Post by lev on Jul 18, 2018 11:52:02 GMT -5
They were relentless.
The stench of rich iron permeated the air as blood pooled beneath them, coalescing from wounded individuals across the races. A surge of hollows had been sighted, and rapidly consumed humans as though a slower pace would cost their life. The patrols who reported it to Soul Society were quickly annihilated, and the rescue was much too slow for the numbers that continued to ravage the earth with their hunger.
In under an hour of the initial report, a few waves of shinigami had come and perished. Once it would have been a number too few to count. But it had been a long time since they'd had enough people to spend on a squabble like this. Not since the plague. A few dozen lives, wasted on the fray against these masked abominations. Quincies and spiritualists alike had positioned themselves in a collective effort to vanquish the hollows.
But they kept coming.
Cries for help whittled into incoherent gurlgles as they were buried beneath the din of last screams escaping mouths, of buildings collapsing.
The hollows' arrival was much too fast for Seireitei to assemble a squad of capable shinigami, but they had to keep sending. Even if it meant people who knew bare bones about fighting. Even if it meant people who'd never been to the Mortal Realm. Even it if meant people whose jobs in the past few years were scrubbing floors and tending to books.
And among those unqualified numbers, a lone man belonged, barely clinging to life as he outran one hollow, and found himself in face with another. At first he'd tried to save humans-- there was an attempt, at least, as he drew out his sword and tried to keep these masked beasts away from one human. And they had abandoned this one, only to go off on a spot that had more game and less nuisance. His fighting skills were nonexistent, and while he swung with purpose, each one had very little impact. He'd taken the common route, and yet it all seemed futile. Flash steps from one area to the next, mustering as much energy as he could to flit between hollows. Uses of what little control of his power to crumble their masks, and swings to crush the monster beneath the calcium. Too much effort, too little practice. He never had to fight like this before, and never did he have the chance to spare so little thought about his well-being.
It would have been so nice if he could just leave.
To escape it all, to never have to bother with the conflict that ruled their lives. Away from the burden of responsibility that watched him like a raven, waiting for him to lose courage and fall on the claws of negligence.
And he was very, so very close.
His fair flesh screamed in agony as claws and teeth ripped through skin, tingled as his own blood dripped from his wounds. He'd been hit by a swarm, not just once, or twice. His body was peppered by it by then, and yet all he could do was to let his powers flare, and hope that he could reach a hollow without getting bitten. The cold air nipped at him, on that temporary moment that both he and the hollow both laid still, the warmth of its blood seeping through his strawberry blonde tresses as he pierced its throat right above him.
Everything was still, and he drew back his sword much too late than what could've saved his life. With his arms high up, a serpentine hollow lashed at his bosom, and as the hollow above him dissipated into thin air, tips of hue claws dug deeply at his sides, puncturing his body as he was yanked much too violent for safety. The sound of his sword clashing down the concrete street was drowned out by the screech of success by the hollow who'd stolen him from three others, and scampered off to outrun them.
Fear gripped him as his small body was lifted on the maws of an ursine hollow, the stench of its breath hot on his flushed cheeks. The world muddled to a haze as he suffocated under the monster's firm rip, silver eyes losing focus as he was thrown back nonchalantly on the ground like a discarded toy.
Not shinigami, he caught its disgruntled words, followed by deep huffs
"Yeah," he breathed through his gritted teeth, barely imaiging the kind of face the monster made at him. "I'm not a shinigami."
It was the last words that escaped him, before a pair of fangs gladly took this scrap from the ground, dragging it away from the mob. And not soon after, the world before it waned and converged into darkness, consciousness slipping as they entered the void.
And when he opened his eyes, much, much, much later, all that welcomed him as he opened his eyes was a flood of bright light, overwhelming his senses as they slowly came back to him.
The stench of rich iron permeated the air as blood pooled beneath them, coalescing from wounded individuals across the races. A surge of hollows had been sighted, and rapidly consumed humans as though a slower pace would cost their life. The patrols who reported it to Soul Society were quickly annihilated, and the rescue was much too slow for the numbers that continued to ravage the earth with their hunger.
In under an hour of the initial report, a few waves of shinigami had come and perished. Once it would have been a number too few to count. But it had been a long time since they'd had enough people to spend on a squabble like this. Not since the plague. A few dozen lives, wasted on the fray against these masked abominations. Quincies and spiritualists alike had positioned themselves in a collective effort to vanquish the hollows.
But they kept coming.
Cries for help whittled into incoherent gurlgles as they were buried beneath the din of last screams escaping mouths, of buildings collapsing.
The hollows' arrival was much too fast for Seireitei to assemble a squad of capable shinigami, but they had to keep sending. Even if it meant people who knew bare bones about fighting. Even if it meant people who'd never been to the Mortal Realm. Even it if meant people whose jobs in the past few years were scrubbing floors and tending to books.
And among those unqualified numbers, a lone man belonged, barely clinging to life as he outran one hollow, and found himself in face with another. At first he'd tried to save humans-- there was an attempt, at least, as he drew out his sword and tried to keep these masked beasts away from one human. And they had abandoned this one, only to go off on a spot that had more game and less nuisance. His fighting skills were nonexistent, and while he swung with purpose, each one had very little impact. He'd taken the common route, and yet it all seemed futile. Flash steps from one area to the next, mustering as much energy as he could to flit between hollows. Uses of what little control of his power to crumble their masks, and swings to crush the monster beneath the calcium. Too much effort, too little practice. He never had to fight like this before, and never did he have the chance to spare so little thought about his well-being.
It would have been so nice if he could just leave.
To escape it all, to never have to bother with the conflict that ruled their lives. Away from the burden of responsibility that watched him like a raven, waiting for him to lose courage and fall on the claws of negligence.
And he was very, so very close.
His fair flesh screamed in agony as claws and teeth ripped through skin, tingled as his own blood dripped from his wounds. He'd been hit by a swarm, not just once, or twice. His body was peppered by it by then, and yet all he could do was to let his powers flare, and hope that he could reach a hollow without getting bitten. The cold air nipped at him, on that temporary moment that both he and the hollow both laid still, the warmth of its blood seeping through his strawberry blonde tresses as he pierced its throat right above him.
Everything was still, and he drew back his sword much too late than what could've saved his life. With his arms high up, a serpentine hollow lashed at his bosom, and as the hollow above him dissipated into thin air, tips of hue claws dug deeply at his sides, puncturing his body as he was yanked much too violent for safety. The sound of his sword clashing down the concrete street was drowned out by the screech of success by the hollow who'd stolen him from three others, and scampered off to outrun them.
Fear gripped him as his small body was lifted on the maws of an ursine hollow, the stench of its breath hot on his flushed cheeks. The world muddled to a haze as he suffocated under the monster's firm rip, silver eyes losing focus as he was thrown back nonchalantly on the ground like a discarded toy.
Not shinigami, he caught its disgruntled words, followed by deep huffs
"Yeah," he breathed through his gritted teeth, barely imaiging the kind of face the monster made at him. "I'm not a shinigami."
It was the last words that escaped him, before a pair of fangs gladly took this scrap from the ground, dragging it away from the mob. And not soon after, the world before it waned and converged into darkness, consciousness slipping as they entered the void.
And when he opened his eyes, much, much, much later, all that welcomed him as he opened his eyes was a flood of bright light, overwhelming his senses as they slowly came back to him.
