In the Land of the Pig [Closed]

A presence beyond his space. Red. Shinigami.

Stirring in his throne the King eyed the moonlit chambers of his throne room, silence clotting the air as the servants lining the walls focused with all of their might on making as little noise as possible. Holding back coughs. Standing still as statues. Not even daring to look anywhere but straight ahead, so fearful were they that their King would feel any slight movement and hone in on the offender.

It was a simple matter now to reach out into the unknown and grasp the soul of another, suck the information from it and piece together memories like the humans edited video clips. Parts of peoples lives were taken from the thousands upon thousands of lives that Erasmus had digested and stitched together into a patchwork nightmare of an effect, one that would bring the cruel mind of Obsession a brief moment of amusement. The nothing of blindness. The fear of having those intimidating slabs opening to reveal the King. The soothing ripples of a lakes surface. The sound of the King's own power vibrating the massive expanse of the throne room. Seizing the arms of his throne with his hands Erasmus pushed himself from his seat and moved to greet his guest.

With a gargantuan groan reminiscent of that of a beast being awoken from a deep and ancient slumber the doors felt the rapping of the Shinigami's knuckles and began to split open, hefting their own heavy girth they scraped along the marble floor of the throne room leaving dirty circular marks where repeated use had etched their journey into the ground. An inorganic cough boomed the extent of their hinges and awaiting the Shinigami on the other side was a void of blackness and a deep humming as of machinery dutifully churning away, the ribbon of spiritual power vanishing into the nothing. It distorted the air that filled the frame of the throne rooms entrance, atmosphere wriggling and crawling as the humming grew in intensity, shaking the foundations of the small unfinished building and threatening to complete the work of whatever had brought it all down in the first place. Intermingled with the buzzing of the blackness thick heavy thuds fell with casual precision, the sound of footfalls a welcome familiarity against the overwhelming buzzing. Each step louder than the last. Distant. Advancing. Closer. Nearer. Arriving.

Here.

A middle aged man emerged from the sea of void and with his presence the buzzing ceased. Dressed in greys and blacks the man was nondescript, with long silver hair forming a neat mane and thin stubble lining his jaw. Stepping out to Walkren's left side he stared ahead for a moment, green eyes listing off through an open window at the bright horizon that the inside of Las Noches' dome so carefully fabricated. Behind him the cyclopean stone doors ground back to their original position, two great monoliths barring entry once again. He was smiling pleasantly. 

"Walkren Dekharr." Erasmus spoke in a low and uncharacteristically friendly rumble, eyes cascading from the window and down to the man that stood slightly shorter than him. Names, faces, locations, it was all fed to the King through the Sight, slowly and carefully being picked apart and pieced together to give Obsession a sense of the man's identity; his strengths and, most importantly, his weaknesses. In order to create a sense of unease in his guest and to establish dominance Erasmus allowed the man to feel slivers of his presence within his soul, simultaneously looking at, into, and through the Shinigami before him. 

"I wasn't expecting you." He continued, stopping his sentence abruptly before beginning the next one. "Are you keeping up with your music? Still not able to find Mrs. Right? Fear not, I'm sure she'll show up eventually, you have all the time in the world to look for her." A knowing smile cracked the King's crooked lips even further and he allowed his insight to sink into the Shinigami's mind before plunging his teeth into the meat of the issue.

"Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of being disturbed by a stranger on such a fine Las Noches evening?"

[Words: 700][GP: 14][Total GP: 14]

Walkren blinked, “Not so much a stranger, it seems...”

A trail of goosebumps hiked up along his spine, like fingers lightly violating his skin. He felt naked. Not the bare skinned version. Walkren could handle that. No, he felt as if the entire pristine image of himself that he had so meticulously constructed had been slowly peeled away. The man’s eyes pierced through Walkren like he was made of glass. Anything and everything was this man’s to take and look over. Every thump of Walkren’s heart was an earthquake in his skull, threatening to crack what little he had left. His mouth suddenly became incredibly dry.

Walkren swallowed.

“...to you at least,” he finished, a grin tearing itself onto his face, wide and filled with pride. He was completely and utterly outmatched, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give the man a good run for his money. The game wasn’t about winning, after all. There was also a certain thrill that came with being the underdog. Outclassed and outmatched. Having no matches in your hand while your opponent holds aces. Only the king and a pawn left on your side, while your opponent has his knights and the queen. Walkren had come this far. Easy enough to take the next step like the last.

