Desalmado(Unaffiliated Arrancar)Examination Ready! [Approved; 2-1/1-3]

Mon Jun 21, 2010 7:59 pm

ARRANCAR

Name:
Desalmado
Age:
521
Gender:
Male

Orientation:
Freelancing

Appearance:
Hugs please?
Desalmado is a character who appears to be younger than the age of 13, despite his actual age. At least, initially. He actually has two different forms, one being his true form and the other being his usual self.

Desalmado in his younger stage is perhaps not even at the age of twelve yet. His body seems quite human-looking, despite the centipede that makes it's way down his face and chest, looping once before slipping inside. The centipede acts as a warning to those around him; it rustles quietly when he is upset (even though he never shows upsetness on his face). He carries on his left arm the numbers '66', showing that he is the 66th numeros (even though any memory of such a tattoo have long been suppressed.)

He has silver eyes that are a little too wide and wears a grin a little too big and forced. Everything about him seems somewhat... disturbing... and just a little off. Just something no one could put their finger on that something is definitely wrong with this child, even though he acts so bright and happy (although a little too much so). His hair is very unkept, for who honestly would take care of their hygiene as a child? Such worries are for the adult world!

His clothing is reminiscent of his days in the hospital. The loose-fitting shirt he wears seems to be a seize too large for him, it's hem almost to mid-thigh. However, his sleeves are long... abnormally so. Why? Well, if one thought about it a while... it kinda looks like a straightjacket...doesn't it? And as for his pants... don't they look a little medical? White, clean, loose... and of a 'one size fits all' category.

If one squinted their eyes and unfocused for a moment... someone might confuse him as a child in hospital clothing.Now... isn't that peculiar?

However, Desalmado in his older form is a character much less happy. He has outgrown his clothing, making them ripped and torn. In this form he gains an understanding of his past and so becomes very depressed and suicidal. He generally only approaches this form when forced to, because it is so painful to have his full recollection of his past as a holllow. His chest is exposed in the gaping holes in his shirt, revealing places where he has stabbed and clawed and cut himself open in his self-hatred.

In this form he seems to be around eighteen years of age, with an expression of his face that is constantly mourning some distant past that has long ago faded away. His silver eyes no longer shine with childish hope and happiness- they are dulled down the the adult sense of responsibility and the burden of understanding the world rather than being ignorant of it. His body is pale and starved, a far cry from the healthy, happy, excited visual appearance of his other half.

A first impression would be that of a hospital ghost, haunting the world. With clothing that now fit him just fine, albeit they are a little small, and longer dark hair that is dirtied with blood and oil. He is thin, starved, and he looks ill and weak. His hollow mask is broken up and worn down in many places and he even seems to have disintegrated with the sands of time. It no longer rattles, it no longer seems to live at all. Like the rest of him in his adult form, the arrancar's mask fragment seems as lifeless as the stars. Barely recognizeable in this form, he does what he can to avoid being forced.

Personality:
Desalmado has two different personalities, one to match his younger appearance and one to match his older self. The younger half is disturbing, the older seemingly a completely different person.

The younger Desalmado is a character who seems to be eternally happy, unable to be bogged down by simple adult things and being ignorant of simpler concepts such as death. In his mind anything bad such as pain or death does not exist at all. In fact, he does not recognize the concept of death or sadness or other negative things at all. In his opinion there is nothing wrong with the world ever and the world is a happy place where everyone gets alond and there are no enemies, only friends.

Of course, this holds a bit of a more disturbing side as in order to preserve this suspending of reality and to make sure everything is happy from his point of view things in his mind he has a tendency to willingly forget people. If he is caught in a fight, within a few moments of the fight ending in his mind it never even happened. If someone died, then that person would've never existed. So extreme is this preservation of nonreality that even if his mother figure is killed in front of his eyes in the most brutal manner he would probably forget that she ever existed within an hour, but within that hour would be of his older half, which would be explained later.

