume, or grow, or strengthen himself. His body was strong, but disconnected. He experienced the world in ways that seemed unique and different from all his other Hollow years. Had he not recollected a time before becoming a Hollow, he would believe this to be the era in which he first felt alive. His views on the world, had returned to the ways they were before. With the addition of his knowledge of life, and it’s beautiful music. This was the first time, that Marcelius could once again see. Sight, of the eyes, returned to him. He could look at the world for the first time in countless centuries, and actually see things as others saw them. He did not have to imagine their figures or details. It was at this time, that a new sensation took over him. One he could not remember, that had been lost for what seemed like all of his life. He could hear.


The world around him was filled with noises not connected to the heart or the soul. Vibrations caused by movement, that he had observed for so long, now produced audible pleasure for his new ears to enjoy. It was such a euphoric first moment, when his rebirth completed, that he nearly collapsed from the infinite sensations. Unfortunately, this pleasure was already on it’s deathbed. Once given the time to think and ponder his existence, the Chorus would begin their song anew. It had grown, sometime while he slept, it had become even grander than before. More and more seemed to be constantly added. For the first time, their harmonized voices rang so loudly, that he forgot the pain in his stomach. Yes, his hunger, had finally ceased. Replacing his physical agony, was their torture of his mind. Without hunger to distract him, he was completely at the mercy of their whims. It incapacitated him, his internal song, for quite sometime. Not physically, no, he continued to wander in an endless search through the wastes of Hueco Mundo. Instead, he weakened him mentally. So a new reason for living had found him. Without the desire to eat, he could seek out something different for a change. What he sought after, was a way to end the cries of their voices. Anything he could find, to quell the torrent of the choir, that was his new appetite. So into the desert he went, yet again, to seek a cure for the incurable. In the blur of suffering and delusion that accompanied this period, he can not see well enough to recollect his dealings.


Memories of Arrancar -
Stretching out his arms, writhing his legs, Despres felt his extremities plunge into the icy sand that seemed to engulf him. Turning his head, he observed the pale grains of earth that had become stuck to his skin. The material felt coarse, but pleasing. It was when his arms spread to enjoy more of the sand, that his fingers collided with something odd. Turning fast, in his alarm, he discover a large hide. Tanned leather, soft as silk, made up the inside. Once he pulled the strange cloak up from the dirt, he unearthed the brilliant blond fur that covered the back. Holding this discovery, this thing, brought Marc comfort. He felt happier with it draped over his head, like it belong there. Clothed, Marcelius stood up from out of the white sediment. While trying to gain bearing on his location, he noticed something else that felt familiar. It was the Noise, and it was speaking to him again.


Having pulled himself to his feet, he found his body quite capable of standing. The cold of the breeze became worse, as his naked form stretched upright. Quickly, his new found hide became a cover for his chilled skin. There he stood, puzzled by the sight of his surroundings. A dark sky, that seemed too heavy to stay up above, loomed over the expanse. The floor beneath were roiling dunes of sand that laid exposed, just as him, to a barrage of gusts. The howling of that breeze was terrible. Looking over the landscape, Marc's senses were overshadowed by nostalgia. He understood exactly what this place was, but not sure how. This void, was home. Lines had formed in the sand, from the dragging of his feet. Raking through the course waves, tossing the white grains with each labored advance. Despres was only sure he'd seen this place before, and he didn't know his way. What gave him direction, was also what gave him drive. The Sounds. He sought them, the ones that felt closest. They were far, but when his mind focused, they became bright beacons over the bleak, earthen sea. They brought him purpose, made him push on through the cutting winds. The only fear he knew, was that some of them were going out.


