Amaya Kidachi [APPROVED, 3-1+]

» Name: Amaya Kidachi
» Alias: Silence
» Age (actual): 398
» Age (apperance): Mid to late teens
» Gender: Female

» Association: Refuses to associate with anyone. (Will probably end up with the Kokuryuteshi)

» Appearance Written: She has a slender form and a rather average height for someone in their late teens, giving her a distinctly younger appearance, but somehow retaining a strong sense of maturity in the way her sides curl inward and her hips jut out, completing the light hourglass shape. That being said, not everything about her is what most would call "mature", as her chest size lacks in development, though not extremely so. Her breasts perk out at a modest size that could easily be lost in baggy clothes, but also draw out by better fitting ones.

Her shins and thighs are strong and well-defined, a clear hint towards her efforts to be faster than those around her. To match the muscles on her legs, her biceps and (less so) her forearms are toned, though much more lightly than her legs. This leaves them looking rather average while relaxed, but upon flexing her arms, the strength behind her deadly sword swings becomes apparent.

Unlike the rest of her sharp, defined body, her face is rounded and seems to lack any real definition to it. Her thin, pale lips are often tugged downward in either a disapproving pout or an angered scowl. Despite this, her eyes always look the same regardless of her emotion--bland. While there is a distinct look of constant pain somewhere deep within her light pink eyes, on the surface there is nothing more than a blank abyss that draws in the gazes of those around her.

And to match those uninteresting, dull pink eyes, her once raven black hair has now been consumed by the same lackluster shade of pink. Her bangs are a mess of random strings of hairs that fly off in whatever direction they please before curling out of her vision. The rest of her hair acts in a similar fashion in that she makes no effort to tame it. The long locks trail down her body before cutting off just above her bum where the split ends spring out in whatever direction suits their fancy at the moment. On occasion, she will make a weak attempt to at least control some of her hair by parting it over her shoulders and tying each side with quickly made bows, though this is usually only done if she’s anticipating conflict in the near future.

Completely disregarding her rather curvy and defined body, a loose robe is usually seen draped over her body. The dark gray cloth pools around her shoulders, exposing her neck and collarbone to the world, but layering around the edges of her shoulders and forcing wrinkles down the length of it. The material itself is a familiar texture to her and the select few who had gotten close enough to strip her of her clothing in the past; the silky material is that of the scarf she used to wear so diligently. Granted, it is not an adaptation of said scarf, but perhaps a sort of revamp. It keeps the familiar and secure embrace as her scarf once did, but now it not only shelters her neck, but it shelters all of her down to her knees where it fans off from her.

As a general rule of thumb, she chooses to hang the hood of her robe over her forehead, shielding her eyes from anyone who looks at her from an even stance and only giving those below her a glimpse to her peepers. And just as she hides her face, she also lets the long sleeves of it hang just over her fingertips--not so far that she risks having her hands tangled within the fabric, but not far enough back to eliminate all possibility of her holding a dagger.

Oddly, she chooses to keep her legs and feet unclothed, refusing to put on shoes unless it’s absolutely necessary. She keeps a strap that crosses from her left shoulder and hooks across her body, often times losing itself within the folds of her coat. This strap serves to carry her Zanpakutō. The holster of it is tilted so that the head of her sword pokes out over her left shoulder. As you may assume, this means that actually drawing the hand weapon can be a bit awkward, as she would have to grab the actual blade of it, but she tends to wield it with near perfect finesse despite that.

She commands the spotlight the instant she walks in the room. Her shoulders always held perfectly straight and her gait that of a queen, she gives off an air of ‘get to the point’ from the very moment she catches anyone’s stare. And should anyone dare to come to her in hopes of a conversation, they’ll be quickly shut down with an acidic voice and sharp responses, often leaving the timid wishing they had never spoken to her in the first place. Granted, this can vary depending on who she’s talking to. To those who she views as her followers, she’ll be kinder and perhaps a bit more patient with their petty issues and needs for socialization. For those she considers corrupt? Well, provided she lets them live long enough for a conversation, they’ll find themselves getting bombarded with overly aggressive comments and taunts, often losing the entire point of the conversation in her hostility.

