Unleashed (Closed.R)

Eyes shifting anxiously left to right, up and down, Percivarre succumbed to that momentary silence, that split instance of slowed time just before a burst of instinctual assault—a quiet before the sure storm.

With a glimpse of her target’s tattered, white haori, her eyes flared brighter than ever before! Her usually thick skin tingled, though quickly hardening with the Hierro all Hollows were born with. She didn’t need to think, just act, for her instincts took care of the rest.

The once depressing silence was pierced by a wraithlike shriek, the powerful strings reverberating from Percivarre’s veined throat.

Sight locked; destination seized; actions calculated.

Pushing off of her crouched thighs, the tailed-hollow burst forward, falling into a full-fledged lunge toward the dark-haired assassin, toward the Swordbreaker who would soon break himself.

Static resounded as Percivarre’s corporeal existence blurred, the ripples of reality traveling in the direction she remained faced; so great was her speed that she struck—shoulder first—into the already cracked corner of Las Noches’s tall wall. Straight through she cleaved, shattering the wall into a thousand pieces well before her target had even shown a single step past the edge; a maniacal chuckle escaped her, the sound of her fallen chords reverberating over the damaged halls like a curtain of black death.

Through the dust and debris she emerged, forearms crossed in front of her skulled visage, legs curled up into her abdomen. So entranced was she—both anger and ecstasy—that she took little effort to analyze how far high the ceiling was, how many particles of white stone skewed her vision, of her enemies reaction to her onslaught.

No.

Her vibrating, slanted sockets of violet were stuck on her destination; the Captain’s chest.

Pulling backward with all her might, Percivarre’s momentum shifted, granting her the capacity—ever so slightly—to strike her foe with the brunt of her hoofs. Masked eyes widening, and Vial racing, Percivarre de Senganza pushed her thighs, thrusting her hardened feet with the force of her might coupled with that of her traveled momentum.

At the same time—in all that time of split seconds—her thick, wrinkled tail swiped carelessly at the falling debris, sending a chunk of the white stone straight at the Captain’s head.

“Maldito Shinigami!” she roared as she neared to strike the Captain’s chest.

Was he ready?

WC: 400

Percivarre blinked her murderous, masked eyes—that’s all the time she had before her world turned upside down.

Literally.

Past the smoke and dust she flew, straight at the Shinigami Captain’s chest in slew; not a moment did she have to reconsider her faulty calculations, nor her enemy’s superiority. She was outclassed, and the foreign voice speaking to her in her mind was nothing short of aggravating.

Your body is mine.

Growling with the grit of her pristine, white teeth, Pureza’s Fallen Fraccion reached her destination, though not in her intended form. How foolish! To think that the monster that had obliterated her master was anything but beyond perfection—for Hollow King’s sake, he had turned the Noveno Espada to ash with his own fists.

Don’t do anything foolish, you mongrel!

No time to respond! Her brows furrowed, burdened with worry, for the leathery skin surrounding her hoofs tingled; something, or someone, had touched her. With a quick glimpse the severity of her situation was made abundantly clear. She had failed, for the Swordbreaker’s powerful fingers tightened around her ankles.

What happened next was unclear; it all happened so quickly.

The ceiling became the floor, and the floor the ceiling; her senses—for the briefest moment—surrendered to the assassin’s will, rendering her immobilized until a blunt pain spread across her back.

At first it stung at the center of her spine, clawing outward like ravenous mice starved mad. Why was she still alive? For just the briefest moments, she felt the full force of his thrust—

Her sight waned, the air within her execrable lungs stolen from her—she closed her eyes, the bright violet fading to black.

Power!

Where once she ached was replaced instead with warmth, a sensation she longed to experience every waking moment of her existence. It was like drinking a pint of vodka on the coldest day of winter. Intoxicating, blood pumping—ecstasy.

It all happened in mere seconds.

Eyes opening with renewed fervor, Percivarre let loose a grunt of pleasure, her masked, pink lips parting in a grin shone rarely; the edges of her eyes wrinkled, the potent beams of her reiryoku filling the empty ridges.