Coming to the crest of a great hill, he found the perfect spot to look into the valley below. Up high, as he was, he clung to his hide for protection and warmth. His eyes desperately scanned the area, the vibrations were as rapping on a snare drum. That is when the valley floor tore open. Beneath his elevated view, he saw a monstrous figure burst from the earth. Writhing in a black mass, roaring in such a painful way, the creature pulled its massive body from the crevice it had created. This was the source of sound, the thing that had spoken to Despres from so far away. He had found it, whatever it was, and now it found him. Marcelius fled, unable to face the gleaming red eyes of the beast. But his efforts to escape weren't unnoticed, the behemoth was giving chase. He could feel it's large and labored breaths cascading down in a hot gale. It was now he heard a new tune, one of fear and despair, and it came from within him. It pulled at his chest, tugging him down. The creature that approached drew closer, eagerly poised to capture it's fleeting prey. But today would not be a day for the predator! In desperation Marc looked ahead, to a rising plateau. In a moment of panic he jumped for it's edge, and in the following moment, he landed on it's summit.


There was a thunderous crash, as the body of the pursuer came smashing into the face of the rock wall. Looking down from his vantage, Despres saw the beast coiled in pain. It's body laid tattered, with deep wounds stretched all over it's form. The injuries it carried were impossible for a mountain to make, they were precise cuts. This is when the animal's sound returned, just as before when Marc was tracking it. The difference this time, was that Marc understood the tone in the vibrations. It was the same tone he heard from his own heart before, fear and despair. And now, with the cringes of pain causing it such agony, Despres felt assured he was in no danger. Taking a chance, he crawled down the side of the cliff face, and came to the aid of his first companion.


At first there was hesitation. Hiding behind a rock, and peaking to inspect the wounded giant. The cuts were just that, cuts...very deep and very clean. Whatever harmed the beast, was equipped to do so. The injuries were still quite extensive, Marcelius could not find the will to abandon this animal. Though the aura of pain never left, Despres could feel a great gratitude among the agony. In the days that followed, Marcelius watched his comrade mend his wounds. It was slow, but in it's rest, the creature was getting better. Examining it, produced new understandings. First, that this thing was alive. Second, that this being was different. Staring into the broad white face of his companion, Despres saw himself caste into the reflection. By comparison: he was tremendously smaller, his face was open with only two white formations above each eye, and a hole?! At the dead center of his torso, a hole stretched through his body. Looking at it, he dared not to touch or reach through. While he struggled to understand how a part of him could be missing, feeling sick at the concept alone, his frantic eyes spotted the hole of the beast. Placed in the chest, where Despres felt the beat of his heart, the creature seemed to be fine without it. As fine as someone who had been severely beaten, could be. Then, like a flood in the middle of this infinite desert, all the memories came back. All the lives he took, all the lives he consumed. His Hollow hole felt like it was going to rip him open.


Hollow. He was Hollow. This world in which he lived and traveled, Hueco Mundo. This is what his kind called this place. Flashes of time before he awoke came rushing forward. In his past he saw other Hollows, they were suffering and broken, much like the one he sat by now. He saw claws, massive and strong, tearing at the bodies and souls of the others. They were his. Though they did not resemble his current hands, he knew the claws were his own. He relived scene after terrible scene, one slaughter after another. He was killing the others, and...eating them. He was eating his own kind in a ravenous performance of depravity. Some of them, were trying to fight back, biting hungrily at his flesh. Others...tried to flee, but did not succeed. He ate each one he killed, and his hunger only grew. So to; however, did his ability to capture new dinners. He became, for a lack of a better word, powerful. He had grown, several times...but now it seemed, he had grown again. When the shock of thought subsided, Marc rolled to all fours and began to heave. Nothing came out, just pain and anguish over the horrors he had inflicted on so many. The violent convulsions robbed him of energy and brought him to lay, weakened, in the sand. Had the Hollow he encountered, not been debilitated with wounds, Marc believed he might have become a meal himself. He almost welcomed the thought. It would be hours, before the strength to stand would return. Before he could move again, he first had to survive hours of torturous guilt and shame.

