Blood, Sand, and Rage

[GoldenKitten]

Do you know what war is?
It is the rawest form of emotion.
In war all things are ripped asunder.
Torn like flesh.
Consumed in darkness.
All hidden facets of a person are tossed away.
Whatever false masks they carry.
Whatever they pretend to be.
Whatever pathetic nature they hold.
In war what they are comes through.
A lord.
A knight.
A coward.
A monster.
A demon.
That is why we love war.
LOVE!
Adore, cherish, hold dear...
In war nothing is false.
In war finality is a swords blow away.
In war the weak fall and the strong rise.
In war nothing is sacred.
Nothing is holy.
Everything is game.
Everyone is prey.
In war honor can be gained.
A means to an end.
For he has promised.
For we must reclaim.
What is ours.
Everything is ours!
EveryONE is ours!
Every GODDAMN thing.
For eternity.
In the name of our brothers.
In the name of our land.
In the name of our people.
In the name of the god of war.
Most blessed is he.
By his avatar made manifest the holy Warmaster.
By his priestess.
By the throne of skulls.
The rivers of blood.
Flesh flayed from the bones.
Blood for all.
A bath of blood.
A rain of blood.
In the name of war.
In the name of war.
We shall kill.
We shall win.
And know the taste of our enemies blood.
And honor all valor shown.
For that is death.
That is killing.
That is our way.
That is power.
That is WAR.

There is a place deep in the catacombs that lay underneath the 9th Division headquarters that no normal eyes are ever cast upon. The brutal ways of the Division are not unknown, its sins not forgotten and often not forgiven but they are accepted as…a means to an end as we say in our prayers. A dirty blemish on the cover of Soul Society’s history, most concerned with the matter eventually decide that if they look away and don’t pay attention then the matters there don’t effect them.

Those people are weak, they wouldn’t survive a day in the Division and do nothing but waste the land that is rightfully 9th’s…regardless they live, and maybe someday they will commit a crime, and 9th Division shall have the last satisfactory laugh. But had those people ever known the true secrets hidden in these deep dark places, where no light touches and no goodness survives they might very well have had their way. Brutality is the way of 9th and many would argue an obvious evil, but this darkness, these black shadows of the damned, they know how to hide themselves, and never be found. But evil is such a singular persuasion, after all who says what is evil and what is not? So the Division continues on always, slaves to war, gods of war, feasting on pain, agony, victory and in both metaphorical and literal ways: Blood.

The life of the Division. Blood.

The Unholy source of all power.

But oh so holy at the same time.

This place of secrets goes beyond even the Basilica of Torments, a place that is already so sacred that no living eye not meant to be there has seen and survived to recount of its horrors. A place so clandestine that if any who knew about its presence spoke of it outside of those hallowed halls that they would find themselves at the hand of one of many gruesome implements before the hour was out. This place can be reached through the smallest of doors in the same chamber that leads to the Basilica. Many doors grace that stone corridor, many leading to the personal chambers of the elite or the administrative staff of 9th Division, only those complete slaves to its leaders. Some bear personal emblems the largest and most massive door, ornate, beautiful and horrible in its construction all at once to the Basilica itself. But this small door is plain; this small door is unremarkable but beyond it lies a world of horror and wonder, where nothingness, dark and light all become one. A place of everything. Where there is no norm. Where demons rise and angels fall, where angels rise and demons fall, nothing is static and there is no evil, and there is no good.

This is the Chapel of War. To the God of War Eternal. Founded by the most beautiful Mistress. Shrouded in darkness, death, blood and war is she forever. She is Priestess. She answers only to the Warmaster the dark death lord. The Warmaster, the one who shall bring all to the God of Wars step. Where judgment shall be passed. Where all shall be.

Through the door is a simple hall of stone, it is but ten paces down this hall before you reach a door identical to the one you entered. Nine out of ten individuals who come to this place turn around and leave…or die. Along the entire length of its surface there are emblems cut into the wall, cut by the divine priestess’s blade. They reek of the energy of the God of War, those to weak to know war will be driven insane by their power. They speak to you, directly into the mind and before you can even open the door before you, they tell you of the power you can gain, in this place, in war…to our lord. And so, should you have the power you reach out with your right hand and grasp the shoddy handle to the gateway and push forward, the infinite knowledge of power in your head. You take a step and if you know not war fall into an infinite abyss, but should you know true war, if you have bathed in the blood of your enemies and they in yours, then you shall enter our greatest and most holy realm.

Once more, this is the Chapel of War.

The opening room is so small and yet so grand, speaking to you of wonders yet to come. It burns with the light of fire from an unknown source, shimmering shadows, figures born of the light and darkness. A circular construct built into the rough stone but polished to a fine nearly tile finish surrounding a large pit of black liquid. It is almost a cauldron of sorts adorned with writhing living spikes, a black metal with orange veins pulsing along its body set deep into the ground. An otherworldly pitch black smoke rises from the liquid into a large hole in the ceiling that disappears into darkness and no light comes down, a form of purple ichor drips from this gaping maw back into the central cauldron though the liquids darkness is never diluted. On all the walls long billowing red cloth like fabric fall to the ground flickering in the still room to a wind that cannot be felt on the skin. This gives the appearance of ghost hiding behind each layer of fabric, but these specters disappear when the fabric is touched and reappear should you once more turn your back.

A duo of stairs on each side of the circular form leads to an ornate wooden door with symbols not dissimilar to those carved in the hallway before along its face. However they can be hard to reach for there is something off about the stairs, almost imperceptible to sight but there none the less. Long have I fathomed the cause but even now I find myself unnerved by the slight wrongness of it, even after countless trips here I still find that occasionally I am trapped on these stairs…wasting away the hours, until I find the will to drive forward. Then there are the doors, they are choosy at best, for only when you have bathed in the blood of one deemed worthy of sacrifice will they part for you.

Beyond lies a grand hall, the likes of which you will find nowhere else…not in the living world, not in the dead…only here. How it fits I will never know, how it was created I will never know, why it was created... I will never know. But it is. Its size unfathomable and its direction un-decodable by any mind you will find in this world. Despite its apparent size one must wonder if it is truly as large as it looks, perhaps it is smaller, perhaps it is larger. A single red path of fabric leads straight across the hall far off into the distance and if one were to squint they would see the door at the far end. Countless pillars reach high into a dark abyss, the roof they hold up so high that it cannot be seen and if you were to try and reach it you would find yourself lost in a darkness that loses all sense of direction. High on these pillars, just where the darkness begins sit torches that cast a glow down upon the floor so that we lowly beings might find our way.

Regardless, despite the straight and obvious path in this hall one finds themself drawn away and before you know it you are lost amongst the pillars, the red path nowhere to be seen. Much like the steps before it I have no answer, the mind wanders and before you know it you find yourself well and truly lost. Few are the men who got lost in its lengths and returned. I was one, lost for seven days and on the breaking edge of sanity when I found my way back. I do not know if those others lost still live or died long ago, a kinder man after the experience I had would hope for their deaths after not knowing a worse fate than being lost in its halls. But they were weak and unworthy so I hope they live that they might learn to understand their failings before falling into the wailing doom, the clutches of madness. The door on the far end is not dissimilar to the previous one but even so, I always give pause, for we are upon the holy sanctum of the God of War.

In terms of scope the shrine to our lord might seem small in comparison to the previous hall, but for all the grandeur of that hall of the lost it cannot match the feel of this place. To open the door is to understand all things about battle; power permeates this place and grows without limit. In terms of the physical though this place is rectangular, built much like the cathedrals you might orientate with certain human religions. Equally like the rest of the structure, the entrance room and hall included it has a gothic-esque tone but it is far more pronounced here with a high ceiling and extreme arches constructing the majority of its engineering. The roof rises to a peak and the same sort of ichor from before only a high crimson this time can be seen drizzling down it from the crest, regardless it never drops from the ceiling and disappears in an invisible crease before running down the walls. High on the walls are crimson stain-glass windows producing the only light in the room though it is all encompassing and paints a picture of the world in sanguine beauty. They have no pictures or variation in color but do possess a variety of asymmetrical patterns, all of them are backlit by an otherworldly light as bright as any sunlight…but that would be impossible for we are at a countless depth under the earth.

The floor is ashen gray sand upon which many red mats are arranged in lines like the pews of a church. The sand moves easily, almost like silt beneath your feet as you walk except for the occasional hard spot. Should you inspect these spots you would find strange white rounded nubs and long cylindrical shafts…you might even find fractions of a skull. For these sands are the ground bones of our enemies and prisoners, it is only befitting that even in death we should stride across them showcasing our superiority. At the edges of the room are two deep trellises that run along its entire length, they are filled with a crimson red liquid that flows ever constantly into ditches at the back where it falls into black nothingness. It bears a strong resemblance to blood but there could surely never be enough slaughtered to continue filling its deep and wide volume…surely. But then you approach the shrine.

The red light of the windows seems to highlight it with amazing accuracy, as if the rays of light work in such a way as to highlight the effigy of our most holy lord. The statue is wreathed with four candles but as I said the only light is from the windows for these candles burn black with eternal flame, never burning out and never giving light. It is raised on the only solid ground in the room, the rest being the gray death powder. The rock is gray showing that it was brought here and not a natural carving in the bedrock as all stone here is brown. It is arranged in a circle around the statue and pools into a circular deep disk like a bowl which is filled with the same red liquid that runs along the edges of the room.

Behind it is a massive black opening into another abyss…or it’s possible all these black portals could be connected, it is uncertain but there is no way to find out, well at least not and live to tell. Standing in the middle is the lord, the God of War. Of course the lord is war and so bears no physical form, he is the embodiment of battle that resides in each of us and so his statue shows this. It is a human form, supposedly androgynous but I have always though the musculature and curvature suggested a male form, regardless it bears no determining features, completely rounded and smooth all across except for the hollow holes for eyes, never ending darkness watching all. The statue sports an array of all weapons imaginable on its back; these are not carvings but rather true and working weapons though each seems to be made of the same rusted metal with spindly orange veins pulsing through them as the priestesses own Zanpakutou. The statue currently has a single arm outstretched with a massive halberd pointed toward the heavens. Regardless as befit his meaning it seemed that any of these weapons would have readily interchanged into his hand.

This is the Chapel of War.

This is the God of War.

Most blessed Sacrament of all.

My name is Volk.

I once had another name, a birth name. But our most holy of priestesses, she one day gave me this name. I now have no other.

I am her most trusted right hand.

This brings me no end of honor.

For she freed me and showed me the way.

She has also saved me, like she would no other.

I shall lay down my life at anytime.

For she is all that is worthy of it in this world.

Laetitia was laid out prostrate before the stone effigy of the God of War, calm and in a near trance. It was doubtless she was speaking with the Warlord, direct speaker to the God of War. Many might say he was just another zanpaktou but any true believer knew better than that, the things he had shown the masses were more proof than would ever be necessary. Light footsteps came from behind her and stopped within arms reach but she did not react and remained in trance. The one who approached remained silent though for almost another three minutes before Laetitia showed the first signs of stirring. She slowly pushed up off the ground with one hand and while still on both her knees reached up toward the statue with her free hand and if one saw her face they might spot a single tear rolling down her cheek.

After a period of hallowed silence she reached back over her shoulder with her left hand and a gentle pair of slender fingered hands grasped hers and pulled up, helping her to her feet. She rose to her full height taking her blade which had been in her right hand and slung it behind her back. After another period she turned around with a somber face, but that was the way of it here. This was the only place where Laetitia was silent, mournful, and filled with thoughts grander than herself. Elsewhere she might be loud and brash but those few who could come here knew there was more to her than that.

Before her stood a man a foot taller than her though of a much paler skin color, even more so than the usual Caucasian or even Oriental skin tones were to her though he was far from albino as well. He wore a white bandage wrapped all the way around his chest down to his waist and up to his neckline; it could also be found up his wrist and wrapped around his hands though his fingers were free. He sported an open white camp-shirt and over that an open black shinigami robe as well as the black pants and normal sandals. He had shoulder length fine white hair and his long features put him somewhere in his mid-twenties but his eyes were hidden, he was not blind but seemed to like the challenge and bore a white silk fabric wrap around his face and tied behind his head which trailed for several feet. Laetitia knew from the past that he had a pair of bright crystal blue eyes underneath. He had on his back a massive claymore with a white wrapped handle and long black lines along its silver blade, it had no sheath. When he spoke he had a soft tone but also carried a silent authority always and was not above lashing out at times. He knelled mildly to her, his hands still clasped over hers.

“Mi’lady it is time. I knew you would be in this secreted a place and came as quickly as I might, though you might be reflecting upon thyself the masses grow in fervor.” Many thought Volk sounded odd, much like Laetitias own Zanpaktou he retained many old world inflections and words though time had dulled their use so that his words often came off a hodgepodge of old and new…Laetitia often found it striking and interesting though.

“Very well.” She spoke with more inflection now but the dull sheen still covered her personality but at the same time she did not move.

“Shall we go?” Volk asked, Laetitia was in truth excited she did not show it in her normal fashion, rather just nodding her head.

“Yes, but I am not finished here just yet. Recompense must be made to the lord for the use of his servant’s time.” She said, none of the usual sinister quality that struck her voice sounding.

“Of course mi’lady.” Volk said and he backed off a ways.

Both of them now dropped to the ground each on a knee. However rather than staying unmoving or trance like as before Laetitia reached out with her hand over the vat of crimson liquid and touched the base of the statue.