But, surprisingly, despite her need for the spotlight, she would much rather the light be elsewhere. While she understands her role and knows that people looking to her can’t be avoided, she would much rather stick to the side of the room, so to speak. She has always been an introvert and will continue to be, even as a God.

Overwhelming would be the best way to describe the aura that radiates off her. Completely unconcerned with the complaints of anyone around her, she makes no effort to conceal the sheer weight of her aura. It stretches from her body like a reverse black hole, pushing away the souls around her and threatening to rip them from their very bodies should they dare to test their limits. Of course, something as simple as her spiritual pressure couldn’t do anything that drastic, but those weaker than her can attest to the overwhelming feeling of this backward force.

Ironically, her reverse black hole doesn’t have any distinct qualities other than the aforementioned ones. It has no taste, smell, not even a color. It has no texture and doesn’t give off any sort of feeling of motion. It is simply there, pushing those around her away with it’s heavy presence.

» Appearance Image:




» Personality: Aloof and commanding, Amaya dominates conversations and encounters with a sort of passive-agressive, "I have better things to do" attitude born from the years of abandonment. Her tolerance for emotional displays and anything even remotely close to trying to get close to her is a grand total of zero, making her seem more like a ticking time bomb. While this nonchalant, empty vibe decorates her expression at all times -- even her voice sounds like it's on the border of irritated and bored -- her spiritual presence is an active, moving force. Manifesting as the true "form" of her thoughts, it struggles to push everyone away and keep her as isolated as possible. After all, people are bad, they will always be bad, and she wants nothing to do with them. She is her own being that requires no coddling or even the slighest bit of social interaction to feel at peace.

That being said, this less than charming outlook on life has corrupted her once pure mind into something damning. It screams of how disgusting the world is -- how low people have fallen. It yells and rants about how she should change things for the better and bring upon peace the wartorn worlds. These skewed ideas have long since lead her down the path of insanity. While her demeanor is offputting at first, it's only those that stick around a bit too long that start to notice the chilling, underlying cracks that truly make up who she really is.

Crazed and spiteful, she both longs for someone to cling to -- someone to give her purpose -- but despises everyone and everything she comes across. A knee-jerk reaction caused from her past experiences forces her to create this purpetual storm of "acceptance is wrong" and "people will always try to kill me no matter what I do". So, needless to say, her fight or flight instinct has drastically veered towards the flight. Running from even her own emotions, she's backed herself into a corner she can never hope to get out of alone. She knows this very well. She knows how screwed up she has made her life, but the will to push in a new direction and try to change is always slapped in the face by a cruel turn of events, molding her into the state of a scolded puppy.

Deep down, even Amaya likes to think there's some semblance of humanity within her. A young girl who just had been subject to too many bad things that longs for the day she gets to break out and be happy once more. It's a nice thought she humors from time to time, but only when she is alone. And even then, she often ends up laughing away the notion. As if someone like her deserved such things as happiness or a second chance. Her time had long since come and go, but that doesn't mean she doesn't hope for others to do their best and go down the straight and narrow.



» History:

Act ONE | Scene ONE |

It was odd for a child to be born during the midst of a blizzard. Maybe if the innocent child had been born on a warm, sunny day, like any normal kid, the people wouldn't have been so willing to accept the fact that she was "cursed."

December 7, 2018. 19 hours and 24 minutes. That was the day that a young child with thick, black hair, and beautiful green eyes took her first breath. December 7, 2018. 20 hours and 27 minutes. That was the day that a young woman with long, black hair and dull forest eyes took her last breath. The mother of Amaya had been a nobody. A poor woman who unexpectedly got pregnant. A woman who should have been in the prime of her life, but instead was a nothing who lived in the worst part of the district. The woman had gotten sick with influenza a week before she was due to give birth, and so doctors assumed the baby would have died before, or during, birth. They had expected that the mother's body would reject the kid to save itself, but the opposite happened. The baby drained the mother quicker than expected.

The baby was healthy--Amaya was healthy--but the mother was not. She struggled with recovery from the birthing process. Doctors tried to help the poor woman, but in the end, her body had been drained and she passed away only an hour after seeing her child.