Despres arose, trembling where he sat. His stomach, made a churning, awful sound to announce it's distress. Having nothing to eat since before he slept, the smaller Hollow was suddenly lost in cravings. Looking onto the companion he had found, now he only saw defenseless prey. These thoughts weren't thoughts at all though, they were instincts. Primal and base. Habits from his old life, that did not agree with his new way of thinking. It had been so long since he ate. Even before his slumber, he could recall such a long, long period without a meal. Strangely, as the pain of famish set on, he could remember not being so starved. In fact, the last vague images before he had fallen asleep, were of content and satisfaction. He had felt full! Why now was he suddenly looking for precious food? These thoughts bothered and confused him, but not so much as his imaginations of eating. As large as his cohort was, it would make quite the feast. He'd need so much time, just to chew his way through the armored skin. With another groan, seemingly fueled by his fantasies, his stomach demanded something.


Marc stood, and approached the recovering soul. Before he could claw into it with his fingers, the body shifted and the two individuals locked eyes. In those burning red dots, he could still see the despair. In the shuddering sounds of the creatures spirit, Despres felt the overwhelming plea for mercy. Unable to forget his hunger, there was but one choice to make. Marc sat down, despising the agony in his gut, before scooping handfuls of sand into his mouth. Holding his lips shut, he swallowed each bite with grimace and determination. He filled his belly with soil, and relinquished any thought of harming his new friend. Guided by the distant ringing of other souls, Despres lead the duo away from other vibration sources. It had been sometime now, and the wounds of his Hollow friend were healing well. Still, the both of them were weak. They traveled so that they would not be found, but how safe were they with each other? Marc tried to scare his companion away, several times. While he feared his urge to eat might return, he feared just as much that his friend would grow hungry too. Despres failed in every attempt to leave the company of his stalker, the sounds of his followers soul were chiming with both fear and relief. It is as if Despres had become a protector, or at least someone the beast did not want to be without. They walked for quite sometime, their course only shifted when the path became blocked by the noise of anything. No matter what, whichever way the smaller one walked, the larger followed.


A corpse lay stretched across the path before them. It's body unguarded and exposed, with no other sign nor sound of life around. While Marc took caution, he could sense the hunger of his partner. He quickly waved down the beast, his silent commands had surprising effect on the giant. Nestled safely, the two of them observed the body that remained motionless ahead. With no vibrations, it was most certainly dead. More concerning than the random corpse, was the fresh and untouched condition it maintained. Marcelius commanded his friend stay put, then slid slowly down into the pit where the body awaited. Inspecting the find, proved the quality of the deceased. The Hollow had died very recently. Why then could Despres not sense it, sense it's life before, or the pain of it's demise? This was unsettling. Dragging the dead from where it fell, the creature had a large upper body covered with fur, and from the belly on was a hairless set of nimble legs. With a hole in the chest and a elongated mask that looked like a beak, this was quite the odd one. It didn't matter, the quirky appearance of the cadaver, as Despres offered it up to his starving company. The confusing mystery of how this body came to be, unsettled Marc. The same could not be said for his friend, who jumped at the opportunity to eat. The gruesome act further suppressed Marcelius' desires to ever make a meal of Hollows again. The meal was short, and Despres found little joy in the happy sounds of his friend's chewing.


Some time after the strange discovery of food, the pair were back on their way. Having been together for some time, Despres came to calling his friend Perro. The name wasn't his true one, but as he didn't seem to speak, there was no objection. Things were nice, but it wasn't clear how long it would last. Looking back, Marc would always wish for more of those simpler days. The reality was that, after a while of wandering, Perro began to act different. The Hollow had seemingly become...sick. It was in the safety of a large cave, vacant from whatever occupants may have called it home before, that the two travelers sought to rest. Perro had already been showing signs of fatigue, and now his behavior was becoming strange. Despres didn't know what to do, at the time he had little knowledge of illness or healing. Time passed and Perro grew worse, shaking and shivering in his corner of the den. Pondering what to do, Marc resolved that his ally must need food. It was all he could conceive as an aid. Whatever was making Perro like this, it was also sapping him of the strength he needed to hunt. Despres would have to find and kill some food, he would have to do this for his friend.


