HE WHO FOUGHT MONSTERS [OPEN]

How much would a man hold out against the infinite and divine?

Desmond Hayden greatest flaw was that he tried so much to be the man who could save the world on his own, even though he had made a great empire. An empire based on the idea of cooperation, that no one man had to suffer the great burden of destiny alone. Somewhat along the way, on some path, Desmond had forgotten the greatest lesson he had learned: He was never truly alone.

The last shreds of his humanity were fading, as if what truly made him human in spirit was losing the battle to Death. It was… exhausting. Like the longest marathon sprint to ever be performed, stretched over a vast distance with no ending in sight. In these last moments, he believed that he was truly reaching his limit. Try as he might, he was losing ground.


“Desmond. Desmond listen to me.”
The words seemed to stir him from his stupor, hunched over in the darkness he gazed around listlessly. The voice sounded familiar, like an old friend who’s face he had forgotten. A deep melodic voice not too dissimilar from his father. But this voice, disembodied in nature, spoke with a confidence and ease that surely was not his deceased father. No, this voice was closer. More recent.

“We’ve not much time left. I had hoped it would not come to this. It appears there is no other way, old friend.”

The voice… the voice! It was Iaiadix. His Zanpakatou! As Hayden tried to speak no words left it, instead a dry gurggle.

“I need you to listen to me. Listen far deeper than you have ever done before.” The voice spoke sharply, focusing Hayden’s attention upon it, as if it was physically grabbing him. He could hear the strain of the voice, like a man fighting back a deathly injury but still proud. Unyielding.

“If you do nothing, if we do nothing, it will win. It needs a host. It… cannot have you.” Confusion would be etched onto his features, if they could be seen. Hayden not entirely sure what his old friend was speaking about.

“The host does not have to be you. I suppose, I suppose I would rather it be me than you.”

It was like a slap in the face, a sudden realization. While Hayden was no genius, his Zanpakatou had been deathly quiet ever since they entered the cage. Ever since Death had forcibly assumed control. Hayden merely thought it was some attempt to fight back the host, but it appeared to be something else entirely. All those nights spent in silence, was it preparing it’s self for one final confrontation. But instead of fighting alongside his wielder, it would be alone.

Iaiadix would force death into it’s physical form. After all, a zanpakatou could manifest in the physical world.

“N-no..”

Hayden gasped out, violently jerking against nothing. Iaiaidix knew what such a thing would mean. It was a sentence beyond death. Anything which tied Iaiadix to the world would be gone, wiped clean as if he never existed. Destroyed in such a function repair would never even be an option. It was a sacrifice. It was a death sentence.

“Listen to me, boy! I know what it means. I prepared myself.” The sharp rebuke came from the only being in the cosmos that might speak to him in such a way. An old man speaking to his student, or perhaps grandson. A bond that was not easy to forge. A bond that would be broken.

“I have one last lesson to teach you. You are, so foolish. An idiot beyond idiot. But you’ve a good heart. A good warrior. A good leader. The world has tried to crush you, and you’ve fought long and hard. Don’t give up. No matter what, keep fighting for those stupid ideals of yours. You’ve not an easy path, child.” His voice stopped for a moment, a sound like frustration escaping through clenched teeths. Pain.

“But if you went the easy path, I would’ve never listened to you. They would’ve never followed you. Goodbye… Desmond.”

The words that echo’d in his mind seemed akin to a mental bomb, exploding outward with such force that it caused physical agony. In his darkest moments, Desmond would recall this moment forever. As he felt a piece of him, a portion of his soul, torn away into oblivion. It was as if the dolorous strike was performed on him, as a roar ripped from his mouth. A horrible, painful, thing that shook the very foundations of his cage and world around him. Those above would feel something wrong, like the tremors of an earthquake.

As the light of Iaiadix faded from the depths of Desmond, something else manifested into the physical world. Like a sludge and toxic ooze, a suffocating aura of malice and destruction that far exceeded any hollow. A dull, amused, inhuman chuckle filling the box in which he was contained. In the darkness of his personal cage, a pair of glowing blue eyes stared at him.

“Hello, Desmond.”

And then it lunged. The battle begun.

Ten hours since the initial incident had passed, and it was in these final hours when the heroes arrived on the scene. For the past few hours Vastime had been launching a mass evacuation of the population within the capital city, and surrounding cities. In an vibe starkly reminiscent of the events which unfolded last year, everything moved quickly. Those in the high command of Vastime and allies knew the truth behind these events, an uncontestable fact that Death and Hayden seemed to be locked in an all out brawl in the cage. Every strike sending ripples throughout the defensive system of Vastime, creating untold damage to the specially designed prison for both Hayden and the Avatar.

Everyone expected that eventually the King would die to Death, and that he would become the host. The defenses in place where calculated for that. It could hold the might of Hayden. Alone. But it could not fathom the strength and power that a battle between Hayden and the physical manifestation of Death would provide. It was merely impossible to put into words how a single punch or throw from either of those two entities, at max power, for multiple hours, could affect the world around them. So Vastime did the only thing it could do:

Protect the nation, the people, and call upon its allies. In a moment which would stand upon the annuals of history, they waited. The entire nation, the entire world, tense with the silent truth that something dangerous and unfathomable was coming back to the world.

