Armata de Strigoi

[Serraph Quarrere]

White. 

Pale.

Blinding.

 The color, or lack of it depending on one's perspective, was beginning to bore the Arrancar. His baser instincts craved for the darkness of night and the comforting glow of an ominous moon. A shiver would race down the paper spine of the boy, the steel grey of his eyes trailing over the emanating light of the portal. This was what was rumored to be similar to Hueco Mundo, or at least as close as this place could muster without intervention and within this great desert a land that rivaled that of Los Noches by its description, Nippur. Serraph recognized the name from historical texts. He had once derived that this was an ancient city nestled within the theorized birthplace of human civilization. This city was under the flag of New Babylon, no less!  For a librarian looking to create a vast ocean of knowledge, this would be a suiting place to call home for the time being.

His finger tips would touch the glowing soup of ominilinium, his outstretched arm trembling from anticipation. Aye, he had used Coruscant's twice, but what if it were different? What if he were to step out onto the other side as a completely different man? What if the Endless Dunes weren't as what was told? What if? What if?

 "What if? What If? What... if...", his lips mouthed, his voice crackling as thoughts became spoken words. He'd press against the gateway, the heavenly glow of the gate offering no resistance to him. He'd take a step, then another, and then another. His eyes would be blinded, but not by the soft luminescence of the portal, but by the hostile, yellow light of the sun leveled directly into his eyes. The Arrancar would recoil back,  nearly stumbling back through the gateway. He was not prepared in the slightest. 

 The sun bore down upon him relentlessly, his paper skin drying quite quickly. It was a strange experience being able to feel the outer layer of one's flesh slowly shrivel as the few molecules of water it contained were quickly ripped away. His teeth would clench together, the rays of heat weaving its way through him.  It was too uncomfortable for the boy to bear and so he held out his hand, the glowing light of coalescing omnilinium forming and shaping itself. Serraph's hand would tighten like a vice around the object, a rather broad umbrella formed within his grip. He'd twirl the new object and allowed it to expand before aiming at the vengeful star in the sky, hiding in the shadow the umbrella gave. The relief was minor, providing no solace to the intense heat from the radiating sands, but it was a start. It was fairly difficult to explore his own thoughts with a supernova blasting in his face. 

 He'd begin walking, his shoes sifting through the worn trail through the savanna he'd happened upon. So far this was nothing like Hueco Mundo. His home was cold and trapped in eternal night. Dunes stretched in all directions as far as the eye can see. It was so, what was the word, consistent. Of course dark petrified trees dotted the landscape but that was home. There were no shinigami to attempt to slay you. Only the conflicts with his kin remained there to keep himself occupied.

[Serraph Quarrere]

Carrefore, as it was called, was bristling with life and commune. Very few even so much as glanced at  the boy's form as he shuffled through the crowd, dodging human and horse drawn carriages alike. His eyes flashed back and forth, looking for anything that would point the way, but none came until he meandered in front of the police station. Serraph would find the structure lacking, the rough, barely treated walls contrasting heavily by steel supports from what seemed to be Coruscant. They for sure would know where he needed to go, but something told him the enforcers of a iron-fisted government wouldn't be the best place to check. 

 "The Empire is not so different from the Gotei 13.", he'd mumble to himself, the corners of his mouth flexing into an unsightly grimace.  His eyes trailed along the cracked planks that made up the building before coming across a large billeting board that neighbored the rickety staircase leading into the police station. Upon its rough surface, bounties and various advertisements were posted as well as what seemed to be current events.  His hand tore off one hanging low, its page worn from abuse. His eyes scanned over it.

 It wasn't much he didn't know already, but it did raise an urgent thought among his mind. He knew this world wouldn't effect the world back home, but who's to say what would have been different if Nippur had remained among the Babylons? If this Gilgemesh was who what people said of him, then things could end up very different. 

 His uncomfortable facial contortion would straighten itself before curving into an even more grotesque smile, his teeth pressing tightly against each other. He'd glance up at the map of the Dunes, his eyes trailing the various paths he'd need to take between Carrefore and Nippur.

 "Mmn~ I'd better get a move o--", he'd mumble to himself before being cutoff by a nearby cry, which was quickly silenced. His hand  fell to the  hilt of his blade, pulling it but a few inches from its scabbard. His eyes flicked to where he heard the cry.