“Were that we are your servants mi’lord” Volk began.

“To wreak death upon this world as befits your holy counsel. May your spread your influence to all.” Laetitia finished, just the slightest bit of her venom returning.

Instantly the statue moved, not by any joints but rather as living stone, moving freely as a human might. It pulled the large halberd back as if in a preparing strike and at the full back strength of its blow fell still in waiting. There was the sound of machinery clanking from high above and a large black set of doors opened above the entry door. Soon a long chain came gliding through and after a quick clang the top which was on a track transferred using a metal arm to the top of the chapel. When the machine started again it pulled hard and instantly a scream that would have frozen a normal man, like a scream from the damned, came from the darkness. Moments later the source became apparent, a large but young man who was terribly emaciated and sickly pale slid into the room bobbing around freely as he hovered in the air. He had tried to brace against the door but the wench had been too much and as he spun wildly still screaming as it became apparent why as he had a massive meat hook stabbed into his back that was slowly bringing him forward. The machine stopped with the man directly in front of the large statues aim, the meaning now obvious. He might have noticed, it was hard to tell as he never did stop screaming.

The statue shot forward with the force of a thousand men and shoved the blade straight through the mans chest, out the other side and up the shaft a considerable length. While he couldn’t scream anymore the attack must have missed immediately fatal organs like the heart as his wide eyes showed he was still alive. Great gouts of blood fell from his chest down the grand halberd and drizzled down the statues body into the dish of red liquid, now known to obviously be blood at its feet. After a minute’s time the statue threw the halberd backward with great force shaking the man off with a single thrust over its shoulder, the corpse fell into the giant black hole behind it. There was no noise but moments later chewed meat and the remaining blood shot skyward in one final gory display before disappearing back into the hole forever. The statue reset to its initial position with great speed in preparation for another victim.

“Blood for you most holy be your name and skulls for the throne of your servant!” Laetitia said raising her voice and hands skyward in unison as she stood.

There was a long silence. Then Laetitia turned around and in an instant all of her venom and all of her anger, rage and a heightened sense of things came back to her head long and she spoke with a throaty and evil rattle.

“Well then, shall we be going?” She could not help herself from giggling a little bit at the end.

As they walked out Volk handed her a white silk shawl, Laetitia had already more or less said she would not be wearing the white robes of a captain, she was quite convinced they would look horrible on her. Regardless she had been forced to come up with her own outfit to represent her new status and given the importance of the inauguration she was going to sporting the white of a captain was necessary. Regardless except at times such as these and during the one captains meeting since her step-up in position she had forsaken the white shawl claiming it to troublesome. Instead she had taken to wearing blacks robes with gold tassels around her division, something outsiders would doubtlessly have called brash and disrespectful given the appearance of their new enemy, but Laetitia had enough sense to only sport them within the division. She flung the white shawl around her shoulders and then exited the Chapel of War, to caught up in her own flights of fancy now to give the usual bow she would have.

They made their way out of the structure and Laetitia seemed to have no problem coming and going through these areas that made everyone else stop. Since he had Laetitia to pay attention to and follow Volk likewise didn't seem to get as lost in thought as he had when making his way in. After returning to the hall where the Basilica could be found they made their way further up, this area presumably being the lowest level that could be accessed. They heard their destination long before they saw it, yawls and cheers echoed through the underground catacombs, quite at odds with the usual screams of pain and terror that marked the place. Regardless it didn't make the place anymore pleasant to a normal individual as the cheers were more like roars and they bellowed with bloodthirst.

Twas to be an annual event Laetitia had decided as it so amused her, though this one in particular was to mark her as captain. She wasn't quite the conniving politician some of the other captains were but she knew the importance of constantly appearing in power, nowhere was this more true than 9th division where murdering your way up the corporate ladder wasn't just a possibility, it was a daily occurrence. Of course those rules would never fly with the Central 46 or the Commander General but then, they never came here, and whether that was out of fear or a silent acknowledgement that they were in fact necessary Laetitia really could have cared less. And so, the an arena challenge was about to commence, the grunts had given it a name but Laetitia thought that was tacky, she much preferred referring to it as the place where people were going to die.

It had taken three weeks to build and was already soiled with blood, having taken the lives of a dozen Prison....workers during its creation in accidents or simply from overexertion. Taking the place of a barracks area abandoned since Hitotsu's death (many of his more loyal members had to be...retrained, to follow new leadership) a massive swath of the underground and in its place a tall structure every bit the model of the Roman Colosseum except constructed from the brown bedrock Ninth was set in. Five-hundred feet high, several thousand long, and crudely decorated with various etchings that could be found in the God of War cult that many members of the Division belonged to in some propensity. It was a testament to the willpower of the group, when they wanted something done they did it and they didn't let complaints or ethics get in the way. Most others considered them evil, but they were wrong, Ninth simply did what it wanted and didn't let others tell them how they were supposed to proceed.

The hall which they had appeared from was obviously not the main entrance as there were only a few guards present while the roars of applause came from the Colosseum itself and the other side where most of the divisions active members would be pouring through. Laetitia wasted no time as she skipped forward like a schoolgirl toward the back entrance to the facility and raced up the inside stairs, Volk followed in a more solemn manner. It lead out into a personalized viewing box just for the leadership of Ninth Division, at this time due to the purging of rogue elements that basically consisted of Laetitia, the retainer Volk, and the 3rd seat Yoku who was already present here. She didn't waste time with the pervert though and instead flew to the edge of the viewing box grasping the edge and looking down with glee. To Volk and others who appreciated the darkness of the matter she looked a child in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder, her actual facial expression was more one of scathing black bemused insanity as she gave a warbled giggle under her breath.

Before this day though she had visited several times to see the progress being made it had truly been a boring place. But now it was nearly filled to the brim with members of her division, apparently when it had taken to long for the event to begin several of the less patient members had begun fighting those around them. As Laetitia liked to joke...or maybe not, there was something in the water of Ninth division because plenty of people who joined the division and were initially quite “normal” would eventually cut themselves off from the outside world and turn into everthirsty berserker's. These individual battles had become shows in themselves as division members crowded around to see who would win, and often those who got to close turned from observers into victims themselves. Eventually these battles would piddle out when the instigator was put down and the others would take their seats, albeit with a few less people surrounding them...well, a few less LIVING people at least.

Yet despite the fact she was watching her people kill each other over what amounted to nothing Laetitia didn't seemed bothered in the least, in fact she seemed pleased. That was just what you got when you put to many members of Ninth in one place at one time, it was why they rarely fielded in large units or conglomerated together for any event, they were better off alone. But when they did get together, and then they began killing each other she was as happy as if they were killing an enemy, after all it didn't matter whose blood it was, it all pleased the god of war. Additionally there were no shortage of members in the division, in fact suspiciously so; the division was listed as have just over five-hundred members. To fill this arena as they were there had to be well over a thousand and that wasn't even considering those outside or still manning their posts (not everything could come to a stand-still and many guards were still on duty), Laetitia knew the answer but she wasn't telling.

Growing increasingly impatient and obviously wanting to join in herself she jumped atop the banister that ran the length of the viewing area. Her reiatsu flared and she drew her blade letting it spill out over the field. Like usual there was something dreadful about the reiatsu, it wasn't just her as a person it was like the reiatsu had a will of its own, a terribly malevolent will and it wanted to consume you. This was more than enough to get most peoples attention but at least one fight continued unabated, Laetitia merely stared at them with a blank glare but anyone familiar with her expressions knew this was her slow simmer hate look. She pulled her leg back and kicked the stone below her so that it buckled out of place and was brought into the air, she caught the stone in her hand and then beaned it across the wide opening. It hit one of the combatants with the force of a freight train as his head exploded in a plume of red and his body plowed forcefully into the rows of seats behind him. This naturally gathered any lingering lack of attention and Laetitia now began to pace on top of the banister with perfect balance as she flung her sword over her shoulder.

She gave them a murderous gaze and punctuated her statement with a slow intense drawl, “Would you SHUT-UP for five seconds you accursed swine, I can hardly hear myself think”, the voice carried far in the silence along with the acoustic properties of the enclosed area.

She spun around and firmly planted herself in the middle of the opening, he affect changed in an instant to the same sort of enthused bloodlust the rest of them had been sporting prior, “Welcome, to the arena! Where the greatest division, a division divided, a divided division can enjoy the bloodsport we so rightly deserve! Hahahahaha-HAHAHAHA!” She laughed manically but quickly stopped as she gritted her teeth and bowed her head deeply, now speaking in a low and dark tone.

“My companions in freedom. The freedom to do whatever we GODDAMN want to do. You have accepted the truth I have presented to you, you have seized it and flourished! There is no right and wrong in this world, there is only the winner and whatever he wants is his. WE ARE THE WINNER! EVERYTHING IS OURS! EVERYONE IS OURS! EVERY GODDAMN THING! Power is everything, blood is everything, war is everything. Fight, and torture, and maim, and burn, and destroy, and slice, and cut, and rape, and pillage, devastate, mutilate, shatter, sabotage, consume, massacre, annihilate, terrorize, torment, and just in general KILL EVERYTHING. It pleases me, it pleases yourself, it pleases the effigy of war, and it is YOUR FREEDOM TO DO SO! To hold back these desires is to deny your very existence. Crawl your way up the chain, eviscerate whatever stands in your way, be the master of all. Hold still your convictions children for everything is ours, yes, every goddamn thing and soon our freedom shall encompass the world in all its forms. Very...very soon.”

She let her head fall and took a deep breath before she threw her blade into the air one last time, letting out a mighty roar as she did so. This time she was echoed by a thousand strong chorus in the crowd as the spell of her words was let loose and their fiendish desires returned to them, several fights broke out anew but most just continued cheering. Then as it finally got to be about as quiet as it would again she spoke once more as she pointed her blade to an ironwork gate at the edge of the arena that was now opened. Several guards walked through with sharp batons and were prodding a group of no less than fifty barely clothed men before them.

“Everybody, please welcome todays contenders!”

A cheer went out. Meanwhile down below one of the men fell behind the others as they were marched to the center of the stage, he seemed to be refusing to go forward. Instead of attempt to make him move any further the closest guard simply pulled his arm back before delivering a mighty blow to the mans head with the bladed cudgel which instantly severed the top of his head from the bottom. Fewer of the men were attempting to stay back now. Once they were corralled into a nice circle in the center the guards backed off and Laetitia spoke again.

“Hello and welcome guests of 9th division! You have been selected for a very special event! You see, you're going to kill each other and whoever survives to the last will have the honor of not being killed in a terrible way, today at least. Prove yourself particularly able and maybe I'll even find a use for you! Doesn't that sound fun?!”

She jumped backward off the banister and then leaned against it raising one hand to the crowd as she laughed, “You may find several surprises along the way but just remember, it's all part of the game! There are no rules, kill them with your fist, kill them with your shivs, kill them with rocks, gouge their eyes out, crack their necks, strangle them, kick them to death, tear into them with your teeth, drink their blood, sever their veins, murder them!”

She lifted her hands into the air, “So with that said, LET THE BLOODSPORT BEGIN!”

Several of the men in the group instantly began beating on the nearest individual with their bare fists, needing no further prodding and understanding their situations. Others tried to run, it was evident that the group had been picked carefully with some being physically capable and others just meant as entertainment and not possibly being capable of fighting the others. Meanwhile still others stood there as if they couldn't really believe the hell they had just found themselves in. In the crowd countless jeers, yells and roars called out for death, and death they were going to get as the small circular group of prisoners fanned out and more, and more had their skulls cracked in.

But little did any of them know just how violent this day was yet to be.

[Tagz]

There was absence, absence of light, absence of thought, and absence of conscience. It was nothing but darkness, darkness all around, and tonight, it shall be your only companion. Tonight, tonight was to be a grandiose night. Tonight was to be the day of the sublime Proserpina’s inauguration. The esteemed Third Seat was filled with a menacing and malevolent giddiness. He was eager to witness how the Princess of Hell would command such a battalion of psychotic warriors. Would she plunge them further into the pits of Hades, into an aphotic abyss absent of any light or salvation? Hopefully, for this was already home for the bloodthirsty Shinigami who had found himself shrouded in nothingness, draped and swathed in sheer absence. For tonight he would bask in the holiness, in the glory of war, of blood, of death. Tonight, he would relish in the very essence and purity, the sanctity of the Ninth Division. Tonight, tonight was to be a grandiose night.

“Sir, it should be starting soon.”

The darkness parted in two halves, which fleeted either to upper and lower quarters of his vision. He was then met with the flickering light of the few candles that illuminated his office as he found himself gazing up at the ceiling. The cheerful, skirt chasing war veteran was fully reclined in his tolerable chair as his legs were outstretched and resting atop his desk (crossed at the ankles). The back of the man’s head was cushioned by both his hands, while his elbows stuck outward.

“Yokubari-sama, may we please get going?”

The words fled from the mouth of a man whom appeared in his thirties. He spoke with a relative calmness one couldn’t possibly find from any of the soon-to-be Captain Laetitia’s immediate servants. Naturally this depicted the heavy difference in leadership styles the two possessed. A warm, charming smile serenely spread across his lips as he accepted the man’s request. After all, this was the very event he’d been waiting for, for quite some time. His only current superior had been ‘defaulted’ into bearing the leadership responsibilities and maintaining the 9th Div. while keeping their pride and honour. Her leadership capabilities, though extremely questionable, would certainly prove amusing for the whimsical man.