The thought of reliving one of the violent scenes from his memory, made him nauseous. It could not be avoided, it was to save Perro. Focusing his mind, he reached out with all he had, to find a soul singing somewhere in the distance. Shimmering through the melancholy landscape, he quickly found a Hollow trotting through the sands. At first, he wished to observe and study it. He felt compelled, as if by nature, to analyze it's every motion and habit. He fought this desire with concerns for Perro, he needed to hurry and avoid any risk of backing down from the challenge at hand. He could not let his feelings interfere with saving his comrade. Approaching the creature in a blur, he swung at it with his fist clenched. Striking a hefty blow on the side of the creature's head, it was forced to stumble back. It was large, smaller than Perro, but quite the sizable figure. As it rose up to it's feet again Marc could hear the shift in it's vibration. The chords of it's song went from anger to fear. Though the change in his opponents demeanor caused him grief, it would not prevent his assault. Advancing to strike at the enemy once more, Marc was called to halt as the foe's aura began to hum. Suddenly a hot red flash broke through the desolate air, nearly engulfing Despres within it. This heat was Cero, and he knew to fear it. Unfortunately, the would-be meal was quite capable with this attack.


Each moment after the blast of energy and noise of a missed shot, were filled with the terrifying hum of a new blast being prepared. Though Despres could feel the noise of each attack before it began, he was hardly capable of dodging them all. He avoided them, as best he could, while waiting for his opponent to lose strength. Every moment the fight went on, every Cero that was dodged, caused the Hollow's vibrations to diminish. Soon, exhaustion had set in, and with it the sounds of the soul had become a murmur of fear. The time had come for Despres to strike back. With his fingers straightened, he swiped viciously across the exposure of the creature's neck. This was the quickest possible death that Marc could imagine. The sadness that followed the slaying, was much more intense than he had prepared for. Still, Perro was suffering. There was no way to carry this entire catch, so instead Marc removed what he could lift, and in a trail of Sonidos, he raced to his friends aid.


By the time he returned to Perro's cave, he found the waiting Hollow motionless. He was alive, his soul still made noise, but he wasn't moving. Before Marc could call Perro to eat, the smell of fresh food stirred up life again. Despres had to drop his offering quick, lest he be snatched up by those immense jaws too. Watching Perro drag his dinner away to eat, listening to the sickening chewing, Despres had to step out of the cave. Leaving didn't help, as the echoes from inside just washed out onto him. He stood and wondered, clutching his hide robe, if this was the fate of all Hollows. Was his kind doomed to devour one another for eternity. There was a little hope. Since meeting Perro, Marc had fewer and fewer desires to eat. He couldn't expect others to follow his path of suffering, but maybe another way existed.


His thoughts were interrupted. His mind and focus blown open by a violent, terrible noise. Perro had finished eating, but worse sounds now came from him. Rushing into the cave, worried the food had not worked, Despres was shocked to see that his worries were unsound. Perro...was fine. He was back on his feet. He stood upright, with a slouching posture, but upright all the same. Perro, was smaller now. Compared to his size before, he was tiny like Marc. Something was horribly wrong, as the sound of Perro's soul had changed. Not like in the past where it reflected his mood or thoughts...no, his soul was making new sounds. The new sounds were wrong, and frightening. There was a moment to run, Marcelius started to take it. As he turned to flee, he thought of Perro suffering when they first met. Just like before, he was unable to run. Marc watched, in horror, as his only friend morphed into something else. His body was being molded, limbs stretching out to look very similar to Despres' own anatomy. Perro eventually turned, revealing the new form he acquired. At the time, there was no recognizing proper names or categorizing differences. It would seem, Perro had been female all along. That didn't matter much now, as she was attacking.