The power, it was delicious! Her enemy would soon understand his mistake!

Thrusting herself backwards—completing a back-hand spring with a push of her arms—Percivarre fell onto her strong hoofs, cracking the stone floor beneath her misdirected weight.

Her grin grew; her eyes widened.

Like a bolt of lightning, Percivarre rushed toward her soon-to-be dead assassin. Her speed was at least ten times her initial lunge, for the strength afforded to her by the absorbed energies of her enemy’s power was unprecedented!

Though not only was her speed heightened, but also her physical strength.

She reached her destination in the blink of an eye, tail swiping and arm curled; with a wraithlike war cry, Percivarre de Senganza swung at the center of the attractive Captain’s skull.

WC: 500

It all happened so quickly, but she noticed—she saw it in his wretched, pitying black eyes.

Why? What? Who? were the thoughts racing within her sparking mind just snapshots before her end-of-days came. Nothing mattered except for curiosity—not the distance between her and her foe, not his voided expression or the tensing of his arm’s muscles.

What was it? What could be so significant so as to restrain the Swordbreaker’s murderous instincts? Could it have been his past experiences? Some traumatic occurrence that until this moment had remained repressed, hidden deep down in his execrable soul?

Percivarre furrowed her hidden, feminine brows, her mind flexing her face to demonstrate her growing angst. But it didn’t matter; it was too late.

The pain that struck at her chin was unspeakable, though for her sake it only lasted for a split second. The strike forced her head back just as the sound of her cracking mask shook the stone walls of Las Noches.

Her pulsing, purple sockets returned to blackness, snuffed out like a flame on the coldest winter.

Silence.

Unlike before, all of her strength was drained from her veins. A slight groan—near silent—escaped her unconscious windpipe as she fell to her knees. Her limp body leaned backwards, arms flailing aimlessly at her sides. She hung there, seemingly dead, her heavy thighs keeping her top half erect.

Once again, Percivarre de Senganza had miscalculated, and for her mistake, she had fallen to complete darkness.

You fool! When the Behemoth instructs, you—

Her end had come.

WC: 258

Just as her consciousness slipped into the abyss of eternal darkness—once glimmering eyes fading black—Percivarre’s skin tingled from external warmth; something was close, attempting to keep her from Death.

Through blurred sight she attempted to seek out the source, like an injured cub searching for her mother’s warm lick. But it was too late, for her burdened eyelids closed shut and her head fell lifeless to the side.
 

The wall-cracking sound of Percivarre’s mask ripping tore through the silence that permeated throughout Las Noches, turning Shinigami and Hollow heads alike. So loud it was that even the lingering, lost spirits of all those who had died in the war moaned their discomfort. Though what followed was far worse, and no one, not even the Swordbreaker, could possibly imagine the terror he had just released.

A diabolical laughter echoed throughout the realm, the demonic, feminine tone reverberating with no apparent source—though the Swordbreaker knew all too well where it had originated. And if he hadn’t yet, it would soon be made blindingly apparent.

“Thank you, my dear Shinigami Captain.”

The Behemoth left the kneeling Captain little time to react, for Percivarre’s limp husk was pulled back with the force of a thousand suns; leaving his warn fingers, Percivarre struck the opposite wall back first, shattering it—like its brother—into a hundred pieces. Slabs of white stone of all sizes fell down toward her wrinkled frame, but she had another, far more important course prepared.

Yanked again by the invisible force, Percivarre’s upper-half struck the floor face first, sliding away from the falling debris just shy of impact—so powerful was the Behemoth’s will that it seemed the unconscious Hollow’s corpse was being pulled down by an anchor thousands of times her weight. The white floor cracked, then shattered, every passing second cleaving downward until all that was left was a deep crater.

Smoke. Suffering. Confusion. Silence…

Percivarre’s body twirled, flipping upright in a most unnatural fashion, as if she were possessed by something else—as if under her skin hid a creature not welcome.