 "An alleyway? Ominous", his voice whispered as he approached what appeared to be an empty gap between the various buildings. The walls were splashed in an opaque, crimson mess. Whatever happened here was brief at best. Serraph was not too far off.   His white gloved hand would press against the blood stain, the wet substance bleeding into the soft fabric of his glove. It was fresh. Such a thing would have been thought of as a given, but there was always a chance of this stain preexisting.  Unlike lightning, many predators tended to strike the same place twice.

 "This was not the case, however..." he'd mumble bringing a blood stained digit to his tongue. It was still warm to the touch. The taste itself was human in nature, like the taste of wet metal. Who ever was taken just now had put up resistance and incapacitated, but where could the body have gone in this short span of time. His eyes glanced down at his feet, his leather shoes treading upon broken ground. Slowly he'd draw his blade, his ears hard at work to detect anyone else that would have responded to such a commotion. He would have to be quick. Questions had to be answered.

 He'd lightly stab at the ground beside the busted surface finding a firm resistance. Normally the ground would be tightly at least around the town. There was a coat of sand covering it but for the most part the ground wasn't loose. He'd fidget the tip of his pale blade from the ground before hovering it over the disturbance, letting it sink down into its depths. There was a noticeable lack of resistance here as the white blade slipped down and down into the ground seemingly with no end. He'd pull the sword from the ground, his eyes trailing the broken ground as it led out into the sandy  wastes and beyond. 

 "Interesting~", the Arrancar would coo softly to himself as the dust covered blade fell back into place within its home.   He'd begin following the artificial trail, tilting the umbrella down to cut off the dreadful light of the sun.  His other hand fell to the hilt of his blade, just in case whatever was boring through the dunes decided to retrace its steps.

[Serraph Quarrere]

Who knew how much time had slipped by as he followed the ground's disturbance. The sun had nearly fallen, its light just barely peeking over the horizon. The temperature dropped, the searing heat of the sun ebbing away to a cool dark embrace. The stars shone above him and the full moon's light soothed his fragile flesh. This was his first night in this new world and already he could feel his urges bubbling like a vat of boiling ink within his core. What was in the ground? Where was it going? If he were to catch it, what would it do? What would Serraph do? 

 His left, bloodstained hand grasped at the pommel of his Zanpakuto, rotating the blade within its harness. No longer were his eyes of grey the same, but something a lighter hue. A dim silver light would emanate from his  eyes, his grin stretching wide over his face.  At this point the trail was becoming hard to discern from the rest of the dunes, but the trail of wet ground soon replaced it. There was no doubt in the Arrancar's mind that this soaked sand would lead him to the victim that created it.  

 His hand would fall from pommel of his blade to grasp at the scabbard, keeping it from  bumping against his thigh. Surely they were close. Carrefore wasn't even visible on the horizon at this point in time, surely whoever had taken this person would stop for a breather or two or perhaps admire its prize.  

 The Arrancar boy's frame would crouch down, his hands digging into the lukewarm sand as the dune ahead of him began to rise. He'd climb slowly and carefully, the fine sand bending around his digits. He'd peek just barely over the dune's summit, the silver light of his eyes glancing on the small valley below.

 What lay below was familiar monstrosity. The long, slender, snakelike being donned a horrific, jagged white mask with slender eye slits and piercing golden light shining beneath them. His rows of long, serrated teeth stabbed out of the hardened mask material with dark blood dripping from their blades, and ripped pieces of flesh and bone hanging from its edges.  His arms were rather large and muscular, with the lifeless body of a woman crushed against his chest. The most discernible feature of this creature was the six inch wide hole in his chest. It was a Hollow not unlike Serraph.

 The woman may have been once beautiful, but that and more had been taken from her. Her torso bent back unsightly over the brute's arm, her mangled arms dangling in the slight breeze. Serraph's eyes trailed over to her face, or rather to the lack of her face. Her skull and cheekbones were gashed and cracked and the jaw was simply nowhere to be found. Her once blonde hair had been stained by  her own blood as it slowly streamed from her empty eye sockets.
 
