Post by Sully on Jun 23, 2014 11:54:38 GMT -5
Connection.
It was sweet release to feel the blade scrape through the armor on the man’s arm, to feel the give as skin spread and the steel separated it, splitting cells apart and severing vessels. It was a shallow cut, but in the moment of heightened focus, Ezekiel almost thought he could feel the texture of the different layers of epidermis. This was what Ezekiel felt. Not the pain from his wounds. Not the dizziness of the blood loss as crimson spilled down his chest in a thick sheet that stained his clothing. Not the weight of the implications of the words that the demon spoke. All that Ezekiel felt was the revelry of contact, the synchronization of belief and actuality: that this man could bleed.
The target tumbled, putting distance between them. Ezekiel paused only long enough to enjoy that apparent effects of this newfound gift, to drink in the details of the tiny red drops that fell from the creature’s fingertips. A newcomer might have mistaken Ezekiel’s mentality with blood lust, but in truth, there was no enmity any more. There was no concept of revenge. There wasn’t even a reason he could think of. All of those things fell away under the clarity, the focus that the fighting style brought to him.
The beast readied itself, raising powerful limbs and preparing an attack. It bellowed its intentions like a cornered animal, growling and snarling and puffing itself up. Ezekiel recognized its strength on an instinctual level. Just because it could be cut, did not mean that it was weak, and cornered animals were especially dangerous prey.
“You can try.”
The boot slammed against the asphalt and the world upheaved, debris and earth and stone let go of such feeble concepts as gravity under the power of the man’s attack and became a rippling wave of destruction and rolled towards Ezekiel like a hellish tide. The shockwave seemed to almost travel in slow motion, closing the distance between the two in agonizingly long fractions of seconds. Ezekiel remained stalwart. He did not flinch. He did not rush the moment. Knowing how to cut a man down was as much about precision and timing as it was power and fervor. So he waited, black flames licking icily at his skin, until the perfect moment, until the correct gap formed between then rubble; and then, he made his move.
In an instant, skin and bone and flesh and synapse converted themselves, reishi turning from solid to a more pure energy, electricity crackling and searing as it exploded forward. Ezekiel was gone as a solid form, as a target. Instead, he was a force of nature, crossing the gap between the two instantaneously, nothing more than a flash of light and a tangle of electrical tendrils and nightmarishly dark flames existing as a trail between the point “A” and “B.” The blightning faded out. The rumble of the earth died down. Ezekiel stood before the Arrancar, black blade held high, flames lapping at the sky and sucking in every drop of light that they could touch.
“You don’t seem very focused.”
The blade fell.
Words: 523 (Total: 6,597)
GP: 10 (Total: 130)