Once he spoke again, his voice was back to it’s normal timbre, “You owe curiosity, love.”

As he spoke, a habitual hand drifted down to his dagger on his right hip. Before it grabbed the hilt, Walkren caught himself. He didn’t need his security blanket. He pulled his hand into a fist before relaxing it again. Both of his arms moved up and crossed at his chest, perhaps an unconscious act. Symbolically protecting himself in any way he could. His smile glinted as he continued, “Curiosity...and that immense reiatsu of yours.”

“I couldn’t help but seek it out.”

Tearing his eyes away from the glaring greens that stared back at him, Walkren examined the man closer. He was completely ordinary. If Walkren hadn’t been able to feel the pressure trying to snuff out his soul, he would have thought him just any other pedestrian on the street. Walkren liked that. Any information that you can keep from your opponent brings you one step closer to victory. Just look at Walkren. Shinigami robes. Two blades. Tired eyes. It says so much with so little. He was a walking vault of information just on the surface.

The man wasn’t entirely a blank slate either. Even without a crown, Walkren could tell this man was King. Not just because of the reiatsu that blanketed every corner of Las Noches, but because of how he held himself. The man exuded a confidence that few ever achieved. Through the piercing green eyes, Walkren saw a knowing, a depth of experience and understanding. Even with confidence carrying him, Walkren could see the weight of his burden on his shoulders.

The only thing that was strange to Walkren was the lack of a skull fragment. Surely the King of Las Noches was an Arrancar. Perhaps not. This power...could any normal soul ever achieve it? Either his fragment was hidden or...or this man was something else entirely. That thought excited Walkren more than anything else could have.

This is who he should be talking to. Not Evelynn.

Another loud thump in his heart and he was speaking again, “I’m guessing you already know why I’m here in Las Noches, but, what the hell, I’ll tell you anyway.”

“Evelynn, one of your Espada, gave me the gift of Hollow. Though against my will, I’ve come to accept that it’s apart of me now,” Walkren chuckled. “Perhaps it’s the promise of power that tantalizes me so...”

Another pause. This time to gather his thoughts. Act weak when you are strong, show strength when you are weak. A show was all Walkren had in a situation like this. In most situations he had found himself in he had been outmatched. Somehow, he had always come out on top. It says something about the Shinigami’s tenacity to survive. Or just his dumb luck. Walkren’s smile fanged as he finished gathering his thoughts and continued speaking, “If I may be so bold, I think my ambitions reach farther into the abyss than she can provide.”

“I am but a humble Shinigami with little to no station, but I aim to change that,” Walkren’s words dripped with confidence. This was the moment for it, if there ever was one. Not a single thought of betraying the Seireitei ever crossed his mind. Why would it? He owed the Shinigami nothing. He cracked another smile and finished his pitch, “I think my potential shows itself in my accomplishments and my ambition. All I can give you is right in front of you...but it is all yours.”

“And all I ask for in return is knowledge and what power you can provide.”

There was no crown for this king.

Then again, this man was no king.

He was the devil himself.

And it was time for Walkren to make a deal.

[852] [17] [36]

Walkren Dekharrs smile barely wrinkled his skin. Walkren Dekharr groomed himself to a pristine peak, not a hair or cuff out of place. Walkren Dekharr puffed out his chest in defiance of the power before him. Walkren Dekharr believed himself safe, that no matter what happened he'd walk away unharmed. Walkren Dekharr was youthful and oblivious.

Walkren Dekharr reeked with the foul stench of baseless pride.

Erasmus was reminded of Souta Suzuki in that regard and however brief the resemblance seemed it was not a good thing for the King to compare you to. Perhaps eventually he would uncover something in Walkren's soul that would give context to such vanity, but so far there was no such source and the King's only response fell just over the line of disgust. It coursed through him like a faint ripple, stretching out to his hands and feet, halted by his will once it reached his face. Despite the disappointing first impression that Walkren had made it wouldn't do for the King of Las Noches to express his displeasure, especially since there was so much more yet to be seen of the Shinigami before him. The polite smile persisted. 

