Wanna-Be Titans [closed/A.H.]

Boiling: that’s what her itch was like. Her movement was fleetfooted, but never fast. Her footstep beating against the floor, but her breathing simmered. With her hand on the belt and other holding her shotgun affixed in place, she was leaping from one building to another. The closer she gets to her target, she felt the intensity and the trill of the impending battle grows. Her grin grows wider as the prey in view.

It been so long she felt this. The battle fever that she thought was lost when she shattered and casted away her fragment. Tiles quaked as she forcefully brought herself into a rumbling halt and twisted her body with her belt bound hand freed to prepare her launch. The force of her boot pressed against the roof was intense that the tiles and the support cracked and buckled. The scene overlooking the roof was busy. Traffic galore and many sour minded ignorants steaming at the idea of being late home. Her prey had better idea – good but not good enough as the Highland Arrancar prepares to hurl a Lime green energy ball, slightly bigger than the size of her fist, but not big enough to be cumbersome to wield as she threw it at ease. The only thing that struggled was her draped over officer coat as it dropped to the ground, fainting after having a fleeting waltz with gravity.

The lime green Bala tossed soared in a peaceful launch. The unsuspecting prey, a male with a lick of spiritual pressure leaking out of him like a red wine stain on carpet, sensed something was up, looking around and with a sense of danger fast approaching from above…

…he moved.

The pace of the Demon Gunwoman’s prey intensified faster than her grin widening. The gravity, never one to take down offer of a waltz, swirled the Bala towards the escaping prey with a screaming whistle. At first the whistle faint, but audible to awakened ears. That annoying persistent single note that only volume had changed, climbing upwards, approaching the deathly peak.

The thing about A.H Bala. She liked it as her Artillery: Roaring, persistent and endless. Its destruction and noise that bring many men quaked to the very core of their soul. It never about making a killing blow from afar. That’s what Cero are for. It’s about reducing all into a pathetic husk of soul. Separate the wheat from the chaff as she liked to say. After all, isn’t that what life as a Hollow is like in general?

The Bala deafening noise reached to a climax, but it unleased a surprise. The Bala clashed against the ground, rolling around like a dud grenade.

Clack, clack, claaaack.

The noise rolled continuously until it dropped off the curb as much to the Scot annoyance. Her grin soured into a tempestuous cuss. She wanted it to be among the pavement with all the unsuspecting passengers of this cruel hunt not underneath a parked car. She began to make her move, leaping off from the edge of the roof and onto the bonnet of a long and boxy Japanese taxi. She made enough force to cave the bonnet in and ripped the engine out it supports and pressed further in like a humiliating slam dunk. Her kilt failed to have time to be lifted, nor it does so as with one single motion, A.H hopped off the irreparable vehicle and chased after her prey. The distance between her and that man had grown, but surprise reared it ugly head once more. Enough to turn the Scot cuss into a cheer.

The car underneath the Bala slowly starts to tilt towards it, rarely noticeable, but it can be felt to the driver of the car, like Andre the Giant had graced his presence at the corner with six bottle of Japanese’s finest plum wine for breakfast. The Creaking noise from the car soon followed as the Bala started to reveal its intention as its surroundings starts to be pulled towards the lime green ball, first it began with a gentle sway, but in seconds it became forceful, grabbing its passengers against their consent to a relished rancour of the Scottish’s Joy.

“Bout fucking time!” She heckled. From her eye she witnessed a pulsing force that was once contracting, now turned into violent force of concussive blast. The heavily leaned car was flipped on its side, people who were pulled was now sent flying across the pavement and against the window. The demoralising and skull splitting boom follows. Shop windows shattered and rained. The gridlock rattled and wailed as alarm startled by an invisible force. Panicked victims of A.H folly quickly parted from the pavement, allowing for the Scottish Arrancar to hound after her Prey with a smile that Hell would lust for.

Shame that Bala failed to reach her prey she thought, or it would’ve been short work, but as her Battlefever prepared its violent song. Her booming footwork and the clashing metal of her shotgun against her shall be the percussion.

[842]