 He'd dip back down from the edge of the Dune, his gloved hand clenching at his chest. His heart raced, pumping his inky life-force faster through his thin veins. In the moonlight he could see the black trails form upon his skin. He found the victim and the creature who had taken her. The revelation that this beast held something similar to him developed even more questions. The boy shifted, his body relaxing against the soft sand around him. His hand would reach for the hilt of his blade.

 "T-this is just too much.", The Arrancar would sigh, his loose grip slowly pulling his rapier from its resting place, the moonlight illuminating its matte white blade.  He'd climb upon the dune above the creature, his arm bringing his weapon to bear, pointing its tip at the the beast below. The former Espada  would move to loosen the tie around his neck, pulling it free from his shirt and tossing it over the snake-like Hollow, demanding its attention. Its head would turn, its eyes glazed in a blood drunk stupor.

 "Hallelujah! Those like us relish the night. I am sure you'll understand."

[Serraph Quarrere]

Who was this fool that dared interrupt the sanctity of his marriage summery. After all the trouble the hollow had taken to find a suitable wife to his tastes, this little toothpick wielding whelp dared stand before him to derail His plans. This woman was his and his alone. The Hollow's lower, snakelike half would coil  at the ground, the end portion raised and arched to point its broad, spear-head like tip at the boy.

 "You missed the appropriate time to announce your objections, boy. As you can see, I have already kissed my bride", He'd snarl, gnashing his jagged, knife-like teeth together. Diluted blood spattered from the contact of the teeth's blades as the beast huffed out a powerful exhale. The red mist that ebbed forth over the boy. The boy merely looked own upon him, his  eyes' silver light resting with uneasiness within the beast. The Hollow's sickly yellow eyes focused on him, observing his posture and his composition. He was no human. A human child would not point a blade such as his in such a manner. His fangs ground together, sparks spraying from the intense contact. 

 "Don't just stand there and look down upon me kid! I'll... I'll", he'd rant, his eyes falling upon the body hanging loosely from his arm. A proper wedding needed a celebration. Yes. This boy perhaps did have purpose for showing his face uninvited. "Actually... I am glad you've come! It's time for reception and you're..."

 The beast would launch his tail in the boy's location, but he was no longer there. He had already side stepped out of the way and began sliding down  the dune. The beast silently curse, withdrawing his tail but the boy's pale blade was already in motion. The Hollow would flinch, awaiting what was surely  a decapitation but... it never came. Only a small nick along the length of his tail. It was annoying but nothing serious. The Hollow hissed at the boy, his arm winding back to  send a powerful blow down upon him, but he wasn't about to stay there and take it, he leaped forward into a quick roll using that momentum to slash at the Hollow's mid-section before ducking beneath he Hollow's flailing arm, rolling off behind him to stab at his exposed abdomen, the tip just barely sinking into the beast's skin. The beast recoiled and slithered away, putting a small amount of distance between the smaller combatant.

 This was all a game to the Arrancar who moved to make sure he could make the beast suffer for as long as possible. Surely he could make deeper cuts and penetrations if he exerted himself, but this foe had tough skin on his upper half and armor like scales along its tail. This fight was destined to be drawn out, but perhaps he could end it sooner than he initially anticipated.

[Serraph Quarrere]

Who knows how long Serraph toyed with the foul beast. The boy poked and prodded, slashed and swiped at the Hollow. Death by a thousand paper cuts was something he'd always thought about in the darkest of nights, but never been able to achieve. His power back home didn't allow him the courtesy of granting a slow death. Those with minuscule power would be crushed by his spiritual presence. Those with equal strength will weaken to the point where his paper blade would cut them in two. Those stronger than him would crush him and throw his dust to the wind.

 What he had done to this Hollow was cruel, but Serraph relished every bit about it. The beast cried out in overwhelming agony, his once grey scales coated red by his thick, crimson, sap-like blood. It coated over his wounds and scales, quickly hardening to seal those wounds. Serraph frowned, his playful tactics seemingly failing. He knew each Hollow had a specific ability that stood them out from the others. Some would breath fire while others could blend into their environment. This one in particular seemed to be its thick, quick drying blood that stopped its wounds from  bleeding. An interesting ability. It was perfect for a brute such as this one.