Like a vulture carefully watching it's future meal for signs of weakness Erasmus' gaze flicked toward the largest of Walkren's movements as the man reached for his dagger. Whatever his intention had been he must have thought better of it, opting instead to ball his fingers into a fist and cross his arms. Fear. Erasmus could almost smell the lingering scent of it hiding from his nose. In that one moment of unconscious movement Walkren had exposed himself and allowed the King to see the truth of his confident facade. It may very well be the man's usual demeanor, but that didn't change the fact that, in that moment, it was nothing more than a defense mechanism helping him cope with the fact that he was behind enemy lines and in the shadow of a very real, very possible, threat to his safety.

"Odd." The King's voice rumbled with amusement. "Usually weaklings run from beings of my caliber." While Walkren had peeled his gaze away from the King's so that he could take in the full display of his attire, Erasmus kept his line of sight pointedly fixated upon Walkren's eyes. It was a habit that he'd built up over the past year or so and was attributed to his ability to see into a persons soul. Up until a few weeks ago the ability required eye contact to work and he was still trying to kick the compulsion. 

Contrary to Walkren's worded belief that Erasmus was already aware of his purpose the King was clueless as to the Shinigami's goal in Las Noches, he hadn't yet come across that information in his soul, but Walkren didn't need to know that. As long as he continued to believe that Erasmus was an all knowing and all powerful being the scales would be perfectly tipped in the King's favor, so instead of correcting the man Erasmus merely nodded for him to continue.

Confused by the sudden development in his soul Walkren, like so many others before him, had come to realize that the darkness inside of him was part him. But, just like the others, he had failed to realize that it had always been a part of him. Every single Shinigami held the potential to become the exact thing they feared, but none of them chose to acknowledge the writhing mass of horror lurking just beyond their peripherals. They might sense it's presence in their hardship and turn, but they were blinded by their own belief, so none ever saw it. If only they knew that all it took was a tiny nudge, just a poke, from another soul and that gargantuan pile of agony and suffering would come crashing down upon them. 

Erasmus knew all too well what it was like.

And it seemed that Walkren wished to know as well.

Even going so far as to pledge himself and all he owned to the King of Las Noches.

A cold silence hung in the air as the eldritch tendrils of the King's awareness probed deeper, spreading a slimy trail of absence through the core of Walkren's existence as they searched for something very particular. A man may speak what he believes to be truth, but time warps all things and a man forgets what truth is. But the soul remembers. The King understood the nature of men enough to know that it was always prudent to do a little extra digging before making a commitment, and in the brief second of noiseless existence that Walkren and Erasmus shared together he had processed enough of Walkren's life to form his next words very carefully.

"Everybody has bad habits, Walkren. Some men have terrible habits. You, though. You have a life threatening habit." Barely louder than a whisper Erasmus' voice hit Walkren's eardrums raw, the vibrations of the King carrying his subtle words directly into the inner ear and amplifying them so that the Shinigami did not miss a single syllable. But that was where it ended.

Walkren's mind was now haunted by the voice of Obsession.

"How many others have you pledged yourself to?" The king spoke with his eyes alone, lips solidly shut. "Too many? Perhaps. There are only so many directions you can go, it's only a matter of time before you're pulled apart and everything catches up with you."

Red hot agony blazing through limbs that are no longer there to feel pain, searing warmth pooling beneath a writhing mass of flesh, screaming. 

"I advise you to think about your next decision very carefully, I am not like the others."

"Power is something I cannot provide." The King spoke with his physical voice, jarring the mental one out of reality and wiping away the promise of the future. "You are foolish to believe that power can be granted to you. The most potent of strength's can only be achieved on your own, from within. The best I can offer you is the knowledge to unleash that power and the truth you need to find it." The pleasant smile cracked, a phantom grin of cruelty corrupting the image of a simple well-mannered monarch. 

"Yes. Knowledge I can provide in abundance. But you'll have to take it knowing that it comes with a price I cannot name."

"Are you ready?"

[Words: 1078][GP: 21][Total GP: 35]

Walkren’s eye twitched.

His tongue traced dry lips.

He had played with the thought of the man in front of him being the devil. Such a silly poetical notion, at first. The man could never be as malicious as the devil, so the title was bestowed in jest. A way to contextualize and diminish the deafening fear that was knocking right at Walkren’s door. As this King spoke to him, though, the walls surrounding his door fell away, and then the floor, and the ceiling, and then the door itself fell flat on it’s face. The concrete crumbled into ancient dust in front of his very eyes and one fact permeated his mind more than the deep, echoing words of the King ever could.