The younger self is completely unaware of the world around him. So branched off reality is he that he is not even aware of the fact his current personality is a false ruse based on escapism. He is so desperate to run away from reality that he made one of his own and hid in his false world of joys and happiness. So extreme is his desperation that he easily shrugs off the most horrific things in the world as mere play and never really sits to think. He keeps himself busy by running and keeping himself focused on little things in life such as candies and playing. So much so that he has been known to sit and play with spiritually aware children without a single fiber of hostility or the normal hunger of hollows within him. It was like he gave up being a hollow altogether in his need to become a true child again.

The only time his younger self would react violently or negatively to anything would be in things that remind him of his past in any way. Because he desires the world to be happy and his past is far from pleasant, he constantly has to force down his own memories which are actually extremely painful. however, his past does affect this personality in subtle ways: he seeks more than anything a parental or guiding figure, happily showering affection and clinging to anyone who acts like a mother or a father to him without him actually mentioning his attachment to be parental. This person he would obey no matter what they said and only this person that he would willingly follow. However, if this person happens to die or happens to be separated from him, Desalmado would drop his relationship with that person just as easily as he drops the rest of the world away so that there can only be happiness.

As for how his younger self treats the world around him,he treats everyone with such shallowness that even within a few hours of being in his company he becomes so predictable that one could manipulate him to do absolutely anything. His personality is so simple and shallow that anything could see how predictable and how easy it would be to make use of him. However, he is very good at hiding his other half, which only a rare few are even aware of its existence. To force him to this state would be to cause him some kind of mental agony that he cannot run away from, such as killing someone close to him and then forcing him to continue to remember the person and the fact that they had died, or ,if the person has seen his adult form before, asking out and seeking the older half.

Desalmado in his older and arguably his true self is a lot less happy. Quiet, alone, and an extreme downer, he is the opposite of his younger self. He knows fully what he has done and how he acts as a child, but still wishes nothing more to revert to his youth and escape from the pain he bears when he is forced to realize everything in the world. He can remember every person who has died by his hands, his crimes of the past, even the human life he was forced upon and this weighs him down with regret, sadness, and anxiety for the future.

Unlike his younger self, he is suspicious of everyone and is very cautious. He has been known to kill anyone who have seen him in this form, for he is afraid that someone would use that knowledge to their advantage to being himself more pain. Unable to trust those around him, he actively seeks loneliness in order to avoid people. However, because the only way he would be revealed would be to clash with other people, his emotions are unusually high strung and unstable. One moment he would be kind and the enxt moment he would be a sadistic murderer. These actions only express the deep confusion within himself, for unlike his younger self he has nothing to hold on as a truth and no one to turn to for help. He only has himself, a broken shell that no longer operates willingly.

When this Desalmado does trust someone, however, he becomes more than merely trustful. He becomes bonded permanently, taking seriously his friend's survival. Upon a cry for help he would willingly revert back to his older form to ruthlessly slaughter anyone who dared even lift a finger against those he calls allies. Despite his ruthless way of carinf for his friends, he is still hesitant to get close to anyone, fearing hurt from his past like he once had. Because of this, even though he may save someone's life he shall quickly revert to his childish form.

Unlike his younger self, he does have a bias towards the world. He views humans with a look of longing, for he wishes he was still a human, that he was a still a child. Because he is fully aware of what his existence is and his childish half, he tends to stray away from shinigami or tenebrae, for fear that they will cause harm to him. However, he also strays from arrancar and reverts to his child self alone amongst the hollow because the chances of his younger self being harmed is practically nonexistent within the sands.

All in all, the younger self is illogical, immature, and ignorant whilst the older Desalmado is violent, angsty, and mistrusting.