 With his current tactic completely foiled, the boy would have to move onto a more... unconventional means of attack. He'd  leap back as the beast swiped low, narrowly dodging the hostile claws. His stance shifted, facing his chest towards the furious beast. Surely enough with the distance created and the beast unwilling to get in range of Serraph's rapier, he resorted to his tail. The spear tip was flung at him at surprising speeds and it took considerable effort to raise his blade in time to parry and deflect the blows. He . Sparks flew and singed his paper skin and clothing, leaving dots of black flaking flesh spotting over his body. The space before him was but a blurry white as his wrist flicked his blade to and fro to deflect the barrage of stabs and thrusts.  To escape he merely needed to step away from the incoming fire but this really wasn't the point. His abilities weren't handy to copy at in this situation and his own weren't enough to put it down within an acceptable enough time.

 He was waiting for the right moment. The beast needed to stab in the right spot. A few moments would pass and he'd finally see it. "Bingo", he thought to himself as he flourished his bladed, redirecting the tail strike just barely, the spearhead of the beast's tail piercing into the boy's chest.  He'd gasp, his free hand grasping a hold of the tail. Labored cries of pain  escaped the boy's lips as the beast lifted him and dragged him closer. He'd cough up a pocket of dark ink, the thick substance spattering over his mouth and shirt.

 The rotten smell of death plagued the Hollow's mouth. Frankly, it was quite disgusting. Serraph gagged and seemingly attempted to inch away but it was no use. The pale yellow eyes gazed over the impaled boy, a malicious light gleaming from its eyes. "I see you like to play rough boy. I didn't realize all you wanted was a kiss, perhaps even more. How about it child? Want to play with Papi? My new wife doesn't have to know~", the beast cooed, his grotesque head leaning in to scrap his knife like teeth across Serraph's cheeks.

 "N-no, but.... I do have a question...", he'd groan, his sword hand slightly raising the point of his blade just out of sight of the beast.

 "Go ahead, little whelp. Look at you all lookin' like a snack."

 "I think you may need a pair of glasses." he'd say, his contorted face relaxing to a manic smile. Quickly he'd lift the point of his blade, aligning it perfectly with mask's eye socket. The beast couldn't even react to the blade as it pierced deep through its eye and into its thick skull. His feet would raise up kicking the beast free, his tail blade slipping free from Serraph's chest without a single drop of ink upon it. The boy would walk over the Hollow's twitching body and pulled his blade from the depths of the monster's eye socket. "Because you did not see that coming."

 The boy would chuckle before stepping off, his hands pulling his tattered shirt apart, ripping it from his body revealing a clean, sizable hole centered upon his chest.  The blade had not impaled the Arrancar but rather passed through Serraph's Hollow hole harmlessly.  His body seemed thin and almost malnourished yet lean and lightly muscular. Upon the left pectoral muscle was a black, jagged tattoo of an "8" that cemented his position among the Espada, whether that be here or back home. He'd glance out towards the horizon, the city of Nippur  well within view. Flames of battle and booming gunshots could be heard around the city's area. 

 "Mmmn... I bit my tongue a bit to hard, it seems.", he'd mutter, his wrist rubbing away the thick ink that dripped from his pale lips. He'd sheath his blade and left the dead, faceless woman and newly created cyclops to continue onward toward Nippur, keeping a careful eye out for more of those monsters. The poor sod didn't appear to be a prime, meaning someone had brought him here. Serraph kept finding his answers but with more doors to explore on the other side. He couldn't have it any other way.

[Serraph Quarrere]

The gunfire would continue on and on into the night. His silver, dim glowing eyes  gazed out towards Nippur, trailing about its ruined architecture that at one time must have been something spectacular to behold. Mighty walls were crumbled and smashed into sections. Hell, it resembled a collection of shoddy watch towers and piles of rubble than a proper wall at this point. This city had been coveted so much that people were willing to destroy it in attempts to control it. It was a pity, really. These mindless brutes couldn't have begun to comprehend the impact of their raiding and pillaging. Granted such evils in this world did give opportunity for others to defend themselves and speed up research and discovery, but the Omniverse worked a bit differently. Leave a group of secondaries alone to their own devices and something similar to that of the world he originated may occur, but everything would change should a prime show his face.Through the ability to summon alone could they improve or destabilize everything the secondary's civilization had strove to achieve. Surely Primes were gods among men. 