“As you wish.”

The man spoke with a soft finesse, exhibiting to his subordinate a sense of servitude which was certainly a sham. Bring his legs down from the desk, Yoku rose from his seat. With his everlasting tender smile that had most likely been inexistent within these barracks prior to the appearance of the amethyst-eyed Shinigami. With a sly grin on his rather large subordinate, the two exited his office imagining what sort of pleasures they’d be greeted with at the scene of the inaugural ceremony. The door to this man’s office is quite peculiar. No, not really. The crimson colouration coupled with the odd tribal markings etched into it and the created crevasses stained with black are certainly not out of place within their residing garrison. Though, it fulfilled its purpose to the man by filling him with a sense of belonging every time he’d step into his office.

The youthful Shinigami and his substantial secretary strode along the stretching, gloomy hallway. His free flowing, navy blue hair swayed as he was closely followed by the cumbersome steps of his hefty servant. Passing time with minor conversation, they were quickly greeted with an assortment of hoots and hollers. The anticipation was building. Now engrossed with the enthralling bloodlust of his comrades, Yokubari’s pace quickened as he made his way through the main gates. Naturally, the sight of said comrades skewering each other was one he had to see up close and personal. Watching intently, Yoku observed acts that are far too gruesome to explain. He watched wide-eyed and intrigued. This was only the beginning, not even an appetizer to the events promised to him. The way Laetitia spoke to him tonight was to be far grander than mere squabbles. Nay tonight was to be filled with blood and gore reaching pinnacles so high that they would satisfy even the great God of War himself. Though, in truth, unlike his religious leader and an abundance of his peers, he cared not for this supposed war god. His enthusiasm for this event derived from more humble, more self satisfying reasons.

Sadly, as much as the man wanted to continue watching this clash between compadres, his ‘keeper’ continued to whine. And with his skillful buzz killing, he eventually terminated Yoku’s excitement for the quarrel. The two led themselves up the steps of what was to be, for all intents and purposes, a carbon copy of the Roman Coliseum. Eagerly gliding up the steps, the two found themselves in a box, a special viewing box that had been reserved for the higher ups of the Ninth Division. However, attributable to the losses taken from the battle in Hueco Mundo and to the extermination of ‘rogue elements’, the upper echelon mostly comprised of the default Captain, her retainer, Yokubari, and out of primary laziness, his gargantuan, nameless secretary. Of course, with Laetitia feeling the need to be fashionably late, the box was empty upon their arrival.

---

By the time the curvaceous Proserpina arrived, her current second-in-command could be found seated at the center of the front row of chairs, reclined in his seat with feet crossed at the ankles while they rested upon edge of the balcony. Yes, just as before. You’re quite perceptive, clever lad. He had one hand resting on his lap, while the other carried the burden of propping his head up, as its elbow stood atop the armrest. His subordinate could be seen sitting upright to the right of him. As his new Captain strolled passed, he gave her a welcoming smile which went unnoticed and unacknowledged. Quite disappointing, though expected. Soon enough, however, he was reminded why he was inspired by the ambrosial matron of hell as she begun her acrobatics and called for attention, lethally whipping a dislodged piece of stone at the head of a poor inattentive sap. Instantly Yokubari’s heart rate skyrocketed as he bore witness to the upsurge of flesh, bone, and blood that erupted into the air. The fact that he was now observing the beauty of an obliterated skull this early in the night only guaranteed Laetitia’s spine-tingling words and promises to him. Tonight will be a night of nights. Tonight, blood will rain from the heavens. Tonight, we will to chant and dance and SCREAM to the melodies of WAR. Tonight, tonight will be a grandiose night.

“Would you SHUT-UP for five seconds you accursed swine, I can hardly hear myself think,”

The seductive, venomous voice echoed out in the utter silence.

“My companions in freedom. The freedom to do whatever we GODDAMN want to do.”

Yoku’s quickened heartbeat grew more rapid.

“You have accepted the truth I have presented to you, you have seized it and flourished! There is no right and wrong in this world, there is only the winner and whatever he wants is his. WE ARE THE WINNER! EVERYTHING IS OURS! EVERYONE IS OURS! EVERY GODDAMN THING! Power is everything, blood is everything, war is everything. Fight, and torture, and maim, and burn, and destroy, and slice, and cut, and rape, and pillage, devastate, mutilate, shatter, sabotage, consume, massacre, annihilate, terrorize, torment, and just in general KILL EVERYTHING.”

The amaranthine eyes warped to crimson and become more feral. The ordinarily pleasant and youthful man’s chest drew in and out as larger volumes of air were devoured in and regurgitated at a hasty tempo.

“It pleases me, it pleases yourself, it pleases the effigy of war, and it is YOUR FREEDOM TO DO SO! To hold back these desires is to deny your very existence. Crawl your way up the chain, eviscerate whatever stands in your way, be the master of all. Hold still your convictions children for everything is ours, yes, every goddamn thing and soon our freedom shall encompass the world in all its forms. Very...very soon.”

A pause, a pose, and his GORGEOUS leader resounded with A MIGHTY ROAR!!! As her powerful voice reverberated through his entire being he INSTANTLY replied to his astounding new Captain. A THUNDEROUS BELLOW exploded from within. He, along with the entire stadium, responded to her rousing battle cry. However, Yokubari’s unnamed subordinate remained completely silent. Gazing at his commander, he grew unusually weary of the typically warm man. Yoku, on the other hand, was captivated by Laetitia’s words. Becoming completely oblivious to the world around him, he focused solely on her. The petty brawls that resumed no longer amused him. It was time for the REAL show to start.

“Everybody, please welcome today’s contenders!”

The intensely bloodthirsty man’s lustful eyes averted from her form. Guided by her blade, he focused on the entering competitors. As she described to the prisoners their pitiless situation and what methods they were allowed to use (which was anything), he watched as their true natures revealed themselves [In war nothing is false]. Boys ran and men began to fight. Skulls were cracked and bodies battered [All hidden facets of a person are tossed away].

“So with that said, LET THE BLOODSPORT BEGIN!”

[That is WAR!!!]

[kensei]

Hehehehehe. Hehehehhehehe.[/b][/color]

The loud, broken up chuckle was a complete offset to the cries of pain inside this place agony. This place was a long hallway which had no natural light. To ones right and left where prison cells, and inside half of the cells where men starved to death, or those dead from obvious mutilation, making the place smell worse then any morgue. This place was the 9th Division’s 17th prison ward. It was by far one of the better places to be in this unholy of unholy places, but it was a nightmare compared to even the worst jails in the living world.

As one continued to the end of the hall you would find two men, lit by torch light alone. One strapped to a large wooden table, he was a thin fellow whose pale skin gave testament to how long he had been without the sun for company. The man gave a loud scream as the second man, a rather husky fellow with an executioners cap on, ripped off his fingernails one by one before strapping his hands down, the exposed fingertips pointing towards the floor. Underneath each one was a candle, the heat of the flames burning but never searing the wounds. “What else do you think I should do?” Asked the torturer as his head turned to the last cell.

”Oh I don’t know, perhaps you could start disemboweling him with a heated blade.. Don’t want him dying from blood loss do we? So be careful not to puncture anything important..”

The man laughed and nodded in agreement as he pulled out a hook style blade and started heating it. “I wonder if you will be so helpful when you are up.” The torturer said to the prisoner, causing another chuckle to escape his cell.

”Oh.. I can’t wait for that.” The prisoner responded along with a laugh. Zamaru, 9th’s favorite prisoner, the one who gave advice on the torture of others. On the back of his neck was the Roman numeral IV, made out of charred flesh. It marked him as a class four criminal, a rather low ranking considering what he had done and who he was. He was one of the worst mass murders ever to hit the first thirty districts. He had murdered 334 spirits, one of which was a member of a royal family, and two shingami. The supposed “god of deaths” no.. They where nothing more then fakes, he was a true God of Death. No one it this pathetic place could compare to him, it had been a stroke of bad luck that he had been captured in the first place, and now these bastards treated him like a dog. Oh how they would pay, they would pay the day they let him out of the chains. Yes, those damned chains which kept him either kneeling on the ground or laying down.. They made him drink like a dog, and eat like one as well. And the pitiful, dried up rice that they clamed was food was another insult in and of itself. Granted, even he had to recognize the lush life he had compared to any other prisoner. He was being kept for a special day, a day where he would provide entertainment, like a fucking zoo animal..

The sound of footsteps was hardly heard over the screams of the unlucky victim of Arkady, the torture and head of the 17th ward. Zamaru only knew it because he thought about how he wanted to kill him every day. And when you fantasies about someone that much it is only proper to know there name. The footsteps belonged to a group of about five men, they where dressed in traditional shingami robes, one held a torch while the other four had there hands on there respective Zanpakutos. “Arkady!” One shouted as the hooded man let out a sigh before plunging a dagger deep into the head of his victim. “This had better be good!” He yelled to the group as they handed him a piece of paper. “OH! Looks like it’s your lucky day Zamaru! Time for you to go to work. Give em a good show wouln’t ya?” He said before breaking into a insane laughter as he opened the cell door. ”Has anyone ever told you that your voice is annoying?” A comment which earned Zamaru a quick back hand from the warden. Once again that maniacal chuckle returned as the warden undid his chains.

With motion quicker then what the warden could follow Zamaru had his hand clasped around the bastard’s neck. With his free hand he grabbed the warden’s Zanpakuto before plunging it deep within his gut. ”Looks like we wouln’t be having that date eh warden?” He whispered before tossing Arkady’s body to his side. He slowly arose as he licked the blood off of his hand and walked out the cell. ”Shall we get going?” He asked as he kept licking the blood.

The lack of emotion showed by the man’s comrades proved how this division operated, and how much of an ass the man was. He was unbelievably weak, or at least so thought Zamaru, and acted like he was a big shot, he deserved so much more, but Zamaru doubted that they would have let him have his way with him. The group simply stood around him, each with there zanpakutos drawn and ready to attack, as the fifth lead the way. The sight made him laugh as they lead him to the group. “Leading the sheep to slaughter eh?” He asked the shingami as they threw him with the rest and the group backed off.

The group of fifty or so men where lead threw the long dark corridors of the 9th division. It was a sight Zamaru had already seen, it lost any sort of splendor or dread it on him, unlike some of the others. Zamaru quickly took note of the types of prisoners that where being lead, no doubt tonight was to be some form of entertainment. “I wonder how this will be done..” He said to himself as he started to whistle.

It wasn’t that long before they where lead to a large iron gate from which the cheers of men who seemed crazed for blood penetrated. The roars died down as the voice of a woman who obviously carried weight spoke up. From the distance it was hard to hear what she was saying, but the trained ear caught every bit. And that is exactly what Zamaru’s was, a trained ear. He let out a small clap as she had them brought out.

Naturally Zamaru was at the front of the pack, he wanted to catch a glimpse of the all inspiring women. “Hmm.. I wonder if I could take her.” He said to himself as he watched her. He never even noticed the man get beheaded behind him. He hardly noticed insects anyway, but this place was filled with annoying flys. And it seemed he was going to get the chance to vent a little here. Oh today was surly shaping up nicely! Fifty people to kill and no one to stop him? Oh what fun was in store.

Fun indeed, for he didn’t even need to start hunting, someone had attacked him from behind. The man was a large bald man who resembled “Stone cold Steve Austin” and had put Zamaru into a choke hold. “Are you serious?” Zamaru asked before slamming his elbow into the gut of the overly large man causing him to stumble backwards. The sight was a bit comical to watch, a rather buff six foot five guy being beaten by an average looking adult. Zamaru stood at six one and was well toned but not overly, especially with his resent imprisonment. Zamaru grabbed the back of Mr. Stone’s neck before pulling him down and slamming his knee into his voice box. He quickly proceeded to move behind the man, and in one smooth move snapped his neck.

He laughed once more; it seemed to be his pet peeve by now; as his riatsu flared as he turned towards the group of men fighting it out. “PLEASE ENTERTAINE ME FOR A FEW SECONDS!” As he said this he dashed two of them, grabbing each by there head before turning both of them, now facing the box which Laetitia and the rest of 9ths leaders. “I dedicate this duet to you Mi’lady!” He said as he slammed the two’s heads together, rupturing them in a fantastic spray of skull, skin, blood, and brain. His eyes wondered as he searched for his next victim. This was proving to be quite the stress reliever.. As he went into a killing frenzy his mind wondered to the women who was obviously some sort of a leader, if that was the case then she was obviously the cause for his treatment.. She needed to be taught a few things....

[GoldenKitten]

Maska Teja stood over his wife of almost sixty years as she entered what were to be the final moments of her life. As he gripped her hand in his own there was no return from her, she had slipped into a comatose state overnight, but even if she had been awake she could not have returned the gesture. Her skin was pale white despite her heritage though at one time it had been a beautiful tan, similarly the texture had been smooth and warm even in her aging years but now she was cold and felt so fragile, as if she would turn to ash if he didn’t hold hard to keep her together. Every so often she would twitch and groan in the depths of her dreams, clearly specters haunted her even there. He feared for the moments to come, he knew her passing would not be easy, but worse yet once she had left him he would be all alone.