Abilities:
Other than the typical cero/bala/etc. The younger Deslmado and the older Desalmado have blood manipulation, albeit at a lesser strength then they would have in full resureccion. Younger Des's blood react only when he is given cutting damage- blunt damage won't do anything to him but hurt him. The blood released off the cut is slow to react to surroundings but is extremely defensive- it either pushes Des out of the way of oncoming attacks or blocks them. However, since it is not very strong, it cannot really block powerful attacks such as ceros from a power tier his level or higher. His older counterpart has more proficiency with blood, able to use it to its full extent and able to order his blood to burst out of his skin when given blunt damage. His older self can use his blood both defensively and offensively, working at one with his weapon much like many swordmasters and using the flexibility of his blood to his advantage.

NOTE: Desalmado can only control his own blood, not the blood of others.

Sealed Zanpakutô:
Desalmado's blade is unbalanced, unsteady, and difficult to wield. It's blade is not very damaging and it's cutting edge is very smooth, much like a large kitchen knife. It seems to be made for clean slices that do not do much damage and it cannot cut into heirro very well. It seems like a blade that isn't made for battle, but for another reason, for if he was supposed to fight with such a blade it would not be so badly made.

Skill Level: Hierro: Older Des: Adept | Younger Des: Beginner
Skill Level: Pesquisa: Older Des: Advanced | Younger Des: Adept
Skill Level: Sonido: Older Des: Advanced | Younger Des: Advanced
Skill Level: Cero/Bala: Older Des: Adept | Younger Des: Adept

Release:
Tortura-Mi, Marionetista~

Resurrección:
His resureccion is quite strange. It's a throwback to his times as an adjucas rather than to his time as a vasto lorde. His sword liquifies and appears again as multiple silver-like needles that stab deeply into him from all sides, causing him to bleed. As for his appearance, the centipede upon him seems to engulf him entirely. Large jaws come from his cheeks and can deliver a nasty nip. His eyes become wide and bug-like, although his face is not as frightening as the rest of his body. Multiple centipede legs come from his ribs and the centipede-like mask that was originally on his face now seems to engulf his back, its head made like a helmet and he gains a ‘tail’, the end of which has similar jaws and will reach out to grab and deliver a FAIRLY painful bite.

However, his body itself does not change much. His arms grow sharp spines on them and so do his legs, ripping up his clothing (something he is very mildly upset about). In this form, speaking is quite difficult so he rarely, if ever, does so (although if he does do so, he speaks with an entertaining lisp). His form here is deadly, for his blood is a lot more reactive and violent than without this new form. It is the main fighting form he uses, refusing to fight any other way due to being so reliable on his blood and having a fighting style that specialized in being hurt, not hurting others. Hurting others is merely a by-product in battle.

His intention is just to keep himself alive while retaining as many injuries as possible. For this to happen, although he ran regenerate fairly quickly if he uses his blood to seal up the more injured areas, he can suspend his regeneration abilities in order to have a maximum amount of damage laced onto him.

In a bind, Desalmado has been known to do a rather disturbing action. The claws of his ribs, which seem to serve no purpose, suddenly begin to claw and tear at the skin in his chest. Although this seems to be the only action that actually harms him (for he seems rather unaffected by injuries, pain, needles, etc at this point in time), he seems to willingly do it to himself. The claws won’t stop until the battle is over, with fatalities to either one or both sides. The claws have a single aim, to cause some sort of fatal blow to the boy in order to have him try to commit a suicidal act against his enemy(s).

As an older Desalmado, however, the resureccion has reached its full force and looks mildly different. Unlike others, he can switch from normal to this 'secondary' resureccion without having to go through the first one. He does not look too different from before, except he becomes older looking and whatever mask pieces of him (eg. Centipede tail, claws, fangs) are worn and weathered. There can be seen scars where the claws have previously attacked itself back when he was a vasto lorde, so in pain was he that he would harm himself in his panic. There would be no needles in him now, however. Instead were scars.

