What Once Was

Fri Feb 26, 2021 9:51 pm

THE ONE SOUL ARRANCAR

Artist: SilvaGunner - Song: Hip Shop

Slowly the visage emerged from a Garganta, his face stoic and calm. His nostrils inhaling the air to get a scent. This place was different, the climate and feel of it all. His dark skin felt the beating of the sun as his cloak gusted in the winds.

His hair following along with it, it was still strange this shape. But what was more, this place housed some number of people. He got the sense from the debris and what remained. That a thriving culture was here, was this what remained?

His senses weren't sharp as some, but he could detect reasonably well that people lived away from here. Rumors and talk in Hueco Mundo indicated a place for people like him existed. But it would seem some person calling himself King took offense.

Why was it no matter the age Kings gave so little care to the peasants and people? Drunk on power and their own inflated egos, they never considered what became of it. When the people turned when they revolted and began to fight back.

Tyrants die most often at the hands of the people closest. He could only hope they had gotten away, escaped this scene. The King, if he remained perhaps disposing of him would be wise. From his gauging of things, he didn't know where he stacked up.

Hueco Mundo was a savage land, but so was this in his memories. The people who called Earth home were just as savage, just in a different way. He felt the sands slip through his fingers as he picked them up.

Some must have escaped through this, somewhere he'd find them. Like the sand not all of them could be destroyed by someone playing pretends. A pretender to the word and idea, that was what did this.

A King in belief, but a child, in reality, throwing a tantrum. He couldn't have it so no one could, such childish foolish behavior. Such land was a boon thrown away by an amateur ruler, someone who'd taken the chair only for selfish reasons. Disgusting vermin, they always scampered to it.

Like rats drawn to the scent of power along, it was beyond disgusting and disturbing. It was four thousand years of experience and knowledge, some of it he slept for. But he came from a different time, a different world.

When Kings ruled for their people, not simply to slate their thirst for blood. His chest heaved a sigh, his power wasn't in any position to deal with a King or its military. Also, this world was vastly different from four thousand years ago. It was as though an entirely different place had spawned.

The next move was to find a place, somewhere he'd not deal with mindless hollow aggression.

Mon Mar 01, 2021 7:07 pm

Yaksha, The Überseele

Yaksha

The remains of Las Vegas were a place infrequently visited; perhaps for fear that to do so would summon the one responsible for flattening it again. Or perhaps there was some lingering miasma of his presence, some contagion that remained palpable in the air. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. Calatravos arrived in a barren desert, with little left. There were hardly even attempts to create grave markers or any kind of funeral memorial. To anyone not keyed into the energies present, it could've been confused for the site of some meteor crash long ago.

To those who were, particularly those from las noches, the energy was stifling, downright painful. It felt like breathing thick syrup, or standing near live power lines. Just being near the site of such unfettered power made the body want to twitch, or made people feel as if their hairs were standing on end. So when Calatravos decided to investigate, and wax philosophical, the impression was pronounced, and immediate. It felt like the hand of god had come from nowhere, and crushed this place. Sodom and Gomorrah, in the information age.

And yet, there persisted somewhere in the center, a tiny island of calm, like a buoy strung in the ocean, sending out a tiny flicker of light every now and then, guiding the way. It was tiny, infrequent, but also demonstrably there. Its presence could be felt, flickering to the forefront for split seconds. A spiritual signature that was old, wise, and warm in the extreme. Something that felt as if he had walked through a dismal, disgusting swamp, to find a man sitting on a porch, drinking lemonade.

And there, where the eyes faintly began to twitch to follow motion, there was a small white flame, no larger than a human's fist. It jerked about at random, seeming to feed off of nothing at all, simply hovering and bobbing back and forth like it was stuck in a tempest. It didn't say anything, or give off any decisive or specific feeling. It simply...sat there, seeming to whisper defiance to the will of an angry god just by existing.

And then, from behind Calatravos, another garganta opened, and a voice spoke from within. It sounded tired in the extreme, like its speaker had just woken up from a long nap, or like he was about to settle in for one that would put Rip Van Winkle to shame.

"You're a few years late, child. I'm sorry that my messengers were this inefficient. Neither rain, nor snow, nor gloom of night, I thought. But I suppose I did somewhat underestimate the size of that place. Hello, and welcome. I regret that I don't have any seats to offer you. I can tell you were hoping to finally rest your head."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]

What Once Was

What Once Was

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