Walkren had been horrendously correct in his assumption.

His smile grew rancid on his face.

Like a dry leave to open flame, it vanished in the blink of an eye. Already dangling on a knife’s edge, composure was barely kept as the man’s voice invaded Walkren’s mind. The world dropped away around Walkren. Only the man’s voice existed between the two of them. He felt like he was drowning and his only panicked desire was to surface. There would be no hiding from the devil. Any games Walkren wanted to play would only further insult the man. Why play chess with two when he was playing it with the entire world?

Walkren fell to his knees, almost collapsing. He hung his head down low, looking towards the ground. The thought that any kind of gesture such as a bow would appease the man was almost comical to Walkren. There was no regal air of royalty to him. There was no presumption of preposterous traditions. The man was pragmatic. He knew he was the King and anyone near him knew it too.

There was just something about laying himself low. Walkren knew the man was in control. This way was a little more eloquent than ‘I surrender’ or ‘I pledge myself to you’. Walkren was done playing games. He was done messing around in the little leagues. He dashed his facade aside. When against an opponent who had all the answers and all the information, you had to start improvising. Information was King, even above this devil of a man.

He let out a short sigh.

Head still low, his dry throat eventually croaked out a response, “I will gladly give any price.”

“I am ready.”

[409] [8] [44]

And there was the hopelessness that Erasmus expected from a Shinigami of Walkren's stature. Parting his lips Erasmus' tongue slickly trailed across his off-white teeth, the canines worryingly pronounced as he tasted the defeat in the air. This was the point of no return and whether Walkren was just slumping in despair in order to give Erasmus what he wanted to see or the reaction was genuine the Shinigami's actions after this would determine his ultimate fate. As despicable as he could be the King hadn't lied, one wrong move and Walkren Dekharr would find himself face to face with the crushing weight of Obsession's judgement. 

Lines began to thin out and colors slowly bled into one another, a thin film of slimy translucent grease covering the world. Dark words emerged from the King's mouth and were stifled, as if a wall of water separated him and Walkren, a vague smudge moving upon the shape that once was the monarchs face. Cruel laughter rang loud, a mocking voice half remembered, silence swiftly swallowing the sounds of the Las Noches hallway, darkness consuming the light of the dome.

A quiet that can only come with deep restful sleep, undisturbed and peaceful. Walkren was not Walkren anymore. A brief tremor in the spiritual state of the world and awareness bloomed, a different void of pitch flooding open eyes and steady groggy breathing breaking the nothing. Warmth, eagerly pulling the mass of muscle and power back down onto the softness as it moved to investigate the source of the disturbance. Briefly, a small child was considered. Is she safe? Is she awake? And then: She'll be fine. A naked engulfing cold and a sleepy thought in response; "I need to get a heater in here."

A heavy thud from the darkness and then a sharp shattering crash as a rectangle of blinding light bursts open and burns around a silhouette of an armed man.

"Captain, you need to come with us."
"Soldier, you better have a good reason for-"
"Bakudo number sixty one, Rikujōkōrō!"

Rage and violence brew a devastating storm, the absorbing yellow light removes the freedom to unleash it.

"Take him to Central-46."


Agonizing wet crimson pooling upon cold hard stone, skin bulging as foreign manufactured entities desecrate the sanctity of the skin. A rib rattling scream. The burning acid of blood that does not belong coursing through the wrong veins. Senses filled with the fetid stench of rot and fear, wires twisting with a worrying snake-like suggestion and coiling out of view. Shadows flicker in disjointed movements, left, right, near, distant. Some standing stock still, waiting, watching, expecting. Low whispers speaking incomprehensible gibberish, the maddening fear translating the nonsense into words distorted with pain and horror. What do they want? What are they doing?! Another visceral shriek of something that was once human in the distance, then a similar scream as searing hot rods pierce the flesh and deposit the wriggling children of blasphemous practices. Brief and blessed respites in the form of sleepless nights as the children corrode the integrity of what it means to be complete. Then more.

"These aren't working either, sir."
"Keep trying! We're so close."