Despite how he no longer bleeds freely, he does still bleed. How? Give him a moment. His veins and arteries begin to explode from his skin, a truly painful way to live. His circulatory system breaks down to one of an insect’s, with only one artery that leads from his brain to around his mid-section on his back. His skin is popped and broken from the force of his viens near the skin having simply erupted outwards. He bleeds from his lungs as well, blood streaming from his mouth like an eternal river. However, this impressive amount of bleeding is not fatal for him. This is because this resureccion goes far beyond adult Desalmado's control, through the goal is still the same: sustain as many injuries as possible without dying. However, because he now has full awareness of the reality around him, he can effectively fight and his suicidal way of battle becomes a weapon far fiercer than most.

In resureccion form, the older Desalmado fights so fiercely one could easily mistake him for being more inherently powerful than he actually is. In reality, degenerating all of his organs to make his circulatory system like that of an insect's causes severe damages him. Because he is larger than an insect, it is not the most effective possible to deliver oxygen around his body. Despite that in this form he can use less blood to survive (and therefore more blood to kill with) it is fatal for him to remain in his resureccion for more than twenty or thirty minutes at any one time, for the lack of oxygen to his body eventually causes the body to shut down and die. Because of this time limit (and the blood loss) he always fights with his life on the line- this merely makes him fiercer, his blood able to go at speeds as fast as his sonido (which is terribly fast to make up for his all around loss of cero, bala, and heirro while in resureccion).

Albeit in consequence, once he returns to his unresurected form he has a chance for death once more, since the mass production of blood from his body and the stress he's given himself in battle now take its toll, making him weak, anemic, starved, and generally ill. His spiritual power dies down to close to only 20% of his usual strength and he must rest for sometimes a month or two in order fow his body to get over the shock of the battle and recover. During his recovery stage he has symptoms similar to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and (unless he returns to his younger form right after, which is unlikely because he knows fully well he'd get himself killed while weak) becomes very paranoid of others, even more confused than normal, and overreacts to various stimuli, something as simple as a touch could cause him an unnervingly large amount of imagined pain for example. He usually finds a small corner somewhere in the menos forest to stay and recover for this period and avoid all contact, feeding off of various lizards that wander in and blocking himself from the world for the month or so until he returns to a more stable state of mind (albeit not very stable at all).

Deus ex Segunda:
N/A (For now)

History:
Desalmado was born under the name William. He was born into the arms of a mother that kissed his head even while he still cried. He calmed and stilled, quickly falling asleep. He was the pride of his mother as a child. He would forever be at her side as a toddler, even though the first memory of his childhood would always be him with an oversized plastic bat trying to swing a fuzzy pseudo-baseball with his father. He would occasionally lose his balance and fall over because of the bat, but his father didn’t seem to mind. Ever patient, they worked at it for hours until he finally managed to hit it… only to watch the ball ‘fly’ maybe one foot.Despite this, his father gave him a lollipop as a celebration and held him close.

He was very happy as a child.His mother loved him, his father was proud of him and his older brothers fawned over him as if he was one of them. However, not all is well in paradise.

Soon, the young William began to show how he really learned. Instead of memorizing formulas, crunching numbers and arguing using sophisticated logic, he began to sketch portraits of everything he could find, write poetry for hours in his room, and string together things in a completely illogical manner that still managed to make sense. He angered his father when he questioned the reality he lived in at a young age and he did not outgrow the belief of invisible friends.

Then young William became defensive of his father's urgings that his invisible friends were not real. He shouted to his father that they were real, that they were all around him and they were the closest he'll ever have to friends. It was then he would promptly run to his mother. His mother had a far different view of William's way of thinking. Instead of discouraging it, she encouraged him to continue to write and create. She and his father would argue late at night when they believed William couldn't hear.

It was only until William began to say that these invisible friends started to discuss to him that this world around him was not good. Was a terrible place filled with evil and cruelty and his father was one day going to be the end of him. The voices surrounded him and whispered him lies about the world around him, making him paranoid and afraid of everything except his Mother.

His father deemed him insane and sent him off to an insane asylum. His mother visited him as much as she could.

William's mental position went from bad to worse in the insane asylum. In a time where the understanding for those that suffered was next to none and therapy was more like shock treatments and untested drugs, the voices that made him paranoid now began to screech around him, commanding him to surrender his sanity to them and to give up his identity as young William... for a greater purpose he could never understand.