The silence was overtaken by Percivarre’s mouthful gasp, her bloodied, human-like face still hidden by fragments of her once grotesque mask. Drop by drop she consumed the shadows that once had hid her within Las Noches’s halls—black corners remained all but bare, light finally finding home. It was an eye-narrowing sight to behold, a deathly creature consuming the darkness from which it was born. A vortex of pure, unrefined blackness twirled above the crater, twisting violently down into her opened maw. Inhaled she did until no crevice or crack in Las Noches was left without light.

Back arched and chest pointed up toward the now visible ceiling, Percivarre’s once pallid frame fought against the blackness that desired to consume her—fight as she might, her strength had waned, and so too her control.

Last that remained of her old self was the tip of her tail, and that too fell to the influence of the shadows. Where once Percivarre laid only remained a silhouette of complete blackness.

And then it began! The remolding! The lanky silhouette condensed here and expanded there, shaping the frame entirely different—more human, less monster.

A sudden light flashed, one twice as bright as the rays of the sun. With it came the tremor of the earth, and a sudden surge of spiritual pressure surrounding Las Noches. Violet in base, though black in intone, all beings of spiritual sensibility would relate the sensation of the spiritual pressure to being enclosed in an oxygen-less, dark, space-less coffin.

She opened her eyes, but she couldn’t see! No sight, no smell, no hearing—nothing but numbness.

This new creature, born of shadow, didn’t yet know she existed, her naked, scarred body flailing uncontrollably in the fetal position. It was like a never-ending spasm, her human body not yet accustomed to the colossal power surging through its veins. Sweaty and feverish, she lay vulnerable in the center of her self-made crater like a newborn infant.

She was the beginning of the end.

---

WC: 700

OOC: This is what she looks like within the events of this post.

Sharp, scrutinizing eyes peered relentlessly at the half burnt candlesticks laid atop the strange looking, four-pegged wooden bedside counter; wiggling her toes—a sensation one could so intimately relate to freedom—she continued to observe them curiously, cautiously and forever lustfully.

Many of the things she wished to know had yet remained a mystery, for her reprogrammed mind still required some time to wake. The first thoughts that plagued her were her memories, and the onslaught had begun the moment she had woken. It was like getting slammed by a bullet train the moment one opened there eyes from a hundred-year slumber, and to her boiling rage, her gift was nothing more than a pounding headache.

The naked, scarred female leaned forward, her heavy frame leaning down on her tucked knees. Dark, lustful hair draped over her shoulders, covering up her entire, humanoid existence like a blanket of pitch-blackness. With her scarred back bare, Shushana unfastened her left arm as she reached out toward one of the doused candlesticks, her light-colored limb materializing from beneath the guise of her mane.  As natural as it was for her, Shushana’s complete attention was on the touch of this new and delightfully scented object. The edges of her moth wrinkled in sadistic smile, and her eyes widened ever so slowly—

Like a coiled snake preparing to strike at its target, Shushana’s tense fingers halted—her hand remained as still as stone in mid-air, and after a brief, silenced moment, her eyes narrowed; with the clash of her eyelashes, her arm thrust forward, fingers wrapping around the thick candle on contact. Her expression lightened, though not with sincere pleasure, but instead with sadism, her desire to extinguish the object in her hands all but intoxicating. With a single, overly strengthened squeeze she crushed the stick, reducing it to nothing more than dust-ridden wax.

A maniacal grin etched across her face, studious purple eyes dissecting the outcome of her ill-conceived experiment like a grown child first experiencing the thrill of causing others pain—that domineering characteristic which all mortal beings posses, though some more dangerously attuned than others. To the world’s misfortune, Shushana was filled to her sockets with the desire to dominate.

Tilting her head to the side, the nude Arrancar analyzed the wax’s properties with shifting eyes. This was her nature—a creature once half-sentient, now fully aware of her surroundings. How could she not take the time of day to indulge in the mystery that was reality? Ah! How intoxicating the wax’s scent was, Shushana’s pleasure demonstrated by the subtle wrinkling of her petite, humanoid nose. Did other objects in this desolate Hell exude such fragrance?