Cold and alone, baby Amaya lay in the nursery, quieter than the screaming infants around her. Amaya didn't flail around in a desperate search to find someone, she didn't demand that people tend to her. She simply stared with her bright green eyes. She made odd faces of happiness when a doctor looked at her and occasionally reached, but beyond that she was quiet baby that was content to let the world go as it should. It wasn't until a day later when a man came in and scooped her up did she start to wail and scream.

The man, she later learned, was her father. A tan man with long shaggy hair. His voice was hard and hurt her ears, and his hands rough and itchy, but he held her when she cried and fed her every now and then. He kept her in a warm blanket beside him on the bed and even sang to her when she wouldn't sleep. He was a good person that Amaya had loved as a child, but in her memory, she only remembered a warm smile a deep voice. No specific features of the man who suddenly vanished on her second birthday. No particular phrase that he would repeat to her. Nothing of the man really stuck in Amaya's mind as she grew up.

Once again, Amaya was alone in the single dark room that was her house. Her tiny legs swayed as she sat on the edge of the bed. The man--chichi as she had been taught to call him--used to spend all of his time with her, but as she grew older he was out more and more, so it wasn't unlike her to simply sit on the bed and await his return. Usually she wouldn't do much, save for a few games with her imaginary friends, but on that particular day, she was feeling explorative. She wandered the room, pulled out shirts and marveled at how large they were. She picked up books and stared at their odd pictures. She tossed icky foods from the fridge and nibbled on the yummy stuff. Nothing bad, right? She was still being good.

So when she found her place back on the couch, she fully expected chichi to come back home, smile, and hug her like he always had, despite the mess they would have to clean up. But time went on and on. Amaya grew more and more sleepy. He sure was gone for a long time. Maybe he would be back when she woke up from her nap.

She woke up tucked into a large, springy bed. Drowsiness kept her screaming in panic as she scanned the medium sized room. She was on a bed, there was a desk near her, a wardrobe, she could even look out a window! With a yawn, she pulled herself from the bed and walked up to the closed door. She wasn't ever allowed to go outside--that's what chichi had taught her--but she wanted to see if he was back yet. She stood in front of the door and stared at it. She had never woken up and not seen him instantly. Then again, she had never woken up in this room.

Curiosity overtook her and she clumsily pulled open the door and ran out of the room. Well, not exactly. She ran face first into the leg of a woman, which instantly earned a scream and wide-eye stare from Amaya. Who was this girl? Where was chichi?

It turned out that this woman was chichi's sister. It took some warming up, but eventually memories of that man were replaced by memories of this woman who made it a point not to get involved with Amaya's life. When Amaya entered the room, the woman would leave. The only time they talked was at dinner, but even then it was forced. Occasional grunts of some kind of 'curse' often were thrown into their conversations. Amaya didn't mind though... She had a nice, big home and filling meals. School was uninteresting without any friends, but at least she did well with her grades. She didn't even notice the odd looks that sometimes were thrown her way. Everything was normal for the black haired, green eyed girl.

It was even normal that night when her aunt didn't return. She had been through this before. Granted, that was nearly 8 years ago and Amaya hardly remembered just what had happened, but somewhere in her mind she knew this was something to be expected. She would stay up until she passed out, then she would wake up to see a new face. That was how life went. But when she woke up, she was in the same place. A quick scout of the house showed that her aunt was no where to be seen. That was something that wasn't normal. There had always been someone there for Amaya when she woke up. Did something happen?

Act ONE | Scene TWO |

The chanting is what really set off alarm bells. "Kitsune-Tsukai! Kitsune-Tsukai!" Kitsune-what? What did that even mean? The crowd that had formed at her front door were shouting in rage, claiming that Amaya had possessed her family members and sent them to their deaths. How did that even make sense? They banged at her door and demanded that she be cleansed from her malicious ways. Amaya wasn't too sure what any of that meant, but it couldn't have meant anything good.

She escaped through the back door and ran through the forests, thankfully with no one at her tail. But what happened..? Where was her aunt? Why was everyone suddenly turning on her? What had she done wrong? Sure, she wasn't the most social girl and didn't have too many friends, but that didn't make her a bad person did? Why... Why was everyone after her..?