 The city and the chaos ensuing within was clear to see but something else was occurring much closer to Serraph's position. A faint pillar of smoke rose from behind the cover of a nearby rocky alcove. Had it not been a full moon that night, Serraph would have perhaps not even noticed. The position seemed to be well concealed despite its relative proximity to Nippur which brought into question what exactly it is. Serraph's path would change as the new question formulated into his mind. This could be a forward operating base for the barbarians daring to sack such a glorious city. It could be a refugee camp or an observation post. It could be anything really, yet Serraph felt that it would behoove him to find out for himself. Serraph had planned on visiting this place which had become a focal point for hostile forces. Should any potential enemy reside in this secluded area, it would be best to snuff it out now if not learn more about this potential threat.

 The Arrancar would scale dune after dune,  his once pure white pants stained a light khaki from the fine sand's influence. Even his own skin had taken in the finely ground earth, his chest becoming a dirty mixture of light brown and ink back. He felt a bit weighed down, perhaps even touching into the realm of exhaustion.  his hands would clutch at the precipice of a mountainous dune, his fingers catching rough stone. His head rose, looking up at the pillar of smoke rising from the alcove.

 He'd pull himself up upon the ledge , his face coming close to another shrouded behind a bone-clad mask. Serraph dared not move but simply let out a soft exhale. This sentry had yet to strike at him. It was examining him rather closely. Its crimson eyes flicked over him then centered on the perfectly round hole in Serraph's chest. Its breath exhaled a cloud of hot steam before raising his head, his eyes standing a diligent vigil.

"Welcome back, Brother. I pray your hunt went well." , it said, the small imp like creature stepping to the side, bowing its head slightly as Serraph climbed upon the jagged boulder. Not only did it recognize Serraph as one of them, but it saw the number upon his shoulder. Its true that normal hollows at the very least treated the Espada with a high form of respect, but it would seem some of that would be transferred here in a world where those rules did not apply. He will not be a threat to him at the time being.

 "Very well, little one. I've found an answer to a question I needed fulfilled."

[Serraph Quarrere]

The camp was less than what its name would suggest and more of a feeding pit. Iron cages circled a pit of fire in a semi-circle, each packed full of a mix of citizenry no doubt plucked from their homes. Women and children huddled together, attempting to separate themselves from the crazed men who clung to the thick, scorched bars, hurling curses and defiant spats at the group of Hollows that huddled together at the other side of the camp, their monstrous bodies bent over heaps of rotting corpses. The stench must have been horrible for the captives. 

 Serraph would keep as quiet as he could but he had a good idea of the reaction his presence would cause. As he stepped from rock onto the camp ground, very few of the Hollows actually looked over at him. Again like the sentry, they noticed the hole centered on the boy's chest and the thorny symbol of the Octava that was tattooed upon it.  None dared to make a sound. Even the prisoners halted their ravenous ravings. All watched as the boy approached the one being who did not halt, a man dressed in white robes common among the Arrancar community. 

 The man attacked at the pile of corpses, his teeth gnashing at flesh and bone, devouring everything he had set before him. He was lost from the world the only thing in his focus this heap of a meal. He didn't notice the intruder that had stepped into his camp. He didn't notice the night's warning of eerie silence. He didn't notice the low grinding of Serraph pulling his zanpakuto from its sheath, nor did he succeed to notice the boy aim its tip at his  exposed lower back.

 Serraph would put a gloved hand upon the pommel of his blade and leaned in, his body weight shoving the blade through his back, avoiding his spine and most other organs. The man's posture froze confusingly, his mouth dropping whatever grotesque appendage he had been chewing on before. Serraph would wait for him to look down at the crimson drenched blade before slipping it from his body, flourishing the blade to flick the extra blood from its surface. The man stood and trembled before turning, his pale white katana drawn and poised to strike, but Serraph merely smirked and stepped back just out of range.
 
 "In the name of our absent Queen, Tier Harribel, I challenge your rightful claim," he'd laugh, an outstretched digit pointed at the man's chest where a familiar number was emblazoned upon. "to that number. It would seem you've outstretched its welcoming embrace, Brother."

 The blood drenched man gave pause,  his bony face grimacing from Serraph's mention of his queen. So he did remember. Interesting. 

 "Why do you have my number, boy. Who are you?", the man said, the point of his blade aimed at the boy's face. The boy nearly recoiled in laughter, but contented himself with a soft giggle.  The smaller Arrancar's silver eyes glanced to the horrendously tall piles of corpses and the full cages possible innocents and then to the city silhouetted behind the wounded swordsman.