Shushana turned her head to the right, brows arced and eyelids narrowed with curiosity; she wore a could-that-be-possible expression, contemplative eyes glancing up to the tall ceiling.

“I definitely think so,” she affirmed, her voice ringing deep. The sound of her own chords startled her, causing her to flinch slightly, head cocking back as her brows furrowed with confusion. The candle no longer of interest, she wiped the smear across the bed she sat on, just inches from her left thigh. “Is—?” she questioned, caressing her scarred neck with finesse one wouldn’t normally expect from someone so large. “—This what I sound like?”

Disgusting! Revolting! Nauseating! How could a woman’s voice echo with such deep tone, and also with such ear-shattering accent? From where had this all come—?

Her long eyelashes glimmered under the shadows as she blinked understandingly; she dug deep within her mind, reliving the long-lost memories that had so recently returned. Yes! It all made sense; while a human—

Shushana stopped her train of thought, for the word human caught her off-guard. She studied her twirling arm, the vivid display of her humanity conflicting with the images drawn within her mind from her memories. Human? Was she not human now? Her soft skin—though marked—fit their description with unquestioned precision. Her limbs too—a pair of arms, hands, legs, feet and even toes—were not unlike the mortals she’d fed on as a Hollow.

That word, unlike human, startled her little; so recent her existence had been of Hollow that it felt like yesterday.

Shushana chuckled inwardly, her sizable breasts bouncing in accordance. She indeed was a Hollow yesterday, and her new mindset brought her vivid recollections of her time as a monster.

She chuckled again—sincerely—though this time out loud.

“Am I still an eyesore?” she asked herself, reaching up to touch her face; it felt smooth for the most part, and symmetrical to boot. She stopped just shy of her forehead, for the feel of cool steel tingled her fingertips. “What is this?” she pondered to no one in particular as she fully explored the jagged tiara resting upon her forehead.

And then it came, her memory of that wretched incident and of that mouth-foaming Captain—the Swordbreaker.

Lifted hand trembling, Shushana fell to a sinister guffaw. How ridiculous! To think that she once sought to end the Swordbreaker! No, she thought of that no more! She had other plans, oh yes, for the Shinigami’s actions had freed her. His actions had gifted Shushana the reins.

Her soft skin tingled, then hardened, for the pressure of a powerful being erupted nearby—Shushana turned her head toward the door, hair covered eyes pulsing with excitement. “You’ve come for me,” she whispered under her breath as she rose slowly at the edge of the bed. Her full, naked body was shown for all to see, feminine yet powerful proportions from head to heel. Swating her long, black hair behind her, Shushana stepped elegantly—one strong foot in front of the other—until she reached the room’s entrance.

She stopped, sensing his presence beyond the closed gates; a close-lipped smile formed as both of her hands fell to the edges of her hips.

Was he ready for her?

WC: 1000

The scent of honey struck her smell and the singular, parting line of the double-doors her sight. The whine of turning hinges broke the slight silence before the sure storm, though that noise was quickly deafened by the thump of her racing blood. Her eyes shifted left to right nervously, indulging her analytical capacity without a trace of exertion.

The hinges continued to moan. Cautious yet powerful. Her eyelids fell to a squint. Air draft. Her toes wiggled. Sand from Hueco Mundo. Her nose wrinkled, slightly. Restrained death.

Her eyes twitched, head slightly tilting to the side as her new object of interest emerged from the shadows beyond the now fully opened doors.

The energies within her Vial pulsed viciously, for the Swordbreaker’s spine-chilling presence encroached her like a sea of fire ants would a lone beetle. She remained stoic—not a single muscle moved—though her mind told otherwise. This Shinigami—no—this monster was a creature molded for one purpose, and one purpose only. To undo what was, to erase what existed.

Long, black hair whipped right as the draft fulfilled its dying desire. Their eyes met, hers of violet and his of pure darkness—

No.

The tall Arrancar’s brows furrowed subtly, her instincts dominating subconsciously; there was something within the once-believed wretched Captain. A glimmer of weakness masked under the veil of the cold-hearted.

