picture perfect practice [Sol/Liana]

Sol did a lot to actually catch up to other shinigami when it came to his studies. Between being a father, an active member of the gotei, and attending night classes at Shino he was pretty busy guy. Rarely did he complain, and rarely did he stop trying to find some level of improvement. While he couldn’t pinpoint the exact thing he was looking for in life, he knew he wouldn’t find it without taking every effort to search for it.

So when the captain of the second division gave guest lectures, Sol listened close. Everytime she made an appearance he was there with a notebook in hand, pen writing down her advice on Kido and it’s application. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to directly link his quick uptake on Kido with her lectures, and practical advice given. It wasn’t his preferred method of combat but it was a necessity for growth.

After one of the lectures he decided that he’d approach her about some private lessons, while his kido had advanced to the point of being passable he wanted more. In every facet of his skills he wanted to be more than passable. He wanted to be among the best, the hunger that came from grasping ambition.

However the talk went, he got her agreement. They set a date and here he was, showing up to meet with the captain. He was wearing a white robe, his zanpakatou secured to his side via a sash. He was waiting for her in one of the training rooms provided to each division, currently he was sitting on his knees. His palms resting on his thighs, his eyes closed in silent meditation for now.

The sound of the door opening is what slowly brought Solhammond out of his mediation, a supreme feeling of calm over his body. He could feel the subtle flow of his reiatsu, his mind sharpened with an alacrity which he rarely had. This was a rare moment of opportunity, a chance to really expand his knowledge in a way which he was sorely lacking. For all his faults, Sol really did have an extreme thirst for improvement and that was showcased in his earnestness.

He began to get to his feet, his white uniform baggy on his body as he spoke. He hadn’t turned around yet, and was in the process of doing so. “It’s fine, Captain Unohana. I really do appreciate-” His voice would cut off as he turned around, briefly taken off his bearings. For you see, Sol expected a lot. A captain uniform or perhaps modest training robes. What he didn’t expect was exactly what she was wearing, not that he disapproved.

It took exactly a second for Sol to fix himself, clearing his throat as he spoke again. “It’s fine really, and unfortunately I wasn’t able to attend the morning lecture. My classes are usually at night due to my dual enrollment in seventh division and the academy.” He’d explain, only choosing to go deeper into those reasons provided she probed.

“We discussed Kido, but in truth I’m eager to learn anything you have. I know you’re one of the most proficient shinigami around, and I’m very motivated to improve myself in all aspects.” He’d offer a small smile, his hand going up to begin to place his hair in a binding behind his back as well. With that, he’d offer some comments on his current skill level.

“Admittedly, I meet the passing qualifications for Shino. But that’s the depth of my skill at the moment.”

This was a woman of many contrasts it appeared, as in the same vein she spoke highly of him she also showed her displeasure. To some this might instill uncertainty with the male or even fear, but for Solhammond Palliser he felt his heartbeat. The steady thrum that he was alive in this moment, and that he had truly found something he was missing. Bloodlust. It was like an old partner, a distant lover that now wrapped its decayed arms around him. It was something beyond comforting.

“The only apology I may offer is my blood, Captain.”

What else needed to be said as she ushered him forward, his eyes focused upon the situation with the intent of a fighter. She was stronger than him, those golems would be hell upon earth to deal with. But this was what he wanted, what he needed to ascend the heights of his strength. To become the greatest possible man he could be, he needed to subject himself to her murderous intent.

Whoever this Captain truly was held a terrifying aura. But that did not sway him. Instead, as he stepped forward, boldly, the young Shinigami steeled his resolve. His hand going to his Zanpakatou, gripping it with one hand. The katana would be unsheathed slowly, as he positioned it low as he looked for an un opening. He was sure there was none. That no matter how he approached the situation, it would be met with futility.

So be it.

He moved forward with surprising speed, definitely far above the average Shinigami. The explosion of speed was raw speed, kicking up the floor as he moved towards her. His index finger would extend from his hilt, as he summoned the energy for a singular Kido spell: Sho. A simple spell which produced an amount of kinetic force from the fingertip, Sol would aim this spell at the floor utilizing the spell to launch him upwards into the air.