Day in day out, he was tube-fed and beaten whenever he struggled. He eventually had no choice but to give in to those voices that tormented him at night, causing him to scream for help in a room where he could not be heard. Only the visits from his mother seemed to soothe his constant fear and agitation. Her voice and presence allowed him to sleep. But she could only be around every once in a while.

As his mental health deteriorated and he gave into his voices, he began to abandon the identity of 'william' in favor for another one... 'Desalmado'. He would throw a large fuss if anyone called him 'William' and so nurses and doctors had a habit of called him 'Des' for the sake of ease.

It was only his mother that called him by William still, and she was the only one he tolerated to call him such a name. He would faze out of the terrible reality around him and only seem to return when he felt the comfort of his mother nearby. He continued to deteriorate, however, and was soon moved into a straitjacket in a small room to himself, alone and isolated.

He became comfortable in his small place. In the last few months of his life, he was happy and in bliss as his insanity drove him to hallucinate that he was back home with his mother (and never his father) and his brothers and they would always play tag and have picnics. Whenever someone came in to feed him or change him, he would screech and yell. Because he was so hard to deal with, he was left usually to starve and dehydrate alone.

However, one person could always visit him. Dear Mother could always say hello. She would feed and care for him when she could. She could always be the one to support him no matter how deep he was, holding him to her even as he screamed and cried from illusionary pain. But his mother could not stop the future. His father had signed a permission form allowing young Des to take a very new kind of surgery, one that believed that the removal of a piece of one's brain would cure insanity. It would have a high death rate.

Young 'Desalmado' William was wheeled in, a tube of anatheasia enough to kill dumped into his lungs and his brain sliced open even before he fell into unconsciousness.

He obviously didn't survive.

As a young spirit, he was eaten as soon as he was dragged out of his body from death. After all, this place where people were killed via beatings, starvation, shock therapy, and botched surgeries were a hotplace for Hollow. However, when he became a hollow himself by overpowering the one that had eaten him, he found himself beside... himself.

A giant centipede, his large eyes stared at the mutilated boy that was him. Everyone had left to write their reports on the surgery while he stared in wonder. His body was starved and pale. His head was stripped of hair, brains spilling out an blood was strewn everywhere. He scuttled his way out to see a familiar woman crying, her tired face drowned in tears.

A thought came to the monster's head. Mother. He whispered it to her. "mo...ther..." Her head perked up at his voice, as if she could hear him. Her eyes widened as she saw the large centipede-like creature in front of her. Her one name seemed to give the hollow a feeling of wholeness.

"William?!"
The centipede followed his mother back to her home, she didn't seem to resist when he insisted on following her. In fact,she seemed comforted. He could not understand why he felt such a strong attraction to her, what a mother was, or anything else. But he knew somehow that if he stayed near hear, he would be whole. He curled around her bed that night, his large form seeming to make the room so much smaller and almost claustrophobic. He nuzzled her softly, large jaws letting out small noises of pleasure. He was happy… he was whole.

But… at the same time, he needed her by his side always. His desperate need for her attention and her touch to keep him calm from this deep hunger that he felt within him helped him retain his humanity when he shouldn’t be able to. The woman that was his mother stroked his mask that night, and every night for the next few nights as he followed her wherever she went. She would coo soft lullabies to him and read softly short stories, even poems that he wrote himself to continue to remind him of who he once was. She not once allowed him to forget where he had come from and that despite his appearance; he was just a little boy.

His father as always seemed to be missing something. When his wife insisted on sleeping alone and began speaking and cooing in her room as if she was insane as well, he began to grow suspicious and eventually confronted her about it. She said that young William was not dead and, in fact, their son was a spirit around her, keeping her from all harms and more desperate for her love than any of the sons before him. This angered the father and he stormed into the room, blind to the enraged centipede-hollow that waited patiently.