In the dim sunlight of early morning, ten-year-old gasped and panted as she leaned against a large oak tree. Surely she wasn't being chased anymore... She fell to her knees and gasped as she struggled to catch her breath. Maybe an hour later she was approached by a middle aged man, and after a few moments of encouragement, he coaxed Amaya's into his arms and lead her back to his little cabin out in the middle of nowhere. If Amaya was maybe a few years older, she would've realized how bad of a choice it was to go running into some man's arms, but she was young and naive and fear of being caught by her crazy village were clouding her judgement.

The man had turned out to be one of the mob members that thought she was some sort of evil spirit bent on killing those around her. The only difference in this man was that he didn't want her dead. He wanted to use her for her powers. For years he had built up this trust in her--he had become a safety blanket for her and she loved him like she would have loved her father. Her life was great.

Until he took her back into town. He held her arm high in the air and announced that he had tamed the evil spirit. He claimed to have used her for his own profit. He claimed that she was nothing more than a tool. Amaya's heart shattered. Was she really nothing to him? Betrayed, she jerked her arm away from the man and pushed him aside. Nine years meant nothing to him? Outraged, she shoved the man again. "You MONSTER!" She screamed.

And once again, death came back into her life. It was his own stupidity for making this announcement on a bridge. It wasn't her fault he had terrible balance. Not that it mattered because any hatred that had been directed at her all those years ago was reignited. Only this time, she couldn't get away from this crowd. There were no sneaky tricks she could pull from her sleeves. No one was there to take her away to a safe place. The forest would be her death place. Beneath that tree where she found that man nine years ago. Beneath that tree is where the gunshot ended her days as a Human and sent her onto a new chapter in her life.

It had taken her a few days to actually accept the idea of her own death. It had taken her even longer to realize how much she had been left alone by everyone. Everyone she had ever known always abandoned her when push came to shove. She was a tool to be used. She would never truly have anyone there for her.

She sat under the tree with her knees hugged close to her chest. The chain that stuck from her gut had been getting shorter as the days wore on. What did they represent? Were they like the sands of time, slowly ticking away until Amaya took her last breath. Or were they a count down until she was taken to the afterlife? The answer came after months of being left alone when her chain finally lost that last link. The answer she had been waiting for came in the form of a terrible, indescribable pain that not only hurt her body, but tore apart her very soul. The answer came in her losing her mind and her entire life being driven by her abandonment.

Act TWO | Scene ONE |

She had been transformed into a beast designed to kill. A long sleek body with razor sharp claws, pointed ears able to hear the faintest of sounds, and bright yellow eyes that pierced the darkness. She was made to kill, and killing is what she did. All of those people who had turned their backs on her, all of the people who were so quick to turn on her for no good reason, all of those people who put up no fight when she returned back to that village. She was the devil they had always thought she was, and she was there to make up for lost time.

She was quick, clean, and persistent in her raid. Everyone, no matter how young or old, was subject to her revenge. If it wasn't for the Shinigami that had stepped in, Amaya would have ate them all. She would have without a second thought. Nevertheless, no matter how hard she tried to stay and finish off the last few survivors, she was stopped by those damned people in black robes. Eventually she was forced to turn tail, but it was still a victory in her eyes. So many souls had been consumed in such a short period of time that she almost, just almost, thought that maybe she was starting to get full.

But of course that was all in her head. The pit in her stomach still needed to be filled. And seeking out to fill that void is what she did. Relentlessly. Nonstop. There wasn't no more than an hour break between her feeding. Anything and everything was consumed by her without a second thought. Why should they get to live and be happy? Why should they get to have friends and people they trust? If she couldn't none of them could. And they were everywhere. Apparently everyone had fallen into some kind of trusting relationship. Very few were excluded from her revenge.

And once she evolved again, the world stopped breathing. Such a young Hollow, at only forty years, she managed to reach the pivotal moment in her life that most Hollows took centuries to achieve. She was a force to reckoned with. But now she was among like-minded beings. Gillians is what she learned they were called. All the same. All driven by their hunger to insane levels. All of them extreme in their actions. Just like her. They fought each other when a stupid Hollow dared to approach them, but they were a group nonetheless. A primal, barely functioning group.