Dull uncomforting gray light shimmered through the frosted glass windows of their once beautiful room that was now littered with the remains of old foodstuffs they had been living on for the past week. It was the only light to be had except for a single candle next to the bed on which his wife lay, the power had stopped working about a month ago since they had refused to leave the house and pay their bills. From the walls came an incessant unearthly clawing as if made by a hand far larger than a humans yet somehow inside the structure none-the-less. He wasn’t sleeping much now but on occasion when exhaustion overtook him he swore he could hear laughing in the back of his mind, whether it was his sanity breaking or real he didn’t know nor did he longer even care. Either way he had learned to ignore the sounds some time prior. The air was chilly despite being mid-summer and from time to time he felt breath on the back of his neck but if he looked it was not there. Whatever demon was functioning as his tormentor did not want them to die outright, it was waiting for them to give up and then when it was satisfied, would take them…he would not succumb to this until he saw his wife off.

As if his thoughts were to become reality she gave a great heave of her chest, for the first time in days her breathing came hard and strong. But it was not healthy, it increased in rapidity and her face contorted into a dozen pained expressions in as many seconds. Maska looked up while still holding her hands as he began praying to whatever god might listen to his prayers, however as he did so a shadow played across the room and instinctively his head turned to the window, though he was now so sedated it was a slow and ponderous motion. His eyes tried to decipher what he was seeing but even when he realized what it was, it did not really make things any clearer. The gray light was replaced by shadow and an orange glow standing at the window, presumably looking in though the frosted glass made it more of an amorphous massive structure that seemed to be sitting perfectly still. Even as a normal human Maska could feel the malice radiate from it but when it made no further moves he returned his attention to his wife dreamily.

His eyes glazed over and it took him a lifetime to process that she was no longer moving or even breathing, the final moments forever etched across her corpse for eternity were one of suffering. He was dead to it, he was like stone and incapable of feeling for her, but in his heart he knew it was time. Maska reached over and placed his hand over her face, closing her eyes and trying to make her face more peaceful, after some difficulty he realized he would not succeed and instead stood up. He walked across the room, his feet shuffling through the trash and clutter that had built up from staying in this one place, all the waste accumulated not bothered to be disposed of. As he moved across he unresponsively acknowledged that the thing at the window had moved from where it was to now stand at a window closer to him as he proceeded to an ornate dresser-stand with a cross etched in the top.

On the dresser top lay dozens of pictures of happier times. Him and his wife when he was younger, all their children...most of their children. There were several pictures of which a baby was being carried, or a small child was being lead by the hand, in each of these the child's face was obscured by a clear burn mark, this had occurred naturally, he nor his wife played any part in the mutilation. His hand ran gingerly along several of the metal frames as he saw to his other children, they had all passed now, just like his wife, just like everyone else, Maska was the last, he was alone. Finished with his silent reminiscing he bent down and took a key from the top of the dresser, pulled open a lower drawer, and removed a small wooden cask. Inserting the key he removed the sole object within, yet another picture though this one was not framed. The first emotion he had showed in many days; he glared at the photo before once more falling into a stupor. With photo in hand he walked to the door of their bedroom, it had long been locked and braced but he now went to work at opening it.

As the entrance was cracked for the first time in a long while a burst of cold air was released into the room, the blow caused him to blink several times, then the door continued to creek open ever so slowly. The hall beyond was a mess, a bookshelf was tipped over and braced against the adjoining wall, papers lay everywhere, a vase they had received on their wedding day lay shattered in the middle of the floor. All color seemed to be drained from the objects, the walls looked as if they had been burned, and large streaks were etched into the walls in the obvious pattern of a massive claw. Maska walked forward and though he was old and the weeks of low nutrition were weighing heavily on him he managed to make it over the shelving. As he ambled past several other rooms he ignored the shadows flying past the windows on both sides of the home, following him, waiting to see what he chose to do.

The kitchen and living room were in a similar state of disarray, the entities impatience and anger taken out on the surroundings. Maska walked toward the entryway, as he did so he looked down at a form on the ground. Despite his drowsy state tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at what had once been his eldest son, now a dried out husk in the middle of his house, all signs of life eaten away in mere days. But he drove on, unable to linger or to any longer act for his children and family. As he moved past toward the plain white front door it began to shudder, as if in anticipation of him walking through, but now he was no longer afraid of death. He reached forward and grabbed the outdated brassy knob, pulling the door inward with bated breath, but when nothing happened he stepped through.

The silence was deafening, so quiet that a shrill whine filled the ears unable to process the total emptiness assaulting them. Then he took a step out into the deathscape before him and when his foot fell the ground beneath crunched and groaned, the grass once atop it dead crackled, the dirt beneath drained of all water compacted upon itself and shot forth plumes of dust, each step was like firing a cannon. Like the objects inside the world was drained of color, the sky swirled with gray, the fields in the distance were dead and lifeless, the forest not far down the road was without a single leaf and the trees had quickly withered. Maska took a deep breath of the stale nauseating air and looked off in the distance, at one time the crowing jewel of his home had been the brilliant view of the rural town of Mesiff.

Like everything else the town was dead, lifeless, colorless. Maska, Maska was truly alone, utterly, completely, totally, alone. The bakery and hairdressers, once colorful splotches on the horizon were like all the rest, the western style barber pole Mr. Reij had bragged to him about every visit looked to be burned from the inside out. Though whatever fire had caused it had long gone out the one spot of movement to be found was a pillar of smoke billowing from the small police station, at its peak it had been manned by a grand total of two men, but they never needed more, Mesiff was a peaceful town. The other homes that could be seen in and around the area suffered the same fate, scanning the horizon he spotted several black lumps in the dead fields. He knew without having to think what they were. Death itself had come to their little town, and soon it would be complete.

He walked out to stand in the middle of the his plot of land, as he walked away from the house he heard heavy footsteps behind him, like something running from around the corner of the house to attack him. But when he turned there was nothing to be found, he sighed once more, having become desensitized to the hallucinations that now plagued his mind. As he looked toward the house his eyes were drawn to wooden signs and spray-painted words sprawled across the front. They warned of danger, cursed his family in various names, told of witches, demons, and any other form of evil that could be imagined. But whatever the truth was they had never realized it, and it was doubtful such realization would have helped them anyway. He looked to the ground as his gaze fell back to the dirt street before his home, other signs could be found there though many of them had been brought to the ground by the same force that had scorched and decimated the homes themselves.

Silent. Still. Ready. Maska looked to the picture in his hand.

The day the children had died and she disappeared so many years ago they had believed it all some big misunderstanding. But when no other explanation could be found, when the corpses of dozens of neighbors animals had been discovered in their backyard, when the little diary with the gibberish symbols and words had been located under the bed...they had told them, they had told him. They had said she was a witch, or possessed, maybe even worse. But he hadn't wanted to hear it, for countless years he had searched. Convinced, if any of it were true, that she was simply confused, perhaps she even had problems in the mind, but she was his child, she could not be evil after all. He would not believe it, even now, even with the truth presented before him he could not accept it outright...surely there had to be some other explanation? SURELY?!!

But there was no answer. Truth, is infinitely crueler than the lies we tell ourselves.

He looked to the picture and all the walls, all the well wishes, all the hopes; they fell apart. Maska fell to his knees as he held the picture to his chest and wept great tears, then with his hand around it he crumbled it into a ball and screamed at the sky. Life was unfair, what had he or any of his children, or any of his family, or any of the good people of this village done to deserve this?

The air began to breathe around him, to give life to itself. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. Living, and pulsing, and whispering curses to existence. Carried on the wind. Wanting death. Wanting Pain. Wanting destruction. Destruction, so near.

Reaching into his pocket he produced an old lighter, he had not smoked in many years but had always kept it as a namesake, now perhaps it was his one last act of defiance. His old frail hands were hardly able to perform the action but eventually he was able to strike a flame. Taking one last look at the photo he held them both up to the sky and lay the flame beneath it, for a moment it did not take, but then it melted the waxy seal of the paper and it began to burn as kindle. When he was certain the whole thing would be engulfed he dropped it to the ground.

The photo, which showed he and his wife on the day of their third daughters birth. It was in black and white and its age apparent. There he was kneeling next to her bedside, many years younger, with a great smile on his face. His wife looking exhausted but happy as she held the bundled child up toward the camera for all to see, to be preserved immemorial. But that was what the photo was supposed to show, in time, that was not the case...but unlike the other photos the face had not been burned out either. Instead, in the photo which was the only thing in this monochrome world intended to be black and white, was a bright orange flame in the shape of an infant, two dark hollow eyes piercing you even from the photo. And in an instant, it was gone, burned like a flash in the dark.

Maska took one last deep breath in, but it was not his breath that exhaled out. Instead he felt a great burning breath on the nape of his neck. His face contorted into rage, pain, and insanity. And then Maska fell face forward to the ground before him, the last sound in this soundless world, and his final breath was released.

In the weeks to come Mesiff which was far off the trail would be found by the trucker who frequently made the trip out to supply them. As the story was circulated all manner of experts from the paranormal to learned scientist of various branches came to discover the cause of the catastrophe of Mesiff. Many theories were thrown around, none of which were correct, but which were accepted by the world at large. And that was when the small rural village became a memory. The truth was the real cause of the small towns death had left long before anyone arrived, when the father of a devil had given one last great act of contention and paid with his life.

…A Man

The Commander General of the Gotei 13, Kazuma Irashi, stood in a pure green field within the walls of Seireitei but located to the outermost areas out of reverence. Thousands of stones surrounded him, each one marking the resting place, whether physical or purely sentimental, of a lost comrade. It might have seemed strange to outsiders that shinigami held the same sort of memorials for their lost as those in the real world, but just because they understood how the spirit chain worked didn't mean they were free of their mortal feelings. Quite the opposite, they were amplified, most humans believed they would see their loved ones in some form of afterlife, but what hopes did a shinigami have? As far as they were aware when they died their spiritual particles would be recycled but what was created would not be the same person they had loved. And so, respect of their memories was all they had, it was all that kept some of them sane...

He knelled down with a bouquet of white flowers in front of a particularly large grave. He had a memorial in his office as well which he honored daily but occasionally he felt the need to come to the actual resting site. It had been over a hundred years since his wife Rika had passed on after a fatal blow from a hollow. Most knew him as the lighthearted and kind Commander General, and for the most part he was, but just because he was a strong person didn't mean he never missed her and in fact, he quite yearned for her terribly. He didn't share this fact with many, he preferred the general view he had achieved, but in his most private moments he lamented his lack of strength. That was pronounced more now than ever with the threat that faced Soul Society, he prayed he was strong enough, he would protect his people with his life no matter what the result was though, just as his wife had.

Kazuma had risen to stand watching over the other graves around him, it was humbling to remember he wasn't the only one who had lost so much, it also helped to remind him how much still weighed on his shoulders, why he couldn't give up. He was gaining confidence from these thoughts when a dreadful aura washed over him, it felt like the most monstrous hollow he had ever fought was breathing down his back. He turned about and only centuries of training kept him from drawing his blade, his eyes searched for the source but found nothing. Scanning carefully his eyes set on the nearby greenbelt that was built to surround the cemetery, though he could not see whatever was waiting there he knew the feeling was not his imagination. The thing was though he could not place it he knew he had felt the power before just in smaller doses and not so punctuated; if only he could remember where.

But upon closer inspection the Commander General located nothing and shortly after he had taken obvious note it disappeared entirely. He would later inspect Division 12 records which had shown nothing at the time of the event. Though not convinced Kazuma was forced to concede the ill feelings he had were brought on by the place he had been and the mourning of his dead wife, so he never brought the matter to further attention. As he had walked away the orange presence in the forest reached out in many asymmetrical patterns, coiling about trees, crushing the ground beneath it, snapping anything that came near, causing the forest to tremble as if alive, anything it could do to distract its terrible intentions if for but a moment. And it watched and it waited, it judged its foe. And then it was gone completely.

Two weeks later the forest died. The trees, the bushes, the flowers, the grass, it all became as ash. It was as if a terrible fire had raged through it but of course, there was no fire. Whatever the cause it had been so strong that it had spread many yards into the cemetery itself, overtaking a number of graves which were later moved, the sign taken as an ill omen. Yet it never became more than that, because the Commander Generals story was never told.

After all, a week after Kazuma Irashi had died.

…A God

The black water rose to his chest as Masue Ichima pushed forward in virtual blackness but for the torch he held in his right hand, his zanpakutou readied in his left. The previous Fifth seat of Ninth Division was trailed closely by his last living subordinate Tashi as they slogged their way through the cavernous opening beneath the division that housed a seemingly never ending lake from which their drinking water was pulled. Though there were a few passages to higher levels lining the vast expansive outer wall they were for the most part completely cut off. In previous days Masue had relied on this to keep his operations clandestine but now it had come back to bite him, the only way to escape was also through those passages and to get there one had to cross the shallows which were in the open. The torch didn't help his stealth but he would never find the way up in complete darkness, and he had a feeling their stalker could see in the pitch shadow anyhow.

The smaller man behind him whispered once more in a frightened tone, Masue didn't need to look at him to know he was nervously rubbing his hands together; a common tick of his, “M-masue, we need to get out of here! We need to get out now! We can't do anything else! And-And-”

Masue gave a whispered shout through gritted teeth only briefly looking over his shoulder before looking forward to peer through the gloom, “Shut the hell up Tashi or I'll just leave you here for bait!”