The hollow attacked with a screech of rage, ignoring his mother as she ran in and began to scream at him to stop. With his mandibles he ripped the man apart and began to hungrily eat the body. He paused, however, when he saw his father’s spirit staring at him in horror. His large eyes were filled with rage as he ate the man while he still was too shocked to respond. Afterwards, he began to clean his blood covered claws. He didn’t notice that the body was still on the rug, dead. When he was done, he curled around the pale mother, nuzzling her arm with a gentleness that denied what he could do. He purred softly and allowed her to stroke over his eyes, his mask, and his claws, all without once even twitching against her.

She soon called up her other sons to tell them the story that neither of them believed. Similarly, they confronted her and stormed into her room to see the dead, rotting body of their father and be killed by an enraged little brother. Similarly, they were all eaten and killed. Similarly, he would curl around his mother as he groomed himself, ever protective and ever loving. No one would be able to take her away from him, no one! He would be with her always.

Years passed.

Years passed, and his mother began to grow old. Police suspected something of the murder of her family, but no one could prove that such a fail and frightened woman could brutally slaughter two fully grown men and her husband. She was taken care of by her brothers and cousins, though she would admit to no one that her favorite son was always with her. Besides, no one would believe her if the truth was ever spread around. She stayed isolated for as long as she could…but she was getting older and time would not stop for her. Her son could not understand time, for he always was young and playful even as her once-smooth hands began to wrinkle and her sight begin to go.

Eventually, she died. She had to die... she was only a human; she had no choice. As a spirit, she could not control her son and in his upsetness upon her death and his eternal hunger previously held back only by her, he ate her gruesomely, something he would later forget. It was only when he has no more reason to stay in the human world did he simply get up and leave to heuco mundo.

The world he lived in was strange and it was fuzzy. He lost himself in the hunger for too many years, unable to think or remember who he was. Every few years, he would pause and think only a few thoughts, usually circled around how pretty the stars would be that particular night, before continuing his madness and slaughter. He proceeded to kill more hollow, ripping their bodies to shreds and eating them all alive.

This new hollow had completely forgotten the young 'willaim' identity of before, oping to name itself 'Desalmado' on the odd chance that it could think. It traveled up the ranks to adjucas very quickly before pausing in the adjucas rank. Desalmado was now a large hollow, through smaller than what it was before. He seemed to be able to think, although he suffered from harsh waking nightmares about a woman he did not know about and flashes of pain. He frequently paused in his voracious eating to screech in pain over the feeling of shocks throughout his body.

The path to Vasto Lorde was slow and steady, but when he became a Vasto Lorde something immediately went wrong. Gaining a more humanoid figure, he was not a boy but of a young man, weathered by the time spent with his mother. He was well-build by all the fighting and his centipede self clung to his back, fused into him. However, not all was alright.

With the rush of power came a rush of memories. He couldn't remember everything from his human self, but he could remember the times he was with his mother,the incredible pain he was in without her, and the memories she forced him to remember and acknowledge. He remembered her eyes, wide and red with tears as he ate her. He let out a roar into the sands that screamed more pain than he could bear.

For the next few years, Vasto Lorde spoke of one of them that was a little strange. This strange Vasto Lorde called himself Desalmado and would stay in one part of the caverns, mourning eternally over some human life problems. He would lash out and eat anything that came in his area, claiming that he was defending his space where he could be alone and think about his mother.

This older, more matured Desalmado could not handle the truth of his death and how his life was. He could not bear these memories but he could not remove them. And so, he heard of a strange shinigami that claimed to be able to remove personalities and feelings and memories from a hollow to a strange being known as an arrancar. In blind desperateness, the vasto lorde set for the white building.

When he arrived, he did not knock politely... no, he was too panicked for that. Instead, he demanded to see this strange shinigami as soon as possible and slammed into the white walls. He used his powerful body to break himself through countless hallways. Only the top Espada could stop this one-man army as he bowled through the hallways at break neck speeds. He only paused when the being he sought stopped him with a blade to his face and demanded to know why he had come here.

