Post by Rainier Rucio on Dec 8, 2017 19:21:05 GMT -5
Casual, nonchalant observations about the aesthetic of things seemed to be the first thing to go when you started to get truly, deeply hungry. Rainier realized that when he found himself standing outside the window of a multi-story home in Karakura, one that appeared to run as some sort of small inn. Normally, someone who saw that described it as ‘quaint’ or even ‘charming’.
All Rainier could see were the flickering lights of souls within. His emerald eyes didn’t move while he mentally scanned the interior of the building. Above him, the crescent moon of another earthly night hung above his head, inverted when compared to home. In some ways, it made him feel as though Hueco Mundo were the world on the other side of the mirror from Earth more than Soul Society itself. Not tonight, however. Tonight, the only thing he felt was a deep groan and even deeper ache within the pit of his stomach.
Three days ago, he retreated from Hueco Mundo and separated from Anastasia in the process. He ate nothing between then and now, disgusted by the thought of a human soul. Like fruit bitten into before ripening. At this point, the hunger approached a threshold that started to crack the foundations of Rainier’s mind. He might have had two arms and two legs, but he was starting to feel more and more like a Gillian again.
What brought him to this home, in this town full of the dead and the spiritually aware, was that within it was something a cut above the rest. A spiritual presence that wouldn’t taste like wet sand in his mouth. His mind failed to pick out the exact location of the person, too addled by hunger to think straight. But if he had to bite into a few rotten apples to find the only decent food he had seen in days, he would.
Shinigami and Hollows were too risky to fight and Rainier couldn’t trust the latter, either; even if they could help him. Arrancar could help him get home, but he found none so far. Even if he did, Rainier remained convinced that his terrible luck guaranteed another Arrancar without Descorrer, like himself, would find his way to his town.
Which left the young human woman, presumably, laid curled up under heavy, off-white comforters. The home around her seemed decently cozy, something a human would enjoy, and far more inviting than the chilled nighttime air that pricked against Rainier’s skin—if he still paid enough attention to feel it.
Even in his current state, a battle raged behind his emerald green eyes. To devour her, or not. The memory of the taste of a regular human still gave pause to his teeth and tongue alike. His breathing labored while he considered the options again, again, and again yet.
An arc from his swung, golden spear cleaved the window and part of the exterior wall open. The sheer force blasted the debris inwards and threw the human woman from her bed in a mass of sheets and limbs. She thudded against the ground just as Rainier’s white and black Las Noches boots crunched against the glass and rock scattered across the hardwood floor and plush, bedside rug.
A single thrust followed, one that pierced flesh, bone, and quilt alike. Blood sprayed into the sheets and dyed the fabric a deep crimson in seconds, even as the woman flailed and screamed and howled at the invisible spear rammed through her gut. Slowly, Rainier lifted her from the ground and allowed the clothes to fall.
She slept naked, Rainier noticed—and only because it meant he didn’t have to strip her clothes off.
His jaw unhinged, almost serpentine, only to snap shut with enough strength to shake the foundations of the rumbling home. Each time he did, he took a chunk of a limb, or her torso, with it. Blood sprayed relentlessly now and coated both Rainier’s dark hair, face, and the lavender drywall that surrounded them. Spatter patterns appeared on the white closet doors and the remaining windows in the room, cracked by Rainier’s appearance.
In less than a minute, the human woman was gone, save for a few chunks of half-chewed flesh that remained clung, by blood, to Rainier’s lips. He licked those clean with an inhumanly long tongue and made for the blood-covered door. As he made his way from the main pool, footsteps appeared—seemingly out of thin air, to any mundane, human observers.
A single punch from Rainier’s free hand threw the door from its hinges and into another part of the building.
The taste, in the face of his hunger, hardly bothered him at all. So, he decided, he would clear the entire home of humans. That way, he would certainly find the non-mundane one among the collection—a single, ripe apple in the rotten dozen.
*****
813 Words
All Rainier could see were the flickering lights of souls within. His emerald eyes didn’t move while he mentally scanned the interior of the building. Above him, the crescent moon of another earthly night hung above his head, inverted when compared to home. In some ways, it made him feel as though Hueco Mundo were the world on the other side of the mirror from Earth more than Soul Society itself. Not tonight, however. Tonight, the only thing he felt was a deep groan and even deeper ache within the pit of his stomach.
Three days ago, he retreated from Hueco Mundo and separated from Anastasia in the process. He ate nothing between then and now, disgusted by the thought of a human soul. Like fruit bitten into before ripening. At this point, the hunger approached a threshold that started to crack the foundations of Rainier’s mind. He might have had two arms and two legs, but he was starting to feel more and more like a Gillian again.
What brought him to this home, in this town full of the dead and the spiritually aware, was that within it was something a cut above the rest. A spiritual presence that wouldn’t taste like wet sand in his mouth. His mind failed to pick out the exact location of the person, too addled by hunger to think straight. But if he had to bite into a few rotten apples to find the only decent food he had seen in days, he would.
Shinigami and Hollows were too risky to fight and Rainier couldn’t trust the latter, either; even if they could help him. Arrancar could help him get home, but he found none so far. Even if he did, Rainier remained convinced that his terrible luck guaranteed another Arrancar without Descorrer, like himself, would find his way to his town.
Which left the young human woman, presumably, laid curled up under heavy, off-white comforters. The home around her seemed decently cozy, something a human would enjoy, and far more inviting than the chilled nighttime air that pricked against Rainier’s skin—if he still paid enough attention to feel it.
Even in his current state, a battle raged behind his emerald green eyes. To devour her, or not. The memory of the taste of a regular human still gave pause to his teeth and tongue alike. His breathing labored while he considered the options again, again, and again yet.
An arc from his swung, golden spear cleaved the window and part of the exterior wall open. The sheer force blasted the debris inwards and threw the human woman from her bed in a mass of sheets and limbs. She thudded against the ground just as Rainier’s white and black Las Noches boots crunched against the glass and rock scattered across the hardwood floor and plush, bedside rug.
A single thrust followed, one that pierced flesh, bone, and quilt alike. Blood sprayed into the sheets and dyed the fabric a deep crimson in seconds, even as the woman flailed and screamed and howled at the invisible spear rammed through her gut. Slowly, Rainier lifted her from the ground and allowed the clothes to fall.
She slept naked, Rainier noticed—and only because it meant he didn’t have to strip her clothes off.
His jaw unhinged, almost serpentine, only to snap shut with enough strength to shake the foundations of the rumbling home. Each time he did, he took a chunk of a limb, or her torso, with it. Blood sprayed relentlessly now and coated both Rainier’s dark hair, face, and the lavender drywall that surrounded them. Spatter patterns appeared on the white closet doors and the remaining windows in the room, cracked by Rainier’s appearance.
In less than a minute, the human woman was gone, save for a few chunks of half-chewed flesh that remained clung, by blood, to Rainier’s lips. He licked those clean with an inhumanly long tongue and made for the blood-covered door. As he made his way from the main pool, footsteps appeared—seemingly out of thin air, to any mundane, human observers.
A single punch from Rainier’s free hand threw the door from its hinges and into another part of the building.
The taste, in the face of his hunger, hardly bothered him at all. So, he decided, he would clear the entire home of humans. That way, he would certainly find the non-mundane one among the collection—a single, ripe apple in the rotten dozen.
*****
813 Words