Tashi whimpered a bit but otherwise remained silent. Masue refocused on pushing his way through the water which was now lowering down inch by inch, proving they were making headway toward the edge of the monolithic chamber. That was when he felt something of considerable weight crash into his chest briefly knocking the air out of him before he situated the torch in his hand and looked down at the offending object. The large man with considerable girth, dirty tattered features, and almost villainous looks was not someone you would expect, nor was he, easily disgusted and yet he couldn't help but curl his nose upward in disdain. Another waterlogged corpse was floating in front of him before he pushed it to the side and continued forward, it had not been one of his men, instead it had been one of the hundreds of bodies he had found in various states of decay inhabiting this place and he had no doubt there were many more on the lake floor. Even he tried not to think about the fact that he had likely been drinking this filth for longer than he ever wished to know.

That woman was going to be the end of them, it was hard to believe he found himself frightened of a little girl but then he had long since stopped considering her as such. Hitotsu had been a terrible man, he had done unforgivable things and Masue had gone right along with him in doing so, but Hitotsu had also been...normal. For all the horror he reaped, for all the joy he took in killing, he had always worked within the boundaries Soul Society had set. But things had been changing ever since Laetitia had joined, they had been subtle at first but now the Division had fallen a thousand degrees from where it had begun, if she had it her way she wasn't just going to take the Division with her, she was going to take everyone. Masue had never thought of himself as on the side of good before, justice maybe, but hardly the light and yet now that he knew what true darkness was it was apparent; they were all angels by the comparison of what this place was becoming.

The water was below his waist now as his thoughts fell to Imaru, the previous 6th seat. Imaru had headed out before him along with a contingent of warriors to begin setting up an attack, when they found out about the arena they knew it was the perfect place to assault the “Captain”. He had received a message that they had arrived topside, he just hoped he was able to make it or else they would be all alone in this. This thought angered him greatly, not because he felt anything for the men particularly but because he would spite himself for ages if he died in this place rather than in a real battle.

Spurring him on with greater conviction he swung his upper body around to look at Tashi and spoke perhaps just a tad to loudly, “Hurry yourself up we – have – t....”

He trailed off as his voice caught in his throat, his younger follower was nowhere to be found. Having an objective and people to command he had been staving it off up until this point but for the first time an inkling of dread slipped into Masues heart. The man spoke into the abyss just barely over a whisper, the slightest sliver of wavering being audible, “Tashi..., Tashi are you out there? Dammit Tashi if you don't get over here right now I'm leaving you. Follow the torches light...”

Only silence came back to him as he unconsciously uttered a curse before turning on his heel. He wasn't about to die for that boy even if he had been a good lieutenant these past few days, he had a date with that witch and he was going to make it come hell or high water. His desires renewed he set out to take a powerful step and was stopped almost as quickly when he heard a clicking somewhere off in the dark. He paused and held his breath trying to listen closely but he need not have worried, though the source could not be seen it could certainly be heard. It was the sound you might imagine the mandibles of a particularly large insect would make though there was a bit of scraping to it as well, like a blade being dragged across stone. Staring into the distance to his side he missed what happened in front of him but in the next moment the torch was ripped from his hand and sent flying off into the water, extinguishing the light and plunging him into total darkness.

He lashed out instinctively with his blade trying to strike whatever lay before him but cleaving only air. After several blows with no tension felt in return he stopped moving and tried to listen for movement around him, perhaps in the air or the water. His heart was racing in fear now though his warrior forged heart kept him prepared instead of darting in terror like a normal man might. This thing had taken a dozen of his men, but Hitotsu had seen in him the power to gift him with a seated position, he would not lose so easily. All he could hear was his own breathing as he tried to peer into the shroud without avail, making slow movements forward in the process, then a breath entirely detached from his own echoed around him as he felt the warmth flow over his neck. Masue wasted no time as he performed a wide spin and slashed with his blade but again struck nothing, the heavy weighted strike almost caused him to topple into the water before he caught himself.

Though afraid there were just as many parts of him that were angry as he yelled out, “Come on you bastard! Fight me! FIGHT! M-”

Masue let out a surprised gasp before it turned into a gurgle. Though he could not see he felt his whole body trembling and could barely control his arm as he reached down as grasped his belly with his free hand. Everything was wet down here but it was cold and clammy, the warmth that he felt pouring over his fingers bespoke a different source as his lifesblood was spilled into the reservoir like so many before him. He took a few stumbling steps before he lost all strength and his zanpakutou splashed into the water below; the fingers no longer capable of gripping like his mind told them too. His body followed but when he expected to feel the cold rush of water flow over him he instead felt nothing. In his increasingly twilight state he came to realize there was no water on his legs either, his body was hanging in the ethereal or so it seemed, it never really occurred to him he had been lifted into the air. In the back of his mind he hoped Imaru would be smart enough to escape the division when they never arrived, then he could expose these things they'd learned to the other divisions...he hoped Imaru was that smart...he really, really hoped.

Dieing here was so ignoble.

An orange warmth surrounded him. At first it was comforting, he had been cold for so long and the loss of so much blood had only made him colder. But then it started to become uncomfortable, it had almost lulled him to sleep at first but now it was becoming annoying, like dozens of little ant bites and he found himself twitching. He wanted to rub them off but his body wouldn't listen to him, his mind still wanted to do things, it wanted to live, but the physical form was incapable of complying. And then the bites became stings, and the stings like pokers, the pokers welts, and then his skin was liquefying off the bone to a fire so black it melded with the eternal dark water of the pit below hell itself.

Masue died screaming, out of his mind, by himself, and unable to do a thing about it. Just like so many he had tortured before. And just as them, nobody would ever find Masue.

…A Knight

It looked at the little man and it laughed.
But its attention was ripped away before it could enjoy this end to the fullest.
From above it heard the tumultuous cheers of a thousand mass murderers.
It responded in kind, it roared, a bloodthirsty terrible roar.
But one silent to most.
It left the dark space, the small creature broken in its grasp.
Traveling the darkened caves, into black corridors, into the realm of the Division.
It twisted and turned, writhed and squirmed, killed and died.
An orange figure rose behind the priestess and surveyed the sand and blood.
It was invisible to all but her.
Breaking into a thousand pieces the figure seeped into everything about.
It swirled like a cyclone around the arena it had commanded built in its name.

It was the essence of death. It was hell itself. It was the god of war. But yet, far, far beyond those things.

…A Demon

What fun. Laetitia had not had so much fun in a very long time, not that the men killing each other was anything special, it was the atmosphere. It had been a while since she had been blooddrunk and it was her own personal ecstasy, there was no comparison to a thousand souls strong all wanting to rip each other limb from limb. She had known since the day she had killed her first soul that there was no replacement, nothing to take its spot. She was born to slaughter, and then, to one day be slaughtered. There could not and would not ever be a different way. It took every fiber of her being not to go down there and kill every one of them herself but then that would ruin the point of it all, there was far more to this than the physical, what could be seen. So caught up in the moment she could hardly recall what that was, but something told her it was important, she had to stay where she was...yes...there was, there was something to be done...she just needed to stay her hand, just for a while.

To many of those present this seemed tame. Certainly watching the spectacle was entertaining but it would not last long at the current rate the men were cutting each other apart. This could have been arranged in any number of large open chambers in the pits of Ninth Division, the Arena seemed lavish and unnecessary to their general ways. Not that, that stopped the men and women present from drowning in the reverie of the moment, but those with more sense about them might have taken note somewhere in their mind. Was this all there was? Was that what it was all about? The answer was a sound no as would soon become apparent, but even if it had been, could you really complain? Mens blood fell like rain and their ultimate sacrifice was made for absolutely no reason but to kill. Twas bliss.

Laetitia giggled when one of the men seemed to be devoting two kills to her at once, though at the moment it was offhand as it was still not readily evident how far he would go. Meanwhile two men broke from the group as one grabbed the other by the scruff and charged across the grounds, intent on slamming the other into the nearest wall. It was then that the first “surprise” occurred, a hole in the wall opened and a spear shot forth impaling both men through the chest at the last moment. Neither died instantly and they instead squirmed face to face, trying to get away but unable to endure the pain required to remove the large shaft. Meanwhile several members of the division in the first row leaned over the edge of the arena and grabbed the back man by the hair before pulling them up and snapping the spear in the process. They then held them high above by the rod like a war banner causing the entire arena to explode into cheers while several other members close by stood under them allowing the dieing mens blood to pour over them. It was insanity, it was abnormal, there was no explanation but to say that Ninth Division had crossed the boundaries of the logical.

Back amongst the fighters things were winding down as there were just over a dozen left. Things weren't so quite clearcut any longer, it was not the constant slaughter it had begun as. The weak and useless had been removed, crushed underfoot and no longer relevant. Several other traps had been exposed along the way, a spiked pit, a machine that shot blades in every direction, similar devices, though now it seemed fewer people were being tricked. Those left standing were the ones who the real battle was meant to be between in the first place, the physically capable, the quick witted, the spiritually able. And just as it was about to begin the steel doors on either side of the arena opened.

Guards rushed forward though not close enough to be struck, they carried open sheets two by two, laying in each were an assortment of weapons. Weapons covered in blood, the very weapons many of the prisoners had been pulled off the streets with in the first place. The guards tossed them skyward and they rained down among the combatants. In an attempt to scurry for a blade one of the men was struck aside the head with a small hammer, clearly forgetting that falling weapons were just as deadly as someone striking you with them. Soon though that danger had passed and instead a new one had begun as the remaining men did make claim to one of the many pieces still dotting the landscape, ready to fight a true fight.

But those weapons were not the last thing to appear from the dark recesses of the pits. From each gate two behemoths clad in full armor appeared, each wielding a similarly oversized weapon from a blade, to a hammer, to a menacing hook that could hardly be explained in words but didn't stop it from being deadly. It did not seem the prisoners would take their reward so easily. Those watching were becoming more and more impatient, closer and closer to becoming combatants themselves, no longer sated by watching.

In the main viewing box Laetitia had regained composure. She now remembered what she intended to do. She sat. She crossed her hands together. She smiled.

And in the shadows of the arena stands they stalked. Waiting for their time to strike.

...Man, God, Knight, Demon, Monster, Tyrant, Death, Believer, Unbeliever, Heretic, Murder, Death, Silence, Cold, Dirt, Fire, Element, Black, Sun, Kill, kill, kill killkill, kill, kill,kill,killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill...kill...kill

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

I am your thoughts.
I am you existence.
I am your god.
I tell you what is right.
What is wrong.
What is All.
I am everything.
I am you.

Kill
killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill
killkillkillkillkillkill
killkillkillkill
Kill!

[kensei]

It had truly begun, the reason why he was here in the first place, the entertainment section. Zamaru laughed as he ran down one of the cowards that fled for his life. His arm ripped threw the man’s rib cage and half way into his body before Zamaru pulled his arm out. Such pathetic excuses for living beings disgusted him. The fact that they wasted his time in killing such puny creatures was even more distasteful. But at the same time, he was in no mood to let a single soul live threw this.

It was at this point that the first of the surprises had gone off. A grin touched Zamaru’s lips as he watched the blood drunk fools lift the defenseless bastards into the air. This place was heaven! This place that death seemed to dwell would soon be his, he had to own this place. He had to make everything he saw his, and kill everyone in it.. It was at this point that his chuckle returned as he thought about this, this..

“Fuck.” That was all he needed to say as he realized he had gotten caught up in his day dreaming. He pushed off the ground as he flew high in to the sky. Someone had activated a damn machine that sent off knives every which way but lose. However as the knives started to gain on him, the distance between each blade grew and grew until the point that he had his opening. He assumed a divers position as he stretched out his hand. As the blades passed under his hands he grabbed the very back of the with his middle and pointer finger, ignoring the small cuts they made as he traveled back to the ground. He flipped the blades before tossing both of them downwards. Each met there target, two idiots that had started running at each other, the blades connected with there skulls, causing both to fall and skid across the ground, stopping only inches away from one another.

Zamaru landed near them in a kneeling fashion right as the weapons where thrown at them. It was at this time that one weapon caught the eye of the half dressed warrior. “Frostpik?” The weapon was a katana covered in dried blood, the blade was nearly five feet long with an six inch long handle. All and all it just seemed like an old large Katana, but it was Zamaru’s weapon.. And he would be damned before one of these bastards would lay a finger on it.

However right as he was about to get it someone else’s hand made its way to its hilt of the katana, which was now stuck in the ground, Zamaru went crazy. His eyes seemed to turn red as he slammed his knee into the man’s windpipe as he brought him to the ground, with Zamaru on top of him. Zamaru slammed his fist into the mans face, expecting him to be dead he started to get up, however he was shocked to find the man still very capable of fending for himself as he slammed his leg into Zamaru’s back causing him to fall over. The man quickly proceeded to flip himself on top of Zamaru before attempting to pound his skull into dust. After three hits however, Zamaru caught the mans hand in an iron grip before slamming his other hand into the man’s face a few times before chocking him while his other hand fended off the man’s attacks. It took several moments before the man’s strength started to fade and Zamaru was able to throw him off of him. With a sly grin, he pulled Frostpik out of the ground before turning to the man. “Frostpik hungers for sugar.”

It was at that point that the katana disappeared and instead was replaced by two large pickaxes. With a roar like a lion Zamaru lifted Frostpik into the air before slamming it into the skull of the man. Zamaru laughed as he heard the familiar scotish voice of his zanpakuto. “Oi! Whend the hell were ya gon’? Ain’t been killin in narly a month! Ye dumb bastard don’ got locked up or sometin’? Wer’ are we anyway?”