The fight left the cave quickly, it began with Despres fleeing from the assault of his friend. She lashed out at him with fresh claws that tipped her digits. She was fast, so fast that Marc could not get away. The two danced for quite some time. A ballet of attack and defend. Despres would not strike Perro, so the time finally came when she would catch him. Grabbing his leg while he jumped, she whipped him with brutal force. He crashed into the sand, and she crashed into him with all her strength. He reached for her arms, succeeding in grappling her wrists. She writhed and pulled, but was unable to get free. He tossed her off of him, crawling over to pin her down. She roared with a blood chilling rage, then her Noise starting rising from deep within. Before Marc could issue a command, his words were smothered in the sound of her Cero. He rolled back, hair burnt from the near miss of her attack. Having been blinded by the light, he needed a moment to adjust before he could feel again. Sight and sense returned, to reveal Perro once more. She had scrambled to her knees, and while she gripped at the sand and arched her back, another Cero was warming up. Having jumped in such haste, his recklessness sent him crashing onto another dune. Thunderous destruction followed his escape. With such distance between him and Perro, she simply charged a third attack. How long could she keep this up.


Perro had quite the energy in her. She littered the desert with several more, large caliber Cero. His arms and legs were constantly caught in her accurate blasts. He was tired, and pain was closing in. He resolved to fight back, to try and detain her. The situation was more dire than previously predicted. It was Perro, his friend, that he was fighting...and his emotions were interfering with his senses. Trying to catch her, without being able to read her, proved impossible. He charged her down, intent on overpowering her, and failed. Striking his chest, her blow forced him back to the ground.


Standing over him, Perro breathed heavy and exhausted. The vibrations coming from her were so confusing. It was if two songs were playing inside of her, but neither could be heard above the other. Laying in the sand, hurt and afraid, Marc pleaded for her to stop the assault. He begged as her friend. She drew closer. He spoke of the time he spared her, trying to rekindle her memories. She ignored him. He threatened to harm her, commanding her to leave.Nothing seemed to get through, and Despres concluded, that if he could hear her soul so loudly...she must be deafened by it. Perro stopped, she raised her hand to strike him, and a slender light began to form. A sword. She was holding a blade, one that simply formed for her grip. It goes bright, shining like the light that came from her soul. The weapon seemed as familiar as her...and at this moment, it was equally intimidating.


When Perro went to strike, he put her down. There was nothing beautiful or poetic about it. He simply ended her life, with a flash of hot light. Perro deserved better, but reality is never fond of giving people what they deserve. With the thunderous clamor of a tremendous Cero...he wiped the existence of his friend from the world. His Noise, consumed hers. Laying in the sand, in his shallow hole of sorrow, Marc wept for his loss. The edges of his Hollow hole began to sting, an overwhelming pain that spread like burning agony through the rest of his body. The murder he just committed, left him in total misery of the body and mind. He cried and sobbed a lifetime of tears. He waited for something to arrive and consume him, he wanted it. No Hollows ever came. He was discovered eventually. A being dressed in white, of about the same size as Despres, had stumbled across him. The man carried with him a sword, and his chin was adorned with a white fragment of something like bone. Approaching Marc, the stranger asked what he was doing. Despres told him he was waiting to die. This man explained to the teary eyed Hollow, that he was something called an Arrancar. The Arrancar was here, looking for someone like him, and did not expect to find a crying Hollow. When he questioned Marcelius' situation, the Hollow recounted the recent events. The story of a sick friend who attacked him, and died. Of how he was waiting for something to come and end things. Hearing the tale, the Arrancar shared a story of his own. First he explained why Marcelius had waited so long. No regular Hollows would dare approach a Vasto Lorde.


He spoke of following a powerful spirit, believing it to be the Arrancar, only to find the one who had killed her. Marc asked if he would try to take revenge, or if he would eat him. The man's answer was not what Marc wanted to hear. The two ended up falling into conversation. Hearing that this man in white had no intention of harming him, he listened curiously to each word he spoke. The Arrancar explained what he was, and how he came to be. A Hollow who removed his mask, shattered it and sealed his power into a weapon like the one worn on his hip. Despres' only question, was whether or not it sealed away the hunger for violence and power. To which the Arrancar could not give a definite answer. He informed the mourning Hollow, that he could not stay any longer. Apparently the man was travelling with a group of his kin, and needed to return with them to his home. Before his departure, the man told Marc to seek Las Noches. If he had any questions, that is where he could get answers. Within a moment he was gone. His sorrow and curiosities had been blocking his focus. More aware now, Marcelius began to feel the world once more. Several other, numbering near a dozen, Arrancar had been observing nearby. They were so similar to Hollow, but different. Their souls played the same music as Perro's had...only in a better harmony.


