03-29-2018, 08:34 PM
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 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!"
"Mine eyes hath seen the glory of the presence of my Lord. He is sifting through the treasures in which his Gates of Wrath does store. He lets loose the righteous vengeance of his terrible swift swords. Gilgemesh has returned!"