An unpredictable enemy, was an alive one.

This would send Sol in a wide arc in the air, ideally overhead of her entire team. His free hand would extend an index and middle finger, as the quick casted a Bakudo spell this time. “Bakudō #4. Hainawa!” The words left his mouth as an electric rope of energy would shoot outwards, attempting to wrap around Liana seeking to jerk her up past her bodyguards. Sol strategy seemed simple, and the application of basic Kido in unique capacities might serve him well.

Provided he could get the energy rope around her arms and torso, he’d seek to jerk him towards her as they flew towards the other side of the room. His Zanpakatou prepared to strike.

There was only so much that one might expect from training, but generally, it was a safe place to improve. That no injury one might sustain would actually dramatically injure them, or otherwise cut short their life.

Sol realized in this moment how wrong that belief was.

It was hard to put into words the feeling one felt when their arm was taken from them. He was by no means the weakest man around, and was constructed pretty solidly. It wasn’t an easy feat to tear his arm from it’s socket. The strength of his muscles and eventually sharp tearing, the ligaments snapping, and of course the clean removal of the bone connecting issue followed by a spray of blood that painted Liana’s face and the nearby wall.

And of course, the sharp scream which left his mouth as he struck the floor from the ceiling. Blood squirting from the open wound of his body, staining the floor mats a deep crimson as his head pressed into it. His screams silenced into a frozen opened mouth scream, before he took a deep breath. His brain goes white from a deep mixture of pain, rage, and survival instincts.

A certain clarity came from situations like these. Perhaps even eye opening. If this was going to be the caliber of his training, then he wouldn’t waste it. Instead, he would summon every ounce of his being, of his fortitude, to strike back. A hand would come up shakily to his vacant shoulder, as he tasted bronze in his mouth.

“L-L-Let's w-wait.” He stuttered out as he dragged himself to his feet, grey irises bloodshot from a mixture of ferocity and determination. His hand began to glow visibly as sparks began to fly from his palm, pressing it against the wound as the burnt smell of flesh began to rise in the room. Sweat pouring from his brow as he stared at her with wet hair staining his forehead.

Defiance in his eyes.

“Let’s go!”

He barked the words as the internal fire of determination seemed to grow. Bloodlust was in the air, and he would indulge it. He just needed one hit on her, and he’d make it count for all it’s worth.

This was something he felt he was lacking in life, the rush of life and death. The thrill which came from pushing yourself to limits that you didn’t know you had until confronted with your inner weakness. This was not what he came to train with the captain, but this IS what he needed. And he would treasure it, dearly. For what else could a fighter, a brawler, do than to bleed for his art?

He smashed his singular arm into the mats beneath him, his strengthen unrestrained in the moment. Callous fingers would bury themselves in the mats beneath him as he gripped wood and concrete, dragging the material upwards with a mighty heave. A spray of debris and carnage would meet the dragon, seeking to smash into it’s form as concealment and cover while Sol dashed to the side. He could feel torn skin and broken nails on his fingers, as he dashed with alacrity. His leg muscles strained as he crouched low, before pushing upwards beelining towards the yellow golem like a rocket.

Instead of targeting her, his good arm would curl into a tight fist aimed squarely for the yellow golem. His years of training and experience taking over as he subconsciously targetted what would have been it’s kidney, with concentrated force enough to blow the internals out of the monsters. It would have been surprising for himself, and he would have registered the pain in his hand, if he cared. Perhaps it was merely his will manifesting itself, for this brief moment.

His entire body would rotate following the punch, as if he was doing a combat roll, his legs coming to rest against the roof. The force of such a landing cratering the ceiling, as he stared down at Liana with the ferocious look of a mad dog. Veins exploded in his legs, muscles pulled taunt, tattoo’s marred with blood and gore as he prepared to launch himself at her.