And she was the odd one out. So young and inexperienced, Amaya had a hard time grasping just what she was supposed to do, which seems weird looking back because all she was, was primal thoughts. Doing what she wanted when she wanted. Eating whatever she wanted. But her entire existence was because of her need to fit in--to find somewhere where she belonged and finally she had found it. She couldn't mess it up.

But she did mess it up. She didn't know how, but for whatever reason they all turned on her. Nothing in particular triggered it, but she was the weakest in the group, and apparently they wanted an easy snack. Once again, Amaya was nothing but a tool. But this tool fought back. She overcame the odds and as it turned out, she was the one getting a quick meal that night. The details are hazy, but gillian were clumsy beasts and tended to rely only on this weird beam of light that Amaya could never learn to manage. She was smaller, more agile. They were bulky and clumsy.

She was stronger. But it meant nothing because she was alone again.

Act TWO | Scene TWO |

Her next change happened not much longer after the fight with the other gillian, and though was still painful, it wasn't nearly as harsh as her very first transformation. And with this transformation everything came back to her. Her human life, all the things she did as a Hollow and Gillian. Everything hit her like a ton of bricks that made her fall to the ground and roar out in agony. So overcome with her pain, she didn't even notice her new form. A hybrid monster with the body of a wolf, the coat of a lion, and a mask in the shape of some sort of dog with moose-like antlers rising from her skull. Gone was her nimble features and in their place was a bulky monster that looked ready to race into a fight.

But she didn't want to fight. She wanted to run away from everything. Well, until she felt that hunger again. The only feeling that had stuck with her for her 60 years of existence. That need to part of something. To have someone, just one person, to lean on. She had once thought that she could fill that feeling by eating those who she envied, but that had been a lie--it did nothing to make her feel better. All it had done was make her change into these new forms. But why? She had been so constant in her consumption. She had grown so rapidly. Wasn't that good? Wasn't that what Hollows wanted? So why wasn't she ever rewarded?

Well, her reward came a year later.

Her kind was far and few between, but out there nonetheless. The strongest of the menos, or that's what she considered herself. It was a lonely race, unlike the Gillian that packed together, but it was a race. She hadn't really devoured many souls outside of a handful every couple of days because why should she? There was no point in getting stronger, especially if there was no reward. Nothing would ever change.

Then she met what she later called the pack. Three other Hollows roughly around her power range that had banded together despite the oddness in the idea. Granted, they had tried to kill her at first, and she refused to die, though she wasn't sure why. Hadn't she just been thinking about how pointless life was? She figured she was still fueled by her most primal urges to stay alive and eat. That was, after all, her entire being for the vast majority of her life. But at any rate, somehow the four of them came to a curt agreement that they should ban together, so long as they all pulled their weight.

It felt as though she was on trial every day, but surely the other three felt the same way as well. At any moment any of them could suddenly turn and they would be forced into a fight that would hurt all of them, and most likely kill at least one. It was so probable, too. At their rank, they shouldn't want to be together, but because they all shared a sort of common aspect, they clung to the idea of being together.

Trust.

Attachment.

Consumption.

Abandonment.

They all wanted each other in their lives, but all wanted to kill each other. Perhaps Amaya was being naive for so easily trusting them and giving them her everything. She should have learned her lesson decades ago. But there she was, so willing to put her life on the line for these three Hollows, which ultimately lead to her betrayal.

The Hollow of Trust had grown tired of the same thing every day. She wanted to see the Human world again to see how the world had changed. The idea was instantly met with disagreement, but within minutes disagreement turned into understanding from the Hollow of Attachment and the Hollow of Abandonment. Clearly out voted, the Hollow of Consumption reluctantly agreed and then they were off to see just how the world they had once been apart of had changed.

It really had changed. Towers, devices, noises. The world was something completely new. And something that was infested with Shinigami. It was a wonder that the four of them had managed to stay on the down low for nearly a day before they were found by a patrol squad. Consumption and Abandonment had stood their ground even as Trust and Attachment had been purified and sent away to wherever they were meant to go. Naturally, Abandonment was not a fighter, but she refused to leave her only companion. They fought together--a perfect team with their movements matching each other without missing a beat. But that didn't make them stronger and Consumption knew that. He gave no warning, no signal. He just suddenly vanished, leaving her take the sting of a Zanpakutō in her shoulder.