( www.youtube.com/watch?v=fg-4tMB32Us For how he talks)

It was at this point that the gates started to open up, and the four Behemoths appeared. Zamaru grinned as he eyed two of them, one breaking off for the others while the other walked towards him. Zamaru accepted the hook wielding warrior’s challenge, quickly making his way to him. The giant warrior started to swing his hook into the air before taking a swing at Zamaru. Zamaru ducked under the attack, then sidestepping as the behemoth went for a vertical swing. The hook slammed into the ground, locking it there for a few brief seconds, enough time for Zamaru to make his move. A blue orb appeared at the tip of one of the Pickaxe’s as he slammed it into the chain, freezing a good fifteen feet of it before he slammed the other in it, shattering it. Zamaru laughed as he charged his opponent, not expecting the fight he was about to have..

As he went to slam his right pickaxe into the behemoth’s ribs he couldn’t help but feel a little confused, and stupid when the monster caught it and stopped the attack dead in his tracks.. Of course one had to see the knee to the chest, and the fist to the face followed a “this is sparta’ style kick to the chest.. But seeing some things coming doesn’t always mean you could prevent them, and this was the position Zamaru found himself in as he had the shit kicked out of him.. He now found himself with blood the blood he coughed up all over him, and a good ten feet or more away from his previous target.. To top it all off, he only had one of his pickaxes, the behemoth had the other.. “Say.. If I go out of shikai would I get the katana or would he?” “Can’t rightfully say. Bout’ a fidy fidy shot.. Good luck.” ”Fuck me..”

He quickly took a stance as he circled around his opponent, contemplating how best to tackle the situation at hand.. He pointed Forstpik at the man as a small blue orb appeared from the middle of the blade. However instead of freezing it shot out a long icicle, roughly two feet long and three four inches thick at the end. The icicle slammed into the armor of the behemoth and soon was joined by another and then another. Some shattered, some penetrated, but none of them seemed to stop him as he ran at Zamaru. He went for a wide swing with Zamaru’s Zanpakuto, which Zamaru ducked under before slamming Frostpik into his back. He pulled the blood covered pickaxe out as he jumped back a bit. The man let out a blood lust filled war as he used the pickaxe to shatter the icicles that where stuck into him before turning to Zamaru.. This day wasn’t looking to good..

[GoldenKitten]

Zamaru might have thought his day was bad but in all honesty his was borderline wonderful compared to the rest. When the giant warriors had appeared most of the other six remaining prisoners had put their momentary differences aside in an attempt to put up a temporary united front. However when one platinum haired lad used this to his advantage two of them were felled with blows from behind. By the time the others thought to turn about he was already gone but had distracted them just long enough for the warriors from the opposite direction to stampede over their position. At the same time the boy who had honestly appeared quite weak and out of place in the start but had now racked up a kill tally second only to Zamaru couldn't be found anywhere, despite the field being completely flat and open. Of the three men who had been left after this “betrayal” only one survived the initial confrontation but now found himself surrounded by two of the large warriors.

If Zamaru could barely handle one then this man who was several levels his minor could hardly handle both, though to nobody on the fields knowledge Zamaru was in fact engaging the most experienced fighter. The surrounded prisoner at least appeared somewhat physically capable though, as he hefted a massive axe over his head which caught the descending blows of his foes without crushing him in the process. Regardless it seemed unlikely he could do much more than block until he was finally taken off guard. This seemed to be progressing in the obvious fashion when he slipped up, thinking he had found an opening in one of his opponents attacks. It was true, the large warrior had given an opening which if it exploited would spill his bowels over the ground. But in exploiting it he himself, clearly not used to fighting multiple opponents, was going to receive a brutal clubbing to the back that would surely kill him.

As if predicted this was exactly what went on to occur, he going for an understrike with the axe while the large warrior behind him raised his blade for a cacophony of blows. Then as he went for the attack, rather than being struck himself the man behind hims head popped off neatly into the air with such speed there was an actual delay before a spray of blood followed and his massive corpse slammed into the ground. The fighting prisoner then got his own blow in on the other large warrior, the huge rusty axe cutting into the weak waistline chainmail sending his intestines to the ground while the man tried to grip at them in futility. The fact that he turned around with speed suggested he wasn't even aware of what had occurred behind him, ready to fight the other giant, but instead he was greeted with a long black blade piercing his throat.

They stood there for a moment as he tried to comprehend what had occurred, blood bubbling from his mouth. He looked up just in time to spot the platinum haired boys grinning face before the blade was maneuvered up and his own head was let loose from his body just like the previous victim. As the corpse collapsed the boy who couldn't be more than fifteen, looking virtually starved and incapable, turned around toward Zamuru's fight. On each of his hands was a large black glove with each finger ending in a sharp blade, the reiatsu rolling off of it told even an uneducated person that the weapon was also a zanpakutou. As Zamaru was fighting his own opponent his eyes briefly passed over the boy at which time the young man gave him a bemused smile and waved with one of his overlarge glove-weapons, clearly he had no reason to help the other man since if he was killed by the 9th division members then he would be the last prisoner and would win. To make Zamaru's situation worse the other large fighter had now also turned his attention toward him, seemingly intent on replicating the scene that had just taken place only this time nobody would be helping Zamaru.

When the zanpakutous started to come out the crowd took two very different directions in stance. Some of them become less than thrilled with what was happening. It was no real secret that for every real fighter you had in Ninth Division just as many were demented psychos who got off on tormenting the weak, so now, being put in a position where real power could threaten them they were not happy. Then there were those who more closely adhered to the Laetitia way of thinking and when the reiatsu started flaring you could barely control them, in fact, you couldn't. When the warriors started to drop to the ground dead; real members of the division began to enter the arena wanting a shot at the prisoners. The titans the prisoners were now fighting were indeed quite strong but they were just normal men with armor and big weapons, maybe a bit of spiritual energy. Those jumping into the arena ready to test their skill were instead fully armed shinigami, each with their own zanpakutou in tow, it was starting to become quite evident Laetitia had never really expected them to live in the first place. You didn't start a battle in the midst of Ninth Division and not expect it to turn into a war, which really should have been the first clue her detractors should have noted that it was a calculated move, but of course, they did not.

Several rows of seating exploded into large plumes of flame taking dozens of workers with them in the process. In an instant the arena was plunged into even more chaos than it had been before as smoke and flame obscured much of the view. In the past weeks Masue Ichima's guerrilla forces had left dozens dead, mostly inconsequential low level works or slaves since they never had the balls to strike out long enough they might actually have been caught, but it had been a nuisance and had made the division rather paranoid, more than a few quick and dirty executions had occurred. So when you took some already paranoid people, made them even more paranoid, then started setting off explosions it tended to see results. Many of the berserker's just started seeing enemies everywhere they looked and began cutting down random victims left and right, others grouped together to fight off the real threat, still others began retreating, and let's not forget those already in the middle of the arena ready to fight the survivors of todays one legitimate battle.

Meanwhile as much of the division fought imaginary specters or simply tried not to die in the fire below the real enemy made its way toward the objective. Dozens of men filtered through the halls behind the coliseum that that were meant to be used by those orchestrating the event to move in on the leadership. Then three men entered through the viewbox to stand before the current captain in perfect coordination with the flood of followers coming from behind. Laetitia remained seated in her chair, she found the situation amusing but it hadn't ended in nearly as much death as she had hoped, after a moment she broke the silence.

“Hello Imaru.”

The pale balled man standing before her with a warriors build and bulging orange eyes gazed at her with a dark glare, “You don't seem to surprised little girl.”

She didn't take the bait and instead returned it to him, “You think you'd be here if I didn't want you to be? Oh Imaru, I wonder, wonder, wonder what happened to Masue? I wonder why he isn't here to help you?!”, she giggled at the looks she got.

Though some of his men faltered momentarily Imaru was not shaken, “You may be a killer; girl, but we are fighters, fighters like Hitotsu taught us to be. You and the pathetic menagerie you've surrounding you cannot beat us. When you are dead; we, the rightful heirs to the division, will insure it is put back on the right track. Your name will be erased from all of history.”

Laetitia leaned her head to the side into an open palm and gave him a warm, but undeniably eerie, smile. “Volk, kill the ones on the right. Yoku the left, oh, and don't let the one sneaking up on you getch'ya. If either of you finish and I've not killed him yet lets try to take Imaru alive”

The three men wasted no time charging toward her as she remained seated, going for her zanpakutou at the last moment. At the same time a dozen others flooded in from each direction, some warriors, some simply workers that disagreed with what Laetitia was doing. As she had said one man had been attempting to sneak up on Yoku and had he gotten the drop might have been able to injure the third seat, but now that he was caught in the open the third seat would surely break him. In the moments that followed the forces unleashed in the small box blew the ceiling clear off of it as reiatsu was unleashed in huge waves.

Back on the field Zamaru had eventually finished his large opponents. Now though he found two shinigami who had entered the field before still descending on his location despite the violence in the stands, most of it being engaged in by supposed allies fighting in fear and paranoia, which itself had been cultivated by the division. Other more intelligent individuals were in fact using the chaos to make their way up in standing without others being aware of their actions. At the same time the clouds of smoke that had begun obscuring the arena floor were masking one final opponent, who might have in fact been of the greatest concern. It had been some time since Zamaru had last seen the other zanpakutou wielding prisoner, and it was doubtful he had attempted to flee given the dismal escape rate prisoners had in the history of the division, especially when victory was so close.

[Tagz]

Ninth Division, there was a reason why the navy-haired Third Seat found it far more appealing than the rest of the Gotei Thirteen. In this hallowed inauguration, crimson liquids danced erotically throughout the air while sporting the guise and veneer of the sensual feminine form. Likewise, Yoku’s cerise eyes gaped at the dancing liquids as both fire and lust burned within him. And while the first few victims had lost their lives, one interesting male called out in arrogance. He had just taken his first life of the official show – though it’d become apparent later on it was only to be his second – yet despite this, he felt the need to showboat his reiatsu levels and request that his fellow prisoners, and I quote, “entertain him a little”. Such gumption, nay, such audacity thrilled the man who sat uncomfortably in the distant and inhibited viewing box (save for his silenced subordinate and laconic superior). Yokubari writhed within his inner confines. He wanted little more than to join in the… festivities.

With the recent promotion of the Vice Captain to Captain, Laetitia’s previous position had been left vacant. With the lack of an acting Vice Captain, many of her prior duties fell to the libidinous Yoku. Clearly he was (along with the few others present in the quaint box) one of the few in the Division who knew of the true purpose behind today’s events. Nevertheless, he grew impatient. Like his superior, he struggled to calm his qualms. His entire being, yes, even his twisted and warped conscience told him to go down there and slaughter to his hearts content. He ached and craved for, no, he hankered for, no, he coveted the blood of prisoners and even that of his supposed ‘soldiers’. However, there was one whose blood was longed for by another, by one worse than even Yoku himself. From within her bladed cage, Taihen Obasan resonated with fervour.

“I dedicate this duet to you, Mi’lady!”

And with that, the murderous man drew two heads together. Their skulls then collided and burst into a fantastic, almost volcanic rupture. This filled Yoku’s heart with glee.

“Well, ‘mi’lady’, it seems you have an admirer. How long would you wager he’d last?”

The standard playboy smile forever engraved onto his features. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the destructive and dark Laetitia giggle at the prisoner’s gestures. It was nice to know she still laughed like a woman. This meant she still had natural needs like a woman. That aside, one of the first of his commander’s ‘surprises’ had been revealed and impaled two men. It served them right. One man had draped up the other as if he were a middle school bully, while the other was pathetic enough not only to allow this sub-human act to occur, but to even go so far as allowing the man to forcibly push him across the entire playing field. Their deaths were quite just. And to make it even more so, just before they died a few soldiers in the front row raised them up and aimed the large shaft to the sky, victoriously. The arena instantly broke out into frenzied chant in a desire for more bloodshed. The arena instantly broke out into a savage chorus of death. Yoku had grown up enticed by the sonata of a few slayings. Now he was completely engrossed into the symphony of war. These sounds penetrated his heart, reverberating within it and giving him a feeling of ecstasy. A sadistic smile quickly etched out his natural and ‘charming’ one. Soon, soon enough it would be his turn to join in this joyous jamboree. Soon, soon enough it would be his turn to have some fun. He just had to sit tight and wait. Bah!

He watched with rising anticipation as the number of prisoners dwindled down to a little over a dozen survivors. And to make the theatrics of their merciless killings even more artistic, a few more elegant traps had been sprung along the way. A spiked pit here, a machine that shot blades in every which direction there, it was rather beautiful. As the number of participants continued to reduce, the iron gates then opened. Guards came out and introduced a new element into the death match, weaponry. They rained these weapons down upon the land, as one intellectually challenged male made a dash for what he perhaps thought to be a life saving grace from God… when he was horribly clubbed in the head by a small hammer. Tch. Retard.

Soon after, two men (one having previous devoted a dual murder in Laetitia’s name) began squabbling over one katana. Yoku’s attention then shifted to the entrance as a few new participants, massive in both size and choice of weapon, entered from each gate. From there, the battle continued to ensue. It was at this point in time that the navy-haired libertine had grown bored of the event. This affair truly was put together by a woman. Only a woman could be such a tease. Was he really to sit here and watch all the fun be had by others? He’d been requested to sit in the viewing box and maintain his composure until the time was ripe. But, FUCK, waiting was a bitch.