A place where Hollows lived together, it sounded too good be true. If he was what the Arrancar claimed, he would never be killed by another Hollow. Deciding between an eternity in self pity, and a chance at a new future, even the most pessimistic soul chooses the more intriguing future. He gathered up his blonde-furred cloak, and set out to find this Las Noches. To his fortune, he could now follow the peculiar noises of the Arrancar, somewhat. He knew when he drew close, for he sensed the watchful tones of their synchronized souls. His eventual arrival at the palace of The Nights, was greeted with much interest and concern. When Despres saw the hordes of Hollows living in Las Noches, working and acting together, he knew he had to make his home here. This place was familiar, the Hollow Kingdom he vaguely recalled. Now it seemed to be occupied by a new faction. His presence was not only known, but quickly greeted. Not by guards or soldiers, not even by an Arrancar. It was a strange man, who sounded nothing like a Hollow, and dressed in black. It was a Hollow hunter, a Shinigami.


Distrust tried to cling on every word Marcelius heard from this Shinigami. The man invited the Menos to stay among them, to become an Arrancar and help his kind. Though these words were the sort of request Marc dreamed of...he never expected to hear them from a Death God. It was hard speaking with this man. His spirit was calm and at peace, completely undisturbed. It was as if he wasn't really there, too separated from the world to be affected by it. He was the Arrancar's leader, it seemed. Regardless of the feelings for a Shinigami leader, the Hollows that lived here were doing far better than the ones beyond the walls. Here there was collaboration and community, even if it meant working for an ancient rival. There was unity here. Once again Marc asked, would becoming an Arrancar seal away his hunger? He was told, becoming an Arrancar would give him power and control, and that it would allow him to join the family of this palace. Without hesitation, he requested his mask be shattered.

Speaking with this Menos for quite some time before their procedure, he knew of the creature's sorrow and recent loss. He knew of his ability to sense the very vibrations of life. He had discovered this Hollows affection for his own kind, and the great guilt he carried for having eaten so many of them to attain the power he has now. In his eyes, Marcelius Despres had a soft heart unlike any Hollows he'd ever encountered. Guilt and kindness from a Hollow was certainly a rare find. It might be hard to make him a weapon. Still, the Shinigami felt great power behind the mask. "The one's you've eaten, you speak about them unlike any other Hollow has.", the man spoke. Marc nodded his response, then added, "I hear them more clearly. All of the voices, like songs. So many loud songs." Yet again the spirit found Despres' words surprising and distinct. "How many songs do you hear, exactly?" Taking a moment to consider the question, Marc whispered as if accepting a conviction. "I know exactly...116851206." Marc had been eating for so long. Still his guilt held onto every kill, so that he could never escape his past. There was no verbal rebuttal, but Marcelius did notice a shiver travel up the Death God's spine. Whether it was shock or excitement, impossible to know.

[Marcelius]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stats and Skills}

-Stats-

Strength - 300 Points

Speed - 120 Points (200 Originally)

Spiritual Pressure - 120 Points (200 Originally)

Reiatsu Strength - 300 Points

Light Aura - 50 Points

Dark Aura - 50 Points

Instinct - 700 Points (400 Originally)

Senses - 50 Points

Energy sensory - 700 Points (400 Originally)

Healing Expertise - 50 Points

Total SP: 1900 Points

-Skills-

Analyzing - 3: The deductions he makes are quick, but not astonishing. He is more of a Watson.

Learning - 3: You cannot teach an old Hollow new tricks...well, thank goodness Marcelius was never very good at being a Hollow.

Force of Will - 3: For the entirety of Marc's life, even before becoming Hollow, he sought to master his mind. Now that he must suffer the grief of his defeated foes, he needs this skill 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. As a note for those who didn't skim his Fighting Style section, Subjugation deals with the Intstinct to grapple and bust joints.

Utility 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”.