The vasto lorde named Desalmado then broke down in sobbing, clinging to the man's clothing and begging him to be turned to an arrancar. He would pay any cost, even if it meant serving this man if he could be returned to a childish ignorance to his own memories and be kept in the dark about what he truly was. Of course, Aizen agreed. When he was turned to an arrancar the last words he spoke that were of his adult half for more than a century was that this form would not do. He wanted to be younger, for no more bloodshed to occur, his memories removed or at least suppressed. As a child, however, he was only strong enough as a lower ranked espada and even then his newly limited mental capacities did not suit the rule of an espada. Given a slap tattoo of a numeros of 87, he quietly enjoyed his life as a fraccion for the tercero before the tercero became a privaron. When that happened, he was forced to turn out and without anyone to guide him, he began to wander the halls, keeping close to his strangely eccentric but honorable and kind privaron father figure, Dordonii Alessandro Del Socacchio. However, when the man of black clothing and orange hair killed his father figure, he turned away and fled as far as he could from las noches; he would not touch that building again for more than a century.

Fifty years later, after the chaos and the insanity of Aizen's rule, he came upon another arrancar. She reminded him of his mother, and so after some mental struggle he soon became her adopted son. She was an espada as well, but since he was too nervous to go back to las noches she came out to the sands to visit him often. She kept him company and read him stories whenever she could steal a book or two from the human world. She would sometimes being him to the colorful world of humans, reminding him of this world he had abandoned so long ago. He tasted the clean waters and made snowmen with her, taught how to make snow angels and what angels were. She would hold him close and coo sweet things to him and he would coo back in his own way. It was pure happiness, until the Excequias found out. One day while they were hugging and she teaching him the ranks of hollow for the third time today, a man in clean clothing came up and tapped her on the shoulder. Immediately the happy look on her face was replaced with a look of fright and he pushed her adopted son off from the cliff they were on with cries and urgings to run away and never return. Confused and frightened, he only knew how to cling to his mother and did the opposite.

As soon as he managed to sonido his way to the top of the cliff, the man was sheathing his blood stained blade and the boy stared in shock and disbelief at his dead mother. Running to her, he shook her bleeding body in an urging for her to get up, unable to understand that she was gone, dead, and would never hug or love him again. Unable to compute the death of his mother in his mind, he could do nothing but urge her to get up, even as her blood began to seep to his sleeves and his clothing, making him a bloody mess. He tried to kiss her cheek, something she taught him would always wake her up when she fell asleep and he wanted to play.This only have him a face of blood with two clean lines down his face as tears spilled from him. This wasn't possible! This couldn't be happening! The man behind him only stood coldly before picking him up and carefully dragging him back to las noches.

There, since he would always get lost and the white walls made him frequent with headaches of memories of both his dead mother and his long-passed father figure, the Excequias took him in to force him to work properly mentally. Later he learned that the same man that had killed his mother had also killed his long-lost father and so this new level of agony reached his mind, one that only forced him to a way that the now-dead Aizen had locked long ago. With an explosion of reiatsu and growth, a fully grown Desalmado unleashed his wrath on the Excequias. As expected, this pitiful man did not survive the encounter. In his rage and beastly manner, he cannibalized the man while in his resureccion form, before using his newfound burst of speed to break his way out of the building that was his cage and ran to a spot in the menos forest of where a shinigami once lived, having long since died once his body could no longer keep up the fast pace needed to survive. There he lay upon a bed that had not been used for too long and suffered.

The next century or so torment for him. He kept himself in his little hole, ignorant towards the goings on of the world as he stayed in his little room, slamming himself against walls and clutching his head in pain as centuries of memories flowed into him and he was forced to remember everything he had forgotten. He mourned the death of his family by his claws. He sliced himself open more than once, only to watch his injury heal because of his blood. He even tried to kill himself with his own blood, but it refused to let him die. Forced to continue his existence, he survived on lizards that wandered in and often clawed at the walls of his little cave, the blood stains from his latest meal leaving marks on the walls much like a prisoner's dirty hands, trying to escape. He clawed off the spot where his numeros number once was- it was removed from him as soon as he left las noches the first time. He screamed until he was hoarse, cried until he had no more tears left, and raged until he passed out from exhaustion.