As things progressed, one male with great wits and an empty heart caught his attention. One albino had betrayed the “truce” created by several of the prisoners out of panic and a need to defeat the lesser of two evils. A truce made from fear was quite a pathetic one and would never hold up. This albino was the first to strike, and he had done so marvellously. Then, as two of the massive, armed and armoured competitors surrounded one of the prisoners, the albino continued to show his excellence. The idiotic prisoner had forgotten that he had wound up in a two-on-one fight and focused solely on one individual when he had found an opening. Though, at least, he was successful in disembowelling the man. Nonetheless, it was the albino’s battle prowess that had led to the second behemoth’s severed head, and subsequently, the impalement of the successful prisoner. A gorgeous black katana had been the platinum-haired man’s weapon of choice. It was sleek and stylish. Yoku couldn’t help but find himself rooting for the apparent teenager. With a warm smile akin to that of the Yokubari’s, the albino beheaded this prisoner as well. Then, with his massive gloved Shikai, he turned his attention to the most prominent murderer of the lot.

Zamaru had also released his Zanpakuto’s Shikai. As his fight progressed, those in the stands who could no longer contain their bloodlusts leaped into the field, swords in tow. Things were finally heating up. Things were finally clicking into place. Soon, very soon, it would be time for tonight’s guests to make their appearance. It was time for the real fun to begin.

Explosions rang out from even the stands. Anxiety, panic, paranoia, fear, pain, anger, vengeance, and a variety of other reasons plunged the entire Division into a warzone amongst itself. Death loomed over the coliseum in a figurative and somewhat literal toxic miasma. Finally, finally the guests had arrived. Three hopeless men made their way towards Ninth’s Captain, their fates condemned. Dozens more spilled in from the opening behind them. Yoku remained ever relaxed, feet still outstretched and resting on the mezzanine. He had continued to watch the events outside the box, seemingly ignoring the occurrences within, though clearly well aware. I mean, what kind of a fool would he be if he wasn’t?

“Hello, Imaru.”

His superior finally broke the silence. The two then began reciting their predestined dialogues. Poor Imaru made a note on Laetitia’s lack of shock while Laetitia made a smug comment, conveying her fore knowledge of this man’s acts. Expressions of shock overtook many of the lower-levelled infidels or heretics or Hitotsu loyalists or whatever they were considered to be. Meanwhile, Imaru remained strong. A small chuckle escaped Yoku’s lips as one sad character attempted to, ahem *cough*, ‘get the drop on him’. Imaru continued to babble on about his heresy and what he presumed he’d achieve. Yet another chuckle emitted from the maroon-eyed male as he pondered on the probability of such an outcome. It had to be one in –––

“Volk, kill the ones on the right. Yoku the left, oh, and don’t let the one sneaking up on you getch’ya. If either of you finish and I’ve not killed him yet, let’s try and take Imaru alive.”

The boy frowned.

“Must I be insulted in such a manner, Captain? Do you believe me to be blind, daft, or merely incompetent?”

And with this, the man rose to his feet. His crimson, bloodthirsty eyes pierced the man who’d been creeping behind him. With a sympathetic look, he commented,

“I apologize for my Captain’s cruelty. I’m sure you would’ve been very successful, honest. I mean, your footsteps were a bit loud, but only to a trained ear, I swear. Else you really could’ve gotten me. But…”

GUSH~!

Blood sprouted from the man’s headless body as the increase in reiatsu pressure literally blew the roof off of the place. The man’s body fell, decapitated. Yokubari now stood behind the deceased man, licking the blood from his drawn katana, clenching the hair of a dangling head in his grasp.

“… that won’t be happening tonight. Lah!”

The last sound emanated from him as he dropped his jaw, tongue hanging out, and an almost hysterical look commandeered his eyes. He threw the head to the first man on the left who instinctively caught it only to have it pierced entirely through by Yoku’s blade, which then proceeded to penetrate his heart. Retracting his blade violently, yet more blood gushed out from the new wound and sprayed everywhere. The crimson aphrodisiac completely coated his Zanpakuto. Taihen Obasan vibrated in absolute euphoria. Swift and graceful movements allowed Yokubari to sweep clean and sever heads from necks. The entire left side of the viewing box began erupting with geysers of blood from headless heretics. One after the other, Yoku progressed in the making of his masterpiece. He was going to sculpt his greatest art tonight. Soon enough, the wiser of men caught a glimpse of their chances of survival and fled back into the corridors that they’d come from.

Within moments, the entire left of the viewing box was empty, minus the abundance of corpses and a lone man mildly chuckling over his own power. A grin of excitement plastered across the face of Laetitia’s current second in command. He was going to have fun, even if he was merely slaughtering sheep. He was going to enjoy and revel in every moment he had with ecstasy. These sheep will squeal like pigs. These sheep will wail like hen. These sheep will flee like dogs. These sheep will panic like horse. It was going to be a barnyard of fatality and as the horde took to the hallways, Yoku followed. Cackling like a madman, he finally got the chance to release his Shikai, though it was grossly overkill. Incinerating flames overtook the opening to the hallways as all that could be heard inside was a cornucopia of wails, hollers, whimpers, and screams overpowered by a nauseating and sickening laughter of sheer pleasure and delight. The night was young, there was more fun to be had, much, much more.

[kensei]

So it wasn’t quite going the way Zamaru had hoped. His opponent had proven a tad more challenging then he would have hoped, and in the end it seemed that his situation was only going to worsen.. He ducked under the chain as the giant warrior went for Zamaru’s head. His eyes glanced at the other Zanpakuto wielding warrior who seemed content on just letting the Behemoth has his way with Zamaru. Perfect.. He would have to teach that cocky bastard a lesson at the end of this.

He broke this train of thought as he jumped out of the broken chain’s range, however it was then that he noticed how dangerously close he was to the other giant, who was fitted with a rather large sword. Zamaru raised his right pickaxe, catching the blade which had shockingly low force behind it.. It seemed his new opponent wasn’t on the same level as his other.. Zamaru smirked as he pushed the blade back slightly before turning towards his new opponent, running his pickaxe across his abdomen, ripping armor and flesh as he ducked with the movement, dodging the sword that had come again. A huge chunk of the warriors armor had been ripped off and Zamaru laughed as he slammed Frostpik threw the behemoth’s wrist and pulled his right arm to the side allowing him to get a clean shot to the warriors head.. One down.. One to go..

He pulled both pickaxe’s out as he turned around only to see a large metal foot making its way for his chest. Zamaru coughed as the wind was knocked out of him and he was pushed into the body of the fallen warrior. Zamaru caught the descending chain with his pickaxe, he used the warrior’s strength to help himself up before he went into a struggle of power with the behemoth over the control of the chain. Zamaru inched closer before pulling his left pickaxe up to chest level and making a wide swing for the behemoth. The warrior dropped the chain and tried to avoid it, unsuccessfully.. The pickaxe only skimmed his armor though, which was still coated in blood. It was obvious to even the untrained eye that this warrior would be dead from his wounds soon enough.. But that only seemed to fuel his desire to take Zamaru down with him. The warrior grabbed his comrades sword, intent on using it correctly..

Zamaru grinned as he backed away slightly from his opponent. Then, with a blood lust call he charged his opponent. He feigned an aerial attack, causing the large warrior to strike upwards. However Zamaru was now sliding on his knees across the sand, only having had made a tiny bunny hop. He leaned back slightly as the blade passed over his head. Zamaru pushed off the ground, rolling behind his opponent as he slammed his pickaxe into the back of his kneecap. He grabbed his other one, using the other pickaxe as a spring board, and jumped above his opponent before slamming it down, deep into his skull. Zamaru sighed as he fell back down and looked around. He had hardly noticed the large explosions that had taken place during his fight.. He really needed to pay more attention to his surroundings.. And the two shingami that where fast approaching. He pulled his pickaxe’s out as he walked towards the two.

He rose both of them towards the one on his left as two blue orbs formed at the center of the pickaxe. However, instead of icicles two beams shot out, slamming into the man’s chest. A small layer of quickly melting ice was present across the man’s chest as it took a slight blue tent.. Then another, and another, each beam added thickness and length to the ice, and within moments he was a frozen statue, dying a rather painful, but quick, death.

Zamaru turned toward the other one which had closed the distance while he had frozen his comrade. The man went to run Zamaru threw with his balde, but was obviously disappointed as Zamaru side stepped at the last possible moment. Now, if that was bad then the pickaxe threw his wrist was worse, and the other heading for his skull was just a day ruiner..

Zamaru sighed as he pulled the pickaxe’s out and looked around. He kicked the dead body, shingamis where so fucking pathetic.. But there was one last problem he needed to deal with before he could teach that girl a lesson.. Where had his last opponent gone off to?

[GoldenKitten]

Today Zamaru's lesson was going to be how to dodge. Much like the other opponents that had fallen to the boy a blade was coming through the smoke straight for Zamaru's neck and only keen senses were going to save him. Assuming he did dodge, and if he didn't then he was currently spasming on the ground and coughing up blood, but supposing he dodged then by the time he turned around he would find there was nobody there. Not that this was particularly surprising even if it was annoying, the boy had been winning by using his head, not by clashing with opponents directly. It was hard to say if he could have disappeared so easily had the field not been surrounded in smoke, but it certainly wasn't hurting matters for him. To make it worse his reiatsu signature was either zero or it was simply melding into the explosion of energy around them, either way it meant Zamaru couldn't track him with his spiritual senses.

That was when the ground cracked below and a flurry of black blades shot straight at him. However seeming to assume he would dodge even if he broke from the first strike several others had continued skyward where they came to an abrupt stop and then as if guided by a conductor came flying toward him. They kept striking right where he was in continuous quick succession forcing him backward in a row. The reasoning became immediately obvious as energy flared just long enough to expose the threat behind him as one of the boys multi-bladed gauntlets filled the air where Zamaru's head was and slammed together with unnatural force, sparking and squealing as the blades met. If his head was still there when that happened it was safe to say there wasn't much left of it after.

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

It didn't take a genius to figure Laetitia the stronger in this fight, but she had been right not to underestimate her foe. True she could end Imaru in an instant but he was not fool enough to think he could take her alone, the two men he had on either side had not been there for show. While the rest of the assailants went after Yoku and Volk in a more physical way Laetitia was assaulted mentally. One or both of the men had zanpakutous with mental imagining techniques, when they had first charged it seems it had been an illusion for her blade had gone right through them as they continued past her. Equally Imaru had taken to speaking to her now and his voice did not coincide with the location of his apparent location.

“Poor little girl, you think strength is all there is to fighting?”

Laetitia did not respond and instead stood very still feeling the world around her. Imaru was still calling coyly when she felt the air behind her waver and she stepped to her side striking out with her blade to the right side, by now Yoku and Volk had headed down separate halls to deal with other opponents so they could not help her. In most divisions that would have been grounds for a court martial, leaving your leader in danger, but in 9th it was grounds for having your head chopped off for interfering despite what she had said earlier and they both knew it. Strength was everything that mattered in Ninth Division after all and if she died here then she wasn't really entitled to rule it was she? But as someone called out in surprise at her movement she chuckled to herself, even though she could not see them right now they were still grossly outclassed, they simply had yet to realize it.

They had made a miscalculation, they thought she would be confused by having visions, displacement, and hearing things that weren't there. But they couldn't begin to imagine or match the visions that had plagued her since she was a child, she had seen the birth and death of worlds, angels and demons had both spoken to her, she had seen through the veil. She was the direct speaker with the god of war, and one day she would control both heaven and hell! How could a mere man covering their real positions with a half-assed cloaking maneuver hope to even slow her down? He couldn't, but he made the assumption she was still blinded and went for another pass by her, and you know what they say about assumptions, sometimes it just happens to be the last one you'll ever make.

Her blade was like lighting as it penetrated an area of seemingly empty space, but that empty space soon began to bleed. She did not however stop and her blade pushed all the way through until she could feel skin and cloth against her hand and she released Perangtuan. She pushed her hand into the wound, through muscle, fat, blood, and bone until she wrested her hand around a grooved shaft. By this point the vision was dropping from her eyes as Imaru and his ilks true positions were revealed to her most basic of senses. Imaru and his other supporter were looking on in horror at the third man who was convulsing around her arm, his limbs twitching as blood bubbled from his mouth and his eyes searched as if the reality of what had happened was lost on him.

It didn't stop Laetitia from giving him an evil Cheshire grin and adding, “I can feel your spine.”

A sickening snap was heard as she twisted his backbone until it broke and he gave one last scream before the light left his eyes. She grasped her zanpakutou by the hilt as he fell backward off her arm and blade with a mushy 'plop' sound. She casually tossed the hilt to her other hand and then raised her blood soaked arm toward Imarus other helper as black flames began to burn in her palm. The man had raised his blade in preparation to block a kido but he had not been aware of what he was up against, by the time Imaru realized what was happening and called out in warning it was to late.

“Api hitam-” she cat-called her spell into existence with visible excitement.