She squinted, for the Captain’s eyes unfocused briefly.

What is the matter, Swordbreaker? Is something on the bed that much more interesting than me? The black-haired Arrancar glanced up contemplatively, picturing the bed just as she had left it not long before she picked up the Swordbreaker’s presence. There were sheets, a bedside table, and candles—

A dark smirk sketched across her lips, eyes returning back down to meet with her company’s mistrusted globes. She was about to speak, but he took from her any chance of that happening.

She straightened—arms still clenched to her hips—for the sudden and foreign sound of the Captain’s voice caught her by surprise. Though she couldn’t help but smile at the words escaping his calculated lips.

She didn’t answer, but instead remained completely still with a smile that spoke for itself. Eyes locked with the Captain’s, the naked female turned as elegantly she could, though the constant beat of his spiritual pressure made it that much more difficult to move. Of all the monsters lurking in Las Noches, she was without a doubt the slowest. She let out a puff of air through her nose midway of her swing. Agility is for the pain intolerant she thought, finally turned completely, and faced toward the bed. A drop of sweat raced down the right side of her head. Just in time. Hollow-King forbid she demonstrate weakness to someone like him.

In the same manner she had marched toward the door, Shushana strode gracefully to the bed. Reaching the bedside, Shushana bent over and arched her back; her voluptuous, bare rear, thick legs and perfectly symmetrical groin were raised for him to see.

She pulled the Captain’s haori; slowly she wore it, placing strong arms into the sleeves one after the other. “Comfortable,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear as she rose to her full height. “Is this what all Shinigami wear, my dear Captain?” Her voice reverberated with the Russian accent she so detested. She turned to face him, pulling up her long hair. “Or is it only worn to warm cold-blooded killers?” she mocked, releasing her fingers.

A waterfall of smooth, black hair swept down over the white haori, covering the 2^nd Division insignia of the Seireitei.

WC: 600

HIs reaction was all but disappointing.

Shushana squinted—fiery eyes betraying her desired restraint—as she crossed her scarred arms. The sudden movement caused her half-shown breasts to bounce uncontrollably, though her hardening nipples retained their anonymity.

How do you remain so calm, Captain? Is this—she thought as she pictured herself looking down at her own body—not supposed to lure your kind? By nature, men are creatures born from lust. They desire what I posses, don’t they? Shushana’s brows furrowed, eyes wandering aimlessly in thought. Are Shinigami different? Her eyes twitched as they returned to lock with her counterpart’s lifeless globes. Or is it just you, Swordbreaker? Her final thoughts were accompanied by a most distasteful frown.

Too caught up in her self-absorbed world was Shushana that she completely and utterly ignored the fact that a Shinigami Captain stood before her; hell, the waves of his spiritual pressure continued to smash against the invisible, violet wall that was her own life essence, but it mattered not—such was the will of the Behemoth.

She noticed his shifting eyes, and much like her, they too had betrayed him. Her frown turned to a smirk. A portion of you deep down does desire this. A clicking chuckle resonated from her throat. How could I ever be wrong?

YOU? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGHT!

Shushana gritted her teeth as she bowed her head. What…was that? she questioned, left hand pressed against her forehead. Never before had she heard a foreign voice pinch the inner walls of her mind. Could there exist someone else within her soul? Something else? The tall Arrancar wrinkled her fine nose. No she roared, raising her chin. Had he noticed her moment of weakness? Just the thought infuriated her, for all she wished to accomplish throughout this entire confrontation had just been shoved down a whore’s windpipe.

Thank the Hollow-King the sound of his piercing voice distracted her from her imminent self-destruction.

She listened intently, hearing each letter separate of each word spewing from his blood-boiling tongue. Shushana couldn’t help the contemplative tilt of her head, for the Swordbreaker’s play of words was intoxicating. It wasn’t a secret that this Shinigami’s specialty was the obliteration of life, but for the Captain to so carelessly admit to the routine slaughter—it caused Shushana’s Vial to burst with excitement. Her expression eased, lit up with the same glee normally displayed by a ten year old human child on the morning of Christmas day.

