Cornada [Closed | Rufino Tauro]

Shigure’s leg was dismissively swatted aside by the Arrancar’s steel before its edge realigned for yet another assault. As it whistled through the air, Shigure realised his own Bakudo would be his own undoing as the numerous pillars he had summoned now obstructed his own line of escape. Watching in bewildered horror, Shigure managed a wince as the blade cleaved through his still-outstretched left arm with ease, the stump spraying the surrounding sands with a font of fresh blood.

The blow had been startlingly efficient — likely a well-practiced maneuver — severing muscle and ligament alike as if nothing had been there at all, even crushing through the bony joint of the elbow at its weakest point with a finely-attuned edge. The sharpness of his implement and the swiftness of his technique had ensured an utterly clean cut - not a single splinter of bone had become lodged in the stump of open flesh.

A choked gasp escaped the Shinigami's lips as the pain of his maiming finally caught up to him, his latent rage already too severe for him to dull his senses to the injury. The combination of mental and physical fatigue only exacerbated this as the pain was seemingly amplified in the absence of all other sensations -- only rage and hurt remained.

But, even so, the shock stemming from the loss of his arm brought Shigure momentarily to his senses - or so he thought.

The two men had not spoken a single word to one another and yet they had been able to fight as if nothing else mattered.

Why am I fighting?

The question resounded in his conscience even in the fleeting moments following the Arrancar's swift strike. The very words seemed to challenge this uncharacteristic aggression from within - an internal debate as to why the Shinigami felt so natural --at ease, even-- in engaging the Arrancar in this desert bout. In a way, Shigure felt as if he had taken advantage of these wretched and unwanted feelings again, allowing some lost aspect of himself to run rampant in the face of overwhelming odds whilst trapped in a foreign land. Something in his opponent's presence had helped erode his reservations and inhibitions; Shigure had allowed the flow of the fight to guide him.

No. That's not it. That's not the only reason.

It was Shigure's own love of the fight that had guided him.

For the first time in almost a century, Shigure was whole once more. His immersion in the battle at hand had once again opened the gates that restrained his inner darkness.

But there was something else.

Survival.

The pain from his severed limb was no longer a hindrance but the fuel that would bolster his every blow. Shigure would allow himself to enjoy the fight, giving himself over to the thrill of battle.

The thrill of winning.

The thrill of living.

With this unexpected revelation and his mind now wholly a slave to the plague of vengeance, Shigure glared at the Arrancar with a renewed look of utter contempt, his eyes flashing magenta under the moonlight. As the cut followed through and he heard his severed arm finally hit the coarse sand with a muffled thud, he met the Arrancar's wrist with his own before slipping his hand over the joint. Stepping his left leg backwards suddenly and abruptly in a pivoting motion, Shigure simultaneously yanked with his remaining arm, dragging the swordsman's balance forward and towards himself before aiming yet another devastating kick at point-blank range - this time into the Arrancar's stomach in a supposed attempt to wind him totally. This was just a feint, however, as Shigure had already anticipated his foe to once again counter the kick by bringing his blade downward to parry, thus leaving the upper body unguarded. In fact, the Shinigami's true intentions were in his remaining arm as he suddenly released his grip and allowed the momentum to carry the Arrancar forward in a movement as much of a charge as it was a crude stumble.

In the immediate confusion that ensued, Shigure drew back his hand to allow for a greater distance to accelerate before bringing it down brutally onto the horned skull like a tiger mauling its prey. The combination of the Arrancar's forward motion and the velocity of his own palm strike led to the mask being shattered with a tremendous impact and thunderous noise until nothing remained and there was only silence.

Shigure allowed himself the luxury of a few deep breaths as he finally registered his own laboured survival. As the adrenaline truly passed and the vestiges of once crippling rage having subsided totally, he groaned as his legs began to buckle on the unstable sand beneath him. He then tumbled onto his knees as he placed his one good arm on the ground to keep himself from falling flat on his face. He began wheezing and the faint taste of blood in his mouth grew to a glut of metallic flavours: crass, crude, and bearing the very essence of all things primal. His stomach then violently convulsed and a torrent of vomit and blood spewed out from within. All around him, the unsettling sensation of being hungrily scrutinised by a myriad observers shook him to his very core; the bout had most likely attracted the attention of more than a few scavengers looking for easy pickings and it would be foolish to remain in the same place for any longer than necessary. It had been a Pyrrhic victory given his loss of a limb and so Shigure gingerly stood up again before scrambling through the sandy dunes and into the charcoal distance.

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940 | 3000

-Thread End?-