In reality she really should have been purified that day. Her life as a Hollow should have ended, but by some curse she lived. She had managed to slip away and escape into the hell that was her homeland. She should have just let the Shinigami kill her. What more did she have to live for? She was alone again...

Act TWO | Scene THREE |

Solitude. That was her life now. She trotted through the underbrush and leaped through the trees with silent footsteps and alert eyes. She wasn't seen or heard by anyone. To the rest of the world, Amaya Kidachi was gone. That little girl who had been so terrified of life was destroyed--consumed by what she was now.

But what was she? This... This monster that was driven by that emptiness within her. She had no personality anymore. She didn't feel anything. She had urges, but none of them driven by an emotion or even by any sort of thought at this point. She had been reduced to a machine whose only purpose was to protect itself. To keep away anymore threats to her well being. She was alone. And she was scared. No amount of power she had acquired could protect her from the monsters around her.

She was all alone. And she hated it.

She would watch the packs of Hollows race through the forest, each member of the group serving a purpose. They were like gears in a clock. And Amaya was that one broken part that was always sent back. It had nothing to do with her personally; she was simply created to be thrown away. That was the realization she had one night. No matter how hard she tried to force herself into a group, she would never fit. She would always be the weakest, or the stupidest, or simply not liked. She would always be discarded.

So why would she keep trying?

One day (or was it night?), Amaya had wandered into the more rocky section of the deserts. It was awkward for her weird, deer-wolf form, but she continued to walk. Where to? She didn't know. She couldn't stand the Forest anymore. She couldn't stand to watch the Hollows. She couldn't stand anything. Couldn't she just be away from everything? Away from her past. Away from the pain. Away from this world.

She stopped and looked up at the frozen moon. As a Hollow she had wanted only to consume--to be stronger. Now she was stronger. She wasn't challenged anymore. Hollows didn't actively search for her. Even Shinigami tended to steer clear if they were on their own. Obviously she had completed her goal.

But now what?

What was her next step? Was this it for her? Would some angel come along and finally whisk her away to her heaven? Or was she really cursed to wander these deserts for the rest of time? The thought chilled her to the bone. What had she possibly done that was so terrible? Why did all of this happen to her? These questions seemed to be haunting her more and more as time ticked by.

She shifted her haunches then sat down, her muzzle dipping towards the ground. She wasn't even Human anymore. She had been degraded to whatever monstrosity she was. What had the Shinigami screamed? Adjuchas? Whatever that meant.

She clenched her eyes shut. She had been fighting to stay alive for years and years on end. Those were her thoughts: Survive and Eat. Even now those thoughts dictated what she did in most situations. Was she strong enough to eat it? If yes, chomp. If no, stun it then run. Did it keep chasing? Is yes, take it down. If no, coast is clear. Of course, she could plan now, but that really make a difference?

No.

Nothing made a difference. She was still a monster. She was even a monster among monsters. And no matter how much it pained her to keep looking for a reason to continue forth, that's what she did.

Until that night.

A low, beautiful howl wafted for miles through desert followed by a sharp crack.

Act THREE | Scene ONE |

It had taken hours, or maybe years, for the pain of the transformation to go away. How long had she spent crumpled up in the rocky desert with her fingers clawing at her skull? She didn't even notice her new form until a sudden shiver forced her to blink open pink eyes. The shock of the pain may have dulled the response, but when Amaya turned her gaze down to her human hands and silky dress, she could only grin. Trembling hands explored the fabric of her dress then grazed over the scarf in her lap. She was Human again. This was all over.

It was over.

She pushed her head back, giggling at the feeling of her own hair brushing over her shoulders and back, and looked up at the moon. She was free. Any second now she would be taken back to the Human world and she would get another chance. This time she would make things right. She would have friends. And a family. She would have people she could trust. She would never go through the pain of being a Hollow again.

She waited.

And waited.