The small flicker turned into a raging cyclone though it gave off no light and instead seemed to be sucking up any near source of illumination in turn. It rocketed like a flamethrower at the man and hit his blade hard, at first his block seemed to work but then the flames took on an entirely unnatural aspect as they twisted around like living tentacles and attached themselves to his arms. That was all that was necessary as the attack was ended and the flames disappeared from her hand as she turned her final attention to Imaru. Imaru however was still watching his last comrade with a fearful and disgusted look, not yet registering that there was nothing stopping her from striking him that moment, but she didn't instead turning her eyes bemusedly to the sight he was watching.

Those flames had only licked the mans wrist, normal flames wouldn't have done much more than leave a light burn. But once these touched an organic material they burned until there was nothing left to burn or someone with superior reiatsu to Laetitia engulfed the blaze with their own energy, there was no such person here. The flames had quickly worked their way up his arms as he initially tried to brush them off, seeming to realize that wasn't working and with them now working their way up his shoulders he had fallen to the ground and begun rolling.

But nothing he did was putting them out and now the pain was beginning as he pierced the air with a horrifying scream, the flames were after all far hotter than normal. In moments his skin was liquefying and either dripping to the ground where it hardened into tarred black spots or simply burning away into nothingness. The man was in sheer panic now as he sprung to his feet and ran back and forth but his entire body was blackening now as he lifted his arms to his face and tried to brush the flames off his head, but that only caused more pain as what was left of his skin pulled away and the muscle underneath began to char. As he tried to continue brushing he watched in terror as the flames burned through the thinnest parts of his body, the arms, and both appendages snapped off just below the elbow the flames melting even the bone. Quite out of his mind by this point the man in one last desperate attempt flung himself out the balcony and came crashing down below, though the drop surely killed him it was followed by new screams, apparently having landed on several people below that spread the flame.

As soon as he had disappeared Laetitia returned her gaze to Imaru. Ever so slowly the reality of the situation, that he was about to lose, dawned on him as he turned to her with far less conviction than he had begun with, and then took a deep gulp. Laetitia gave him a friendly smile before shooting him a thumbs up in a real, “Good job!” kind of way. And in an instant she was on him her hand encrusted in the blood of his fellows grasping him hard, her icy fingers digging deep into his skull and the nails drawing blood from the punctures they made. Orange energy crackled down her arm and engulfed his cranium, fire of a different kind etching pain into his very mind for several momenhts. Then with the force of a truck she threw her arm down and Imarus legs caved as he slammed headlong into the floor beneath them with an ear shattering boom and a shock wave rippled from the crater he created, kicking up anything that wasn't bolted down and sending it flying.

((OOC: Smokey the Bear reminds you; only you can prevent human flesh fires!))

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

Yoku was having his slaughter, by and large there were few here that could stop him for more than a few seconds at best. Though this was ninth division and it was doubtful a killer such as himself would be bored of death this quickly, it was still exceptionally easy. If this was all there was to it, it had hardly been worth drawing them out, though it had seemed Laetitia had a secondary motive for it all she had not spoken to them about. Three more sheep had lined up for the utter carnage, some had taken to running but a few had still tricked themselves into believing they had a chance given their numbers. They hardly lasted any longer than the rest as Yoku butchered them and continued making his way through the halls, looking for his next kill, he turned down one to find someone waiting for him, it would take him a moment to realize who it was.

“I cannot let you go any further just yet Yokubari,” he said softly.

He was Eketsu, they called him the Tall Man and for obvious reason. He was near nine-foot-tall with unnaturally long limbs and a slender elongated figure, he hardly seemed human, more like some kind of skeleton monster. He wore a wide-brimmed desperado cap on his head that just almost blocked out his sickly pink eyes, but not quite, a mane of spindly-thin black hair escaped it too and fluttered about in the lightest draft. His shinigami coat hung loosely on him as the large claymore style zanpakutou he wielded in one hand reached all the way to the floor.

There was a time when Eketsu had been one of the master torturers of the division, then he had spoken against Laetitia, never a good idea. Even with Hitotsu in control at the time Laetitia was still allowed more or less free reign and Eketsu had last been seen speared on her blade and tossed off a cliff deep in the divisions bowels, that was well over a year ago. If he had survived that long and been beneath all the while that meant he could only be here for revenge, was it possible he was truly the one in control and not Imaru? It seemed far-fetched but then what other reason could he have for reappearing now when he had obviously managed to remain unnoticed until this pointing, meaning he could safely have disappeared without concern of being hunted.

He added in a seemingly unperturbed tone, “Unlike Imura I know we cannot defeat her directly. But cutting off a dragons head is not the only way to bring it down. But we need a little bit more time, so you'll have to settle with playing with me for a while. How does that sound Yokubari?”

Without waiting for response he brought his blade up in a wide arc and a burst of energy came hurtling down the narrow hallway at its intended target.

[Tagz]

Eradication was the name of the game. Utilizing his Shikai for mere kicks, Yokubari was outright exterminating the infidels in a fiery blaze. The victims outside had succumb to a strict decapitation rule; this rule was now bent to allow a little more variety in his slayings. Men and even a few women were now being impaled by his staff. Clearly, a certain degree of strength had to be behind his jabs for one to find their skull penetrated and impaled by a blunt object. Of course, the incinerating flames that blanketed the staff would have added to its penetration capabilities. Zipping down the aisle, he slashed and he stabbed, he pierced and he purged, he artistically executed the men before him. As a single male charged him, he slipped in low. His staff stretched behind his back from arm to arm as he dipped and then swept with his weapon. Certainly knocking the poor man off his feet, and burning him as well. Gracefully, he flipped his staff into the air and gripped the dome of another male trying to run up from behind him. With this man’s skull clenched within Yoku’s palm, Yoku’s soothing voice seemed misplaced in the hallway littered with corpses.

“Sprinkled on the bones of the beast… sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring. Move and become the wind. Stop and become calm. The sound of warring spears fills the empty castle! Hado #63: Thunder Roar Cannon!”

His palm crackled with electricity and subsequently, a massive wave of yellow energy tore through the hallway and back out to the viewing box, taking the poor fool with it. As well, the entire backside of the hallway had been… ‘renovated’. The floor, the ceiling, and the walls had all been expanded as large chunks of them went sailing away (along with the many corpses that lay behind him). Within this time, his staff had reached eye level. Gripping it tightly, he forcefully jabbed the laid out male and broke right through his face. There were only three men left by the time he’d flipped himself and stood on his Zanpakuto, flames flickering everywhere, brightly and beautifully. It seemed that they’d tricked themselves into believing they still had a chance. Three-to-one, right? The odds were in their favour, right? But… had the odds not been significantly greater just a few seconds ago? Tch. He’ll learn ‘em.

Without a word he jumped off his staff, flicking it with the soles of his sandals and sending it flipping through the air as he caught it in front of him. Agility had always been his natural forte as he was slightly lacking in the brute strength department. With the addition of Shunpo, his impeccable speed allowed him to place himself directly in front of the center figure and between the two others. His Zanpakuto held vertically in his palm, he used his velocity to deal an agonizing and suffocating blow to the middle man’s neck. During this, he exploited his Zanpakuto’s growth ability, extending it out. Just as he punched the one man in his Adams apple, the two others had been clotheslined and sent soaring along with them. Though they were clotheslined by a burning staff this was hardly enough to kill them. Aiming his left palm towards them; Hado #54: Abolishing Flames was the technique used. This move sent a torrent of incinerating flames and quickly cleansed the Division of their presence.

The entire hallway had been set ablaze long before he began using Kidou. Contently, Yoku sauntered down the hall, crimson eyes scanning for any survivors, or better yet, new targets. He continued his leisurely walk until he turned down a blessed corridor. I say blessed for what awaited him was truly heavenly. Despite the man’s ghoulish appearance, he must’ve been a divine being sent from… wait… were they not the Gods of the earth, the Gods of Death at that? So… was there really a divine being who oversaw even them? Bah! These were mindless irrelevancies. It was truly blessed for what awaited him was a wondrous gift, no matter the sender. What awaited him was Eketsu, the Tall Man. He had made a name for himself and was once renowned within the Ninth Division as the top torturer (a master of sorts). He was last seen careening into one of the many abysses in Ninth after being struck by the current Captain, then VC. This was about a year ago, while Hitotsu was still the man of the house. Naturally a few questions about his survival entered the young man’s mind. But at this current time, they two were meagre irrelevancies. He was here and he was an obstacle. It was time to start breaking it down.

“I cannot let you go any further just yet, Yokubari. Unlike Imura I know we cannot defeat her directly. But cutting off a dragon’s head is not the only way to bring it down. But we need a little bit more time, so you'll have to settle with playing with me for a while. How does that sound Yokubari?”

Before the Third Seat could reply, he’d been attacked. Your standard arc of pure energy came streaking towards him. His reply, you ask? Simple enough, he shot one end of his stick towards the arc. The contact would cause it to detonate and, of course, damage his staff. Thankfully, Zanpakuto weren’t so easy to break. Yoku continued to extend his weapon, aiming it to collide with the man’s chest. Clearly this was a “testing” tactic as he didn’t really expect a man of Eketsu’s strength to succumb to such a half-assed move. The previous Eketsu certainly would have, but it has been over a year since he’d been thrown into the ravine. Naturally for him to have survived this long, he must’ve gotten stronger, right? Right? Well… how strong?

This question was quickly answered. Yoku’s Zanpakuto could reach great lengths and then still proceed to retract itself back in an infinitesimal timeframe. Then there was that brief moment it would take for someone to realize that the staff was still going to stretch onwards even after its impact with the energy assault, and by this time, it would have already closed half the gap. For Eketsu to have sidestepped such an attack was a great feat. Even more so was the fact that he had instantaneously placed himself before his target. Forearm colliding with jaw line, the libertine had been dealt a tremendous blow. With great power, Yoku was sent soaring down the hall until he made a loud and incredibly painful crash into the middle of the wall. A great dent was placed into the wall as Yoku dropped to his feet. Blood streaked alongside his left cheek and nose. A feral look once more commandeered his blazing, incarnadine eyes. With vigour, he closed the gap just as swiftly (if not swifter).

Just before he did, an arm was raised. It was similar to how he had done so moments ago before he had burned those three Shinigami to a crisp. Naturally, one would expect an attack. He readied himself, staff held defensively before him. Displaying his great speed, he shot through the entirety of the long hallway. However, just as he neared his target an explosion had gone off behind him. Little did he know that that explosion was meant to amalgamate with his bowels. An underestimate of his speed had been all that lead to a barely escaped death. Nonetheless, the explosion destroyed all control he had over his motor skills, and along with some burns to his back, sent him flying forward, uncontrollably. The Tall Man, pivoting on his left foot, made a 360º roundhouse spin before planting his right foot into Yoku’s chest and shelling him back in the direction he came.

Yet again Yoku landed with a loud and painful thud. Blasting into the center of the wall (lengthwise), he created a deeper gorge than before. And then once more, Yoku fell to his feet. Though this time due to notably more pain he found himself on one knee, with a hand placed firmly on the ground for added support. A hushed chortle vibrated in his throat. Things were getting interesting. Eketsu’s arm was again raised. The philanderer had little time to act. In a fluid motion, he employed Shunpo into a zigzag formation, quickly and predictably closing off the gap between them. Luckily, his speed made up for his movement’s predictability.

As he neared his target for a third time, he brought his staff crashing down on his opponent’s head. Being a little ways off, naturally he extended its reach as usual. This time, however, when the sidestepping and Shunpo-ing occurred, Yoku spun into place, retracting his staff. He dipped under the attack and continued his spin as he swiped at the Tall Man’s midsection. Successful, he forcibly sent the lanky male hurtling back down to the ground. Landing softly himself, this time it was his arm that was outspread. Both his index and his middle fingers were further extended and a shining blue light of hissing electricity was formed. Quickly, this attack was shot off, aiming for the man who was hopefully laid out, at least for a moment.

[kensei]

The sand crunched underneath a body behind him. His killer instincts reacted instantly as he sidestepped and went for a wide swing. The cold steal of the blade kissed his cheek as started to move. But before he could turn around the man was already gone, and there wasn’t a hint of riatsu to be found from him.. Damn..

Zamaru let out a deep growl as he searched the arena. The whole place was a war zone, that bitch had been the cause of it, that much he believed. But he had to hand it to her, she had done a pretty good job of manipulating the whole even to her liking.. When Zamaru got done here however, she was going to be a lot less thrilled about the whole thing. He was gonna make her..

The ground started to crack under Zamaru, as fear filled his eyes. He had gotten to engrossed in other thoughts and that might soon be the end of him.. He jumped back as he pointed his Zanpakuto’s at the ground. The ground ruptured as blade started to fly out all towards him. He started to fire off his own projectiles of icicles against the blades as he made his way out of the attack. However as he touched back down on the ground, he noticed that the blades had stopped and where now coming straight for him.. Lovely..

With a series of jump backs, left, right, block this, shoot that, get skimmed by this, he was lead perfectly into position for his attacker to pounce.. To bad he flared his riatsu a bit in preparation for the attack. Zamaru lifted his pickaxe and thrust it behind him as he turned around. The pickaxe caught the top of the finger blade, throwing them off course as the bounced off of Frostpik. But now Zamaru was facing his of guard opponent, hehehehe..

Zamaru swung down with his right pickaxe as he fixed his grip on his left one before swinging that horizontally at the pusedo-shingami. He would give chase if he tried to get away again, he would fire icicles, attempt to freeze him, he would hunt him down the gates of hell before kicking him threw them if he had to! He would not let him escape! This coward had been toying with Zamaru long enough!!