 "This isn't how this operates. A question for a question, I say! These men, women and children were taken from Nippur. Am I correct?"

 The man quickly broke the distance, the arc of his blade slamming down upon Serraph only to be caught by Serraph's hand-guard and deflected away without much effort. The curved sword would kiss the dust and reverse directions, slashing upward at Serraph's exposed chest.  Again he'd step away and further away still, his silver eyes burning through his adversary. His former was still as skilled as he remembered, but his body couldn't keep up with his ability. He bled heavily from his wound, the bright crimson liquid seemingly thinner than normal and he seemed out of breath. He clearly wasn't right. He'd wear a mask of desperation. 

 "You are... what of it? WHO ARE YOU?!", he'd scream, his whole body contorting  in frustration. The prisoners and Hollows flinched but so far the man's combat ability left Serraph to wonder why the rest of them appeared to be afraid of the man.  He was some ten feet from Serraph and then, in a blur of movement, he was within Serraph's guard.  Serraph was pleasantly surprised, even as the tip of the blade cut across the boy's chest. He'd respond in kind and hastily brought his rapier to bare to catch the man's katana at the end of its momentum, locking his blade with Serraph's.

 A moment of reprieve was allowed then. The man couldn't move the sword from its outstretched position and Serraph wouldn't dare move it without immediate retaliation from his opponent. They were stuck for now, and that was fine. "My name is Serraph Quarrere, Octava Espada, and you are Serraph, the one in which I had inherited your name and position from.", Serraph would answer before reaching out grasping at the taller Arrancar's wrist before it could be brought to strike upon him. Serraph would shift his blade further down the spine of the Katana and pinned it down into the sand.

 Now they could talk for a bit without this man's manic attempts to harm Serraph further.

  Thick ink slowly oozed from his newly acquired wound but he found he couldn't feel the pain. No, that wasn't it. The throbbing sensation and soreness generated by his body's attempts to seal the wound was evident enough that pain was occurring. He had merely forgotten it. The man's sword's name was Olvido, and its realm of power revolved around the banishing of memory. Serraph frowned in disgust and spat at the former Serraph's feet. He'd step close, the entirety of his strength ushered forward to pin this man in place.

 "You won't remember this, so I will suffer no harm for telling you my reason for being here outside of my rule regarding information.", He's tighten his grip, his foot stepping forward to grind itself into the taller man's leading foot, further pinning him in place. "That city is of historical significance. I came to see it, to witness it. What coincidence it must be to find my former mentor here, desecrating its citizens."

 Serraph would laugh and spit lukewarm ink upon the man's stab wound. He'd struggle against the hold but his strength was already diminished. "Given the followers you've amassed, it would appear that you were once a prime."

 "You ungratef-", the former Octava would start, only to be silence t o a shuddering groan by a twist of his wrist. Oh how painful it must be to be stuck in such a humiliating way without the strength to retreat.

 "Hush up now and listen. Your right to speak is now mine.", the boy would say with a horrific giggle as he twisted the man's wrist further. "I don't know how you've lost your Primehood, but what intrigues me now. At. This. Given. Moment. Is your choice  to feast primarily on this city. You've always been the vengeful one. Its the one thing I took from you that I've always hated." Serraph burst in a spree of lunatic laughter. The man shook, trying to dislodge Serraph's lock on his blade but it was still a less than fruitful effort. 

 His smile would quickly fall, his laughter morphing into a sickening growl. The pain was returning and his hold on the former mentor wavered but a moment. He couldn't allow himself to open himself up again. He would surely eat his own words then. "When I arrived here, my inability to contact my Queen voided my contract to her, yet my number still remains. I am an Espada. A sword without a wielder is a sword left to rust and wither away. I've looked through my options for a proper master meaning you must have to. So who was it? Who did you pledge your sword to here in the Dunes?!", He'd scream before flourishing his blade around the small hand guard of the man's katana, creating a deep gash. His unoccupied leg would surge forward, plowing his knee into the man's stab wound. He'd cry out in pain, but none here would feel sympathy for him. Not even his own followers would dare interfere with Espada affairs, so they watched on patiently and waiting for the results of this skirmish.