He had fallen far from Shinigami; to her, he was now nothing more than a prize to be won—a man to be tamed. Nothing else mattered—not his unquestionable danger, nor his capacity to return her to the white sands that birthed her. Shushana glanced back at the bed not far behind her as she fantasized the innumerable amount of sensual—and traumatizing—experiences she’d share with her new toy. Though her daydream was cut short by the Captain’s sudden move forward. She straightened, the hairs of her body springing nervously.

His eyes lit up, and to her continued excitement, they dazzled with intrigue. Maybe her desires would leave their cerebral confinement and become reality. “Who I am?” she reciprocated, her long eyelashes glimmering with every excited blink. She breathed deeply as her lips creased sincerely, defined cheekbones illustrating her joviality. “To be frank, I am not sure myself,” she lied unconsciously, too thrilled with the future to care. “I mean, besides the string of words that are spoken to call my attention, I have no idea who I am.” She glanced up at the ceiling, index finger pressed against her chin. “Shushana,” she whispered questioningly, the final two vowels spoken with longevity. “Shushana Senganza,” she finally affirmed, re-crossing her free arm beneath her breasts. The name makes my stomach churn, but it should be good enough for someone like you she thought as she strode toward the Swordbreaker. She stepped slowly—as elegantly she could—so as not to trigger the Captain’s defensive instinct. It didn’t help that his overbearing spiritual pressure continued to attempt to suffocate her. “Though, you don’t have to lie to me,” she teased, reaching just a foot from him. “Having your fingers tightened around the hilt of that weapon tells me you know who I really am.”

Shushana took the final step, not caring for the all-too-apparent danger. She opened her arms and attempted to wrap her left arm around his neck, her intentions strictly sexual. If he didn’t react defensively, she’d bring his face to rest on her breasts. “And what may I call you, my Swordbreaker?” she asked, a trail of laughter following the end of her sentence. To her growing pleasure, Shushana was quickly made aware of her slight height advantage.

WC: 794

Like a rock, he remained motionless, sturdy and unaffected—until the fingers of her left hand were inches from his neck. From rock to snake he sprung, and poor little Senganza—like the unsuspecting mouse she’d made herself to be—didn’t see it coming. To her sight, the Swordbreaker had remained still, but according to her sixth sense, he was all but stationary.

Shushana wrinkled her nose as a deep pressure pained her wrist, and only a passing moment after was she swept off of her feet. The deep recess of her mind was fished for the long dormant martial knowledge hidden away, and all too quickly she registered the severity of her predicament. She struck the hard ground face-first, the blunt pain spreading from shoulder to shin. Her Vial churned, the strength of her foe’s action fueling her with laughable power.

Bastard she thought, clenching her jaw tight. Her ability to sense the spiritual coupled with the increased weight over her waist gave her a vivid picture of what he was up to. He breathed in, more than likely aroused from the gesture. The sensation of hot breath caused her a mild degree of discomfort—it wasn’t a physical nuisance, more of the mental kind. To her, it was a sign of dominance, an intentional display of superiority—Hollow-King save this Shinigami’s soul.

Shushana attempted to reach for the Swordbreaker with her free arm as he whispered his poison. Her efforts were futile; he was an expert at hand-to-hand combat, of that he had just made abundantly clear. At that instance—fingers flexed from the mounting rage—nothing mattered but her destination. She wished to switch rolls, to be the one on top pressing the buttons—to be the one in control. Eyes shifting pensively, Shushana’s mind ran all possible scenarios. Impossible. Every outcome ends the same. I los—

Tsukimiya’s Japanese accent nabbed her attention, returning the pinned Arrancar back to reality. Tsukimiya? So that was what he called himself? Was that his surname? It had to be, for the Japanese were sickeningly formal—overbearingly at times.