And... Waited...

But the angel never came for her. She was still alone in the massive desert. Nothing had changed. She was just in yet another form. She didn't even look like her Human self... She had black hair as a girl, so why was it pink now? And she had green eyes... Why was she so fragile? Why couldn't she look like the girl she used to be? And what was that thing sticking from her skull? Was that a fraction of her antlers? Why were they still there?

Confused, angry, lonely, Amaya cried. She screamed out curses and made promises of vengeance, but that did nothing. She was still just as lonely. Still just as angry. Only now her voice was broken. A once strong, determined voice had been shattered into a quiet, wispy tone from her screams of agony. Not that it truly mattered to her; no one cared about what she had to say. No one would bother to listen to her story or find a way to help her. She was all alone in this vast desert, and that was how it would be forever, no matter how much she prayed or scream.



» Equipment: The baggage of her past



» Racial Abilities: Sonido: The heart and fuel of Amaya. Her name and Sonido have become almost synonymous at this point. While naturally quick on her toes without the help of the flash step, with the increased speed, she disappears before helpless people in a flurry of speed that can strike fear into some of the most fleet footed fighters. Graceful and well timed, don't mistake her as someone who just darts about willy-nilly; she uses her steps with calculated percision, getting the most efficiency out of every burst of speed. Beyond just the raw accerlation she has complete control over, she has also stretched the bounds of just how far a single step can go. Her leaps carry her further than most any would expect with a single step taking her almost entirely out of fighting range if she so chose. combined with strikes from her sword, the quick, sharp blasts of energy never seem to pose anymore threat than a swing from her sword, sans the precious and sharpness, though the irradict nature of them keeps people on their toes.



» Zanpakutô Name: Colmillo Cristalino

» Zanpakutô Appearance: The sword of a million crystals. Not even it wielder is too sure why she has such an odd sword in comparison to the rather plain looking Zanpakutō around her. Most swords are just blades with fancy handles, but Amaya's has no true blade to speak of; no definite sword shape to it. Instead it is crystals, some small some large, that have come together to form a sort of great sword over half the length of Amaya herself. Perhaps she was meant to have a normal sword, but the fires of her anger burned it into stone then the ice of her solitude cooled it into crystal. That's the best idea Amaya has been able to come up with.

When not using the sword, she lets it rest across her back with the tip of the blade just barely peeking over her shoulder and the head of the handle clearly exposed for anyone to see. Being such a long sword, there is no way other way to comfortably carry it, though she tends to simply leave the blade behind because it is so cumbersome, especially if she knows she won't be risking her neck any time soon. That being said, the sword has an annoying habit of showing up when she needs it, if it had been left behind.

» Unique Power: Flame of Helplessness: Taking root in the infuritation that has consumed her after being abandoned time and time again, fire can blossom forth from her body and be loosely manipulated to attack those around her. The flames burn a daring white, black smoke thick from their reaching fingertips, and seek to incinerate anything that dares come close. While the flames are hottest while still connected to her body or sword, they can be thrown short distances to deal minor damage.

These flames, as powerful as they are, can only be channeled by desperation. When everything has been tried and her back is against the wall -- no where to run to -- the flames can be summoned as a last hope to get away from the threat. Any attempts to summon them sooner result in failure. However, because of the intense need for self preservation that comes with those situations, it's often described as her power powerful form. In reality, it's just Amaya being serious. A sign that she's truly fighting at her peak and giving the threat all of her attention. It is her when she is at her truest form: a fighter. Someone who has refused to give up no matter everything that has happened. Someone who kept pushing forward despite all of the wrong turns.

Ice of Abandonment: The chilling husk that makes up the larger portion of her personality is the chilling feeling of simply being alone. The empty pit in her stomach that resonantes on a fundamental level with her. This power allows her to generate ice to use as shields or small, ranged projectiles. The frost that consumes her bites at those around her while summoned, further driving them away with the coupled force of her spiritual presence. This ice serves as the base layer of who she is -- someone who can't stand to be around others. Someone scorned by rejection and hurt over and over.