 The man stumbled back after Serraph released his foot, leaving his sword buried in the sands of the Dunes. He was disarmed of his Zanpakuto, a less than fortunate fate for an Arrancar. "IT WAS GILGAMESH!", Serraph cried, stepping forward towards the pitiful man. "He did something and you considered it a betrayal... so you revoked your vows and sought to betray him... by eating. His. Subjects. You forget that you cannot cancel your own contract to your Master... yet you commit one of the most grievous sins in retaliation to whatever crime you thought he committed."

 He took another step forward and the former Serraph took another step back. "This seems very routine for you. You betray me. I erase you and take everything from you. You crawl back from oblivion and betray Gilgamesh. He needs not see the sorry, pitiful excuse of a man you've become. ", he'd snarl at the man who'd stumble to the ground, crawling away from the point of the blade poised to run him through. The corners of Serraph's mouth quivered, a single eye slammed shut. The boy was in more agony than he'd like to admit. His pants had begun to be stained black from his inky essence. This needed to end. This needed to end immediately.

 "I'll take that number again. I'll take whatever place you might have had with Gilgamesh and I will make it my own. I'll free your prisoners and I'll take your followers.", he'd thrust  his blade through his former mentor's gaping mouth even as he tried to speak, tried to beg for his life. Serraph would have none of it. His existence was insulting enough, but to have the number tarnished by the man's constant breach of his sacred oath was beyond any reasonable redemption. 

 The man gnashed his teeth against the paper blade in a last futile effort of defiance, before the pool of accumulated blood rushed into his lungs.  The mans limps contorted and flailed, trying to grasp at anything to stop Serraph, but nothing was there.  His movements slowed to a snail's crawl and then nothing. The dead Arrancar lay still, his bloodshot eyes rolled back into the depths of his skull. 

 , he'd laugh before falling backwards himself. His number was now his. He was still the uncontested Eighth Espada.  His head turned towards the others who still stared at the boy in silence. The hollows themselves must have been shocked to have their Master slain before their eyes, but at least they understood the significance of such a thing. To be challenged for one's position in Los Noches. It tested one's strength, knowledge, and ties to the other Espada. Here Serraph lacked the strength and ties he needed to properly defend his position, but what did that position really mean here? It meant nothing if he didn't find this Gilgamesh, but word had been spread that he'd been banished. Banished to where? When will he return?

 "We are gathered here tonight, to rejoice in the passing of an Arrancar who has nothing, who died as he had lived, forgotten!"

[Serraph Quarrere]

Serraph's gloved hand would press softly at his wound. The ink's flow wouldn't cease. It had cut deep.  He'd turn his head towards the now dead, nameless one, his eyes of silver narrowing over his clothes. It didn't occur to him he could simply summon his bandages, but his mind was racing. The engines driving his mind and memory were beginning to slow with the constant supply of the viscous liquid to supply it.  Quickly he'd leap upon the corpse, his blade stripping the dead man's clothes into strips. His hands shook as he attempted to tie them, but he found great difficulty in doing so.

 He was going to die. He was going to bleed out.

 The prisoners shouted frantically, rattling their cages and many of the Hollows wailed into the night, as if his life was already forfeit. The pain had spread throughout his body. The sword had cut deeper than he initially anticipated. He had no proper bone structure to even slow the advance of the blade, unfortunately. Frantically he fumbled with the makeshift bandages, but tying them around himself was all but impossible for him in this state. His lips trembled and his eyes welled up with black tears of frustration. He was beginning to forget. How could Serraph forget? He was a living chronology of everything his eyes have bear witness, and yet he couldn't even bandage himself. Then he felt the sinister, humid breath against his neck.

 The light of the Hollows eyes shone brightly behind him. The impish Hollow from before had taken the improvised bandage and began wrapping them tightly around his wound. The ink had began to bleed through the tightly packed mass of rags even as the Hollow applied them. 

 "W-what?", Serraph would murmur, his body shuddering as his mind finally caught up to what was going on. He was about to fall unconscious, he'd realize. His eyes would flick upwards to the dead man's face, his eyes trailing about its shocked demeanor. Disgusting.  He gritted his teeth and straddled the corpse's hips, his thighs clamping tightly around its cold hips.  He'd lean in close, his bloodstained hand gripping the man's hair forcefully, tilting its head back. His sword arm would slide the flat of the blade over the man's body, finding no strength to even lift its light weight. 

