Definitely not a shrine [Open]

Song: Reign Of The Dark | Artist: Adrian von Zielger | Word Count: 655

The view from the shrine on the edge of northern Karakura was nothing short of beautiful. The dusky setting backdrop makes it all the more appealing, a perfect backdrop for an evening picnic. With Karakura’s sculptured and structured to the point of efficiency and well thought out. A far cry from the chaotic and free-flowing structure of the rural lands that the hunter distantly remembers and far superior compared to the barren wasteland that is Hueco Mundo.


Where the sun never rises and the full moon forever illuminate what madness lies on the land of the dead. Alfonso was tired of its monotonous scenery and the chores that bring it: find and hunt the hollows. Their hiding spot was small, they run to the forest, looking for their sanctuary among the Gillians, hide in a cavern somewhere or dug themselves a grave in amidst the deserts.


He was bored of them. Ever since some powerful overlord lost his nuts and razed the only building in the desert and disbanded the little army, the place holds very little value for him. The arrancar needed something to sustain his boredom at bay.


Now here, an innocuous looking shrine so far out from Karakura, had caught his curiosity. He admired the tidiness and the layout of the land devoted to Kami for good harvest. It was long past the age where the shrine were used to pray for good harvest, but Alfonsohad seen how popular it was during the day. He tends to avoid it day time fearing that his presence may caught trouble as time goes on.


The concealed Arrancar was making a poor attempt to stifle his approach. Standing upright and with pieces of leather around his heavily padded dark attire clashed against his ‘zanpakutou’. He skipped past the stairs, hopping from three steps of stairs as he does so; he gazed momentarily at the gate. Taller than your average house, Torii was enough to give further look before passing by.


"Why did they make the gate so tall?"
The gunman from the dark world muses to himself, the helmet shift to face the long, paved road – spotless, it should be considering fall hasn’t arrived yet. He made his first step on the road rather gingerly. The even paved footpath was all alien to him. For a moment, he wanted to sprint down towards the inner garden of the well maintained shrine, but it seems so far to walk. Maybe it won’t if he used sonido, shortening the distance between where he is to the shrine.


So he sprints. His upper body remained still to keep the sword in place his movement was drilled, never both foot hits the ground, he became so immersed from his sprint, he let out a soft pant as the weight of the padded coat ply the added weight to his knees. The sword swayed side to side as his arms assist with the balance and to empower the movement of his sprint.



Then there whistles. Over the top and into the hell - come storm and hail. Just like his sprint, just like the red skies that complements the rippled glint. He looked to his right and the young adult looked back at him with dread on his face. It was clear as day as he uttered these words.



“Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.”



He stopped. Startled and rooted. The Arrancar quaked as the shrill noise rings through him. The Tinnitus was a dreadful thing, always persistent and exists to second guess – worse when foul memories creep up on you. Just who these memories belong to, why he still gets these unknown pasts that haunt him?


He was found staring at the statue with the weird face with question that lingers in his mind.