He would've remained forever like this, if he didn't know how to revert back to his younger self. To do so was quite difficult, it was to develop the boy's mentality of non-thinking and happiness and then to slowly settle down and drag himself away from reality, into the murk of his own mind, to close his eyes, and to finally just let go of everything holding him to reality. When he would open his eyes, he was a child again, without any knowledge of what had happened or why he was here. Happily, the child named himself Des and took his blade, leaping out of the cave and into the new world.

RP Sample:
(Taken from another RP site)
It was a simple game, to pretend. Desalmado had been playing it all his life. He pretended he was fine. He pretended he was little. And today he would pretend again, the perfect actor with the entire world his stage. He grinned and his tears dried up slowly, but surely, he wore his mask again after having dropped it once. Happily he put his sleeve to his mouth at the thought of pretending to be characters from stories. But did he know any stor...ies....

An old woman was reading him a storybook about a baby deer called Bambi. Her voice was soft. Her hands were wrinkly, but he felt her love as she stroked his mask and over his eyes. He watched entranced at the pictures of the baby deer running as his mother called and told him to run. Out of worry for the small deer he crooed when his own mother said 'BANG!' so loudly in the softness of her voice that the loss pierced his heart. So shocked was he by this story that he crooed and rubbed her face with his large jaws and mask, seeking her comfort as he cried without any tears. The woman held his large head to her bosom, whispering that it was alright, just continue the story, everything was going to be alright soon...

The memory was so much like... like this woman. Younger, more confused, but this had to be that woman... that woman with no face that haunted his dreams and made him hurt and mourn and long for her, but at the same time he wanted to be away, for her to leave him. She, the woman who gave him all these conflicting thoughts. If only she would leave him alone, even if he wanted her by his side! He clutched his head again, the memory continued in flashes and shards.

Then there was spring. Her voice made it seem like it was all around them, the little Bambi deer prancing around with the skunk and the flowers and the singing of the birds of an unknown land that was found only in their magical little room. She, the woman of no face, kissed his eyes as she always did after the story and lay down in the thing she called a bed. She propped up the fluffy things called pillows and he lay by her side, at least as much as he could. She would soothingly stroke his mask and body, humming her tune that made him lull as she did, watching her hand eventually go limp and her breathing slow. He would watch her for hours, a strong emotion in his hole that ached, for he yearned what he was missing.

And this pain now radiated to the rest of his body, this sense of loss. Before he could stop himself he lunged at her and tried to hug her, though inside of himself he recoiled away in horror of his own actions and at the feeling of her touch. This inner war within him, feeling insecure he clutched her harder, which only made his other side be even more horrified and recoil further, screaming that this wasn't right.

They had a GAME TO PLAY! A GAME! NO! NO MORE TOUCH! A GAME! GO ON WITH THE GAME! That was what the voice yelled, so desperate was he inside to go back to his inner lies that he could do nothing but clutch harder to try and drown out his own desires with new ones, one that resurfaced, ones that had only a one sentence mantra. I want to be with my mommy. A foreign word, mommy, one that fit in his mind and clicked so well, bringing with it soothing feelings of warm hands initially, and then the unspeakable pain of where he did not know.

He clutched her for a reason he didn't know, whispering against his own knowledge into her body that little mantra that defied the loud and forceful thoughts. Perhaps she could hear it, the soft calling of a child for his mother that he spoke through his lips and muffled into her stomach. I love you mommy. I want to be with you mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. And somehow, this moment felt ok, better than any game and more painful than any loss of one... but it was ok. Somehow, she would make it better, he was sure of it. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. She'd make everything better.