His threat against her use of the title was laughable, and in instinctual response, Shushana eased. All pressure was lost to the sea of Tsukimiya, the sudden change in disposition causing her to guffaw pleasurably. His attempt to exert physical pain was the icing on the cake—she was as sadistic as they came. The things I would do to you, my dear Captain she thought as she collected herself. She took a few moments of silence after his distasteful yet alluring pleasantry. You wish to know how I know who you are? You surely can’t be this ignorant, Swordbreaker. Shushana closed her eyes, pink tongue licking her dried lips.  “My first is twice in apple but not once in tart. My second is in liver but not in heart. My third is in giant and also in ghost. Whole I’m best when I am roast,” she replied as she tapped the cold floor with all five powerful fingers.

Figure it out.

WC: 510

She smiled.

Was it the Shinigami’s ability to decipher her riddle, or the sheer fact that her challenge of intelligence had just been overcome? This creature—the Swordbreaker—was unlike anything she’d ever before encountered. Something about him pulled her in, like the Earth the Moon. As much as she wished to deny, Shushana Senganza, the Juggernaut, the unstoppable, felt an attraction to her naturally greatest enemy.

She made an isn’t-it-obvious expression. Of course it was simple, Swordbreaker. I know you’re a genius among your wretched kind, especially in the battle of wits. She near rolled her fiery eyes, though her face somehow ended up in an expression that displayed inappropriate content. Her joy was ripped through wrinkles as she heard that voice once more.

YOU MAKE ME SICK! HOW DARE YOU SULLY THAT WHICH WAS NEVER YOURS TO DIRTY? SHUSHANA SENGANZA, YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN THE SHADOW OF MY HEELS! SOON, I WILL TAKE BACK WHAT IS MINE! SOON, I WILL BE THE ONE TO REIGN!

Shushana shook uncontrollably, a small, subconscious part of her existence knowing the words spoken to be truth. What was all of this? Why was there a second, foreign voice able to echo through her mind? Shushana breathed in deep, eyes shutting away the light. She silenced the world around her. At that very instant, nothing else mattered to her—not even the deathly Captain that so firmly pushed her cheek down against the brisk, stone floor.

Through the darkness she swam, her naked, scarred limbs swiping with focused strength. She knew where she was—a place where no one but her could go. Was it distasteful of her to desire not to go there? Ever since her awakening, she’d dove into the blackness a number of times beyond finger counting. And every time, she found nothing. She wouldn’t be true to herself if she attempted to ignore the microscopic pain endured from knowing her soul was empty. But she wasn’t about to display that weakness. She’d rip out her own throat before she did anything so appalling.

Left to right she looked, only to experience the same thing she had all those times prior—emptiness. No sound, no taste, no smell, no sight. Just—

The slits of Shushana’s eyes narrowed, leaving a quarter of her piercing, violet irises with the task of determining what that flickering, red light really was. Shushana remained still, only her neck cocking forward, eyes narrowing a tiny bit more.

No! A degree of horror beyond what she’d experienced so far in her short life as an Arrancar smacked her directly in the face. She grimaced, the shock of what she saw shivering down her spine. How could this be? I—I—I slew you! I was the victor! I saw my fist puncture your lungs! The blood of your—

Shushana opened her eyes, light dilating her pupils. Kyousuke’s faint, Japanese accent twisted into her ears, the sound muffled by her lingering distress. She shook her head, teeth gritted. “This…is impossible.” She almost let loose a sob, her feminine hormones taking control. She wished so much to succumb to despair! To let the salty waters of her hatred run down her cheeks!

“Not as sharp as I believed,” she replied firmly. “Reach deep into your most recent memories, Mr. Kyousuke Tuskimiya, back to when you fulfilled your born capability. Pigs roast, but there was only one pig who called these tall walls its home. Your fists turned that pig to ashes.” Shushana shut her eyes, clenching her jaw, the fingers of her free hand tapping the cold floor in formation—left to right and then back again. “Please, by the Hollow-King, tell me you won’t need me explain further?” She gave him little time to reply, shifting under his weight. “Now, are you going to stop projecting your sexual frustration and let me up? Or do you want me to spread my cheeks so you can hurry up and finish?” Her words rang as cold as ice.

WC: 669