» Resereccion Name: Nah

» Release Actions / Phrase: "Disunite and extirpate, Colmillo Cristalino." The phrase is followed, or more often combined, with Amaya taking her sword and slicing it across her stomach or side. During the midst of her transformation, she often lets out a battle cry.

» Resereccion Appearance: Upon entering her release, her sword melts with her body and covers every inch of her skin in tiny, almost invisible crystals that can be manipulated to either destroy those in her path, or defend herself against the forces of the world. Serving as a sort of feather covering, the crystals can move and shift around, either folding back into her skin to make her appear normal, or bristle outwards like an angry porcupine. Once extended, the crystals can be slightly bended to make loose shapes -- such as that of a shield or a mimicry of her sword.

» Resereccion Abilities: As touched on above, this power merges her body with her Zanpakutō, making her into a deadly weapon or inpenetrable shield. The power is mostly just a cosmetic change to her appearance, but allows for a more diverse fighting style and often acts as a deterrant to those who don't seriously want to fight. While the manipulation of the crystals to create a wide variety of weapons and defensive objects certainly gives her more creative freedom in combat, it doesn't really add anything new to her skillset. Instead, it simply allows her to further expand on what she already knows how to do.



Will Skills

• Willpower: Adept
  
• Mental Deduction: Advanced
  
• Pain Endurance: Advanced
  
• Focus: Advanced
  

General Skills

• Durability: Adept
  
• General Speed: Adept
  
• Strength: Beginner
  
• Weapon Skill: Adept
  

Racial Skills

• Perquisa: Beginner
  
• Sonido: Adept
  
• Cero/Bala: Adept
  
• Hierro: Adept
  

» Roleplay Sample: Silence was a sound, it was a concept. A concept that melted into Amaya's very being and brought her to a state of pure... Silence. Not in that she couldn't speak, but in the fact of the nothingness. The apathy, the distance, everything about the way she carried herself screamed silence. Not in a hurry, but not moving slowly, her pacing a moderate step often accompanied by a sudden pivot on her heels. Hre bare feet plodded across the stone floor, producing the only sound to be heard in the small cave. Perhaps if one's hearing was good enough they could hear the gears in her brain twisting in every which direction. Hear the steam start to rise from her ears as the gears in her head threatened to snap under stress.

Now what?

It was the thought that burned her mind for the better part of a month. She was here, an Arrancar all alone and without a goal to guide her. Hiding out in some cave on earth as if that would shoo away the everlasting feeling of emptiness. Before the goal had to survive. To do what she couldn't before. But now..? She had survived. Was surviving. There was nothing more to be done other than to wallow in her own pity.

Her pink eyes lazily drug over to the mouth of the cave, admiring the sky and treelines out in the distance. It was a nice view, she decided right then and there, as if she hadn't ever seen it before.

Pivoting on her heels, she turned her strides towards the outside, walking until she was just at the edge of the cliff that hung out just a meter or two past the cave mouth. Wind snapped at her hair, shoving it back and yankin at her clothes impolitely. It was a nice feeling. The refreshing breeze struggling against her in that very moment, as if it stood a chance. Humoring the idea, she extended her arms as if to confront the force.

The wind died down.

Limply, her hands fell back to her sides. Of course.

A scowl hinted at her face for just a moment before the silence consumed her once more. The view wasn't that nice after all. Maybe it was time to leave. Time to finally reach out and see what can be done. Instead of sitting on all of those fermenting thoughts of revolution and guidance. Nothing would change if she did nothing. She knew that -- had known it for a long, long while -- but why bother? That was always the problem. The question of why always seemed to lurk around the corner of any of her ideas. She could just stay here until she rotted away. Nothing bad would happen.

But nothing good would, either.

The rift appeared like it had many times before this one, just a step off the cliff. It peeked into Hueco Mundo and told a story of absolutely nothing. Nothing to be seen or heard. Nothing to appreciate or fear. In more ways than one, it was the home she had run away from. A spoiled brat who thought living on her own would somehow make things better. Instead, it just left her to fester in her own negativity, driving her to the silent creature she was now. It was an easy fix -- oh so easy. So why was she just standing there, staring like an idiot?

She didn't know.

The rift snapped its ugly maws shut as she turned and headed back into her cave.

END OF THE POST