 Another Hollow would come to the Arrancar's aid, this one being quite slender for a hollow, with six flexible and thick tendrils instead of arms. These tendrils would coil over Serraph's arm, assisting him in the movements he wanted to make, even if he failed to notice the assistance. The blade would lift barely from the man's body and press tightly against the man's throat. The porcelain tendrils coiled tighter around his arm, forcing the blade to split the flesh, the paper blade sinking into the dead flesh with ease. Together with his assistance he'd create a sawing motion, his blade slicing into the meat of his neck with razor-like precision and ease. Serraph's blade had been stained crimson through and through.

 Serraph's drifting mind was getting impatient, his gloved hand would pull at the dead man's hair, ripping the remaining strands of flesh and muscle asunder in a sickening series of snaps and crackles.  He'd drop the head and collapse atop the body, his drooping eyes glancing out at the second assistant. All eyes were on him but it was clear to everyone he was out. He was defenseless that even the weakest Hollow here could take him and devour him, yet none made the move to do so.

 "This one's our Master now?", one would say, his voice seemingly the survivor of a razor storm.
 
 "He is quite the cutie, look at those eyes~" a rather feminine voice would coo.

 "You think everything is cute you wench.", a third voice would growl.

 "And yoou would think steal his meal out from underneath him, you glutton. You know well he's going to be starving after healing from that wound, asswipe!", the feminine voice retorted.

 "Both of you should can it. He is still concious....."

 But then again, he wasn't. The boy had long fallen asleep upon his rightful claim.

[Serraph Quarrere]

The trio  of Hollows looked into the dim light of Serraph's eyes before they finally closed, marking him finally as asleep. The others would look to each other.

 "He's asleep... what now?", The Glutton would inquire, peering at the Arrancar corpse Serraph slept upon.

 "He's our Master now... we should act on his wishes.", the Harlot would snap, her tendrils twitching at her side. 
 
 "What wishes? We received no orders from him. I say we continue our meal! Ha ha!"
 
 "You're always eating... haven't you had enough?"

 "Haven't you had enough of pleasing the prisoners before we devour them? What is the point?"

 "You know what?", the more feminine one said before snaking her way over to the cages, her various tendrils  stretching out to wrap around each individual padlock, each appendage tightening around them. "Given our new Master's claims, I say we free these prisoners. After all, we shouldn't continue treating them in this manner and risk endangering our dear cutie~... I mean Master." Her grip would tighten like a vice, crushing the Iron locks with ease. One by one they'd snap off, shards of broken metal raining into the dust below. The tendrils would recede and the doors would fling open as the crowd of civilians rushed for freedom. Many of them would attempt  to flee the camp seeing this as an opportunity for freedom, but the hollows who had remained silent during the previous Ideal formed a monstrous wall the civilians couldn't hope to scale.

 Many of them voiced cries of anger and confusion, their fists raised defiantly  at the hulking beasts. The beasts themselves  remained motionless as statues, daring not let a single man, woman, or child to pass. The small hollowed imp would climb atop one of these monstrous beings, his eyes piercing deep into crowd.

 "We cannot let you go. Nippur is still too dangerous for you to just rush home. It is unfortunate but you all will remain here until our Master is awoken.", the little hollow's voice boomed over the camp, silencing the crowd. A shower of gloom covered them, but a single man's fist still remained, a small device raise proudly to the midnight sky.

 "Rejoice!  Our glorious king has returned to us! He sits upon his throne once more!", called the voice.

 The wall of hollows turned their heads to look at each other, low, quiet whispers transferring between them. No doubt they were nervous. They served the man who devoured many of their friends and family and these people were forced to watch them do it. Gilgamesh was renown for being insanely powerful. How could they possibly survive the consequences of what they have done?

 Meanwhile joy had spread among the freed, yet still detained, prisoners and they reveled around the roaring fire about their reborn king. Many called or attempted to call friends and families to spread the good news on a variety of devices. Others broke out drinks and food they had smuggled on their bodies while others used the fire to lessen the grotesqueness of the so called rations provided by the Hollows. 

 Thankfully their Master forbade them all from letting them in that particular secret.