When the ground beneath the Palace erupted, the world seemed to quake. The crumbling of metal, earth, and stonework seemingly collapsing like a black hole upon itself. The heavy saturation of reiatsu in the air growing almost choking like a toxic miasma spreading through the capital. Even with every effort focused towards evacuation the sad reality was that no everyone would be able to be taken out the city. A heavy feeling sat in the stomach of those who commanded the evacuation.

Things would get messy.

What came out of the hole in the ground was not a victor, but two being locked in a vicious battle for dominance. Desmond Hayden body was launched from the chasm with such force, his body erupted into flames from the air resistance heading straight towards a large sky scrapped. Perhaps it was some innate need to protect those he still viewed as his responsibility, or just not wanting to be inflicted with further damage, he summoned a reserve of energy to slow and stop his travel. It would be worth taking note in this moment, was the instance the world would learn a great truth:

Desmond Hayden, The Iron King, was certainly still alive. In fact, he was more alive than he had ever been before. Clad in the dirtied and torn remnants of what was once shinigami robes. Ironic, considering the very thing he was battling was the bastardized dominated Zanpakatou he once loved as a brother. He was bloodied and that was easy for anyone to see, his body bruised and cut up leaking not black- but crimson. For those who understood him well, that was a strange sight for one reason:

He had not bled crimson for years. By the curse he was bestowed, he walked something between life and death. But now, in this moment, he was once again tied to the soul cycle. A soul. Nothing more, and nothing less.

"I must admit, this was not what I was expecting. But this will do just fine."

The monotone voice of a Death-Possessed Zanpakatou spirit, which looked all too similar and different at the same time, spoke floating a distance away from Hayden. Hayden's own breath drawing heavy, his chest rising and falling with infrequency enough to warrant some concern. He felt worse then he had in years, like every part of his body was failing him. It was something he... missed. A mortality to his actions which he had lacked, knowing actual death was forever barred from him. But now, now he could die. Now he could feel every injury upon his body.

Hayden's reply was a charge.

It was hard to place into words the speeds at which Hayden could move, it was something beyond just 'fast.' It was better to perhaps speak on how he perceived the world. As he moved at a seemingly normal pace in his own view, the world moved to a crawl. The small sprinkling of rain which was just beginning, seemed to freeze in the air. The entire world coming to a halt, lagging behind his movements as an outstretched hand gripped Death's face, pivoting his waist, and hurling him into the air upwards seeking to take this fight away from the city.

Sadly, it seemed his opponent knew this would be his goal. In an equally fast, if a bit slower, reaction he'd grip Hayden's wrist while turning it's head causing his hand to slip. While grabbing his wrist, Death would bring it's greatsword sideways with one hand smashing it into his midsection sending Hayden flying towards the ground. Unable to stop this descent, Hayden would crash into concrete with enough force to shake the entire city, crumble the sewer system, and send a shockwave of concrete and metal outwards that was sure to cause mass damage.

Hayden's mouth opened to spit out a spray of crimson onto his face, his weakened body laying on the ground for a moment. His vision blurry as the entity that was Death would soon follow up, sending a foot right onto his chest. The clawed foot pressing him into the floor as Hayden grimaced a hand coming to grip the foot with as much strength as he could muster. Defiance in his eyes, meanwhile Death came to press the tip of the black sword onto his cheek.

"You shall be the first wrong , I right , Desmond Hayden."

This could be the day Desmond dies. The day he could finally achieve something resembling peace. After all, with the foot of his greatest rival pressed to his chest it promised eternal darkness. No more kingdom, no more earth, and no more responsibilities. The heavy burden which rested on his shoulders every day of every moment could finally be released. None could falt the name for subcomming to the weakness of his human side and accepting that darkness.

His eyes seemed to grow heavy, closing ever so slowly.

It was then in all this chaos that he heard a sound more clear and precise than any other thing. The words of Death fading into the background as his senses picked up on this sound. A high pitched shrill sound that was feminine in nature. A cry of anguish. Of pain. In the distance somewhere within this city someone needed help. Help that he could not provide, that would not be provided.

All over the city people needed help. Each one trapped in a hell made by him. Each one having believed in his vision for the world, each one having trusted the man currently laying on his back. The epic weight of his responsibility slapped him firmly in the face, reminding him why he had done everything in the first place. He had never accepted defeat, and he would never go softly into that harsh night. Callous fingers grasp concrete like paper crumbling it with superhuman might, before he inhaled a sharp breath.

In an instant he grew the powdered concrete and chunks of rights into the face of the man, a minor nuisance which only caused it to briefly scoff and flinch. That moment giving Desmond the means to act. His free hand shooting to the leg of the monster, gripping it so tightly it imprinted upon it’s darkened flesh. In one smooth motion he’d pull the leg to the side, violently jerking as he slammed the monster into the earth. Desmond rolling to his feet while gripping the leg of his opponent. His face contorting into something not quite seen for sometime: the snarling look of a man embracing the rage inside of him.

‘Here I thought we were going to die..’

The sarcastic voice of his inner hollow would speak, despite not being seen. He could almost feel the malicious grin upon its features as it watched Desmond lift up the monster whom seemed to quickly be getting it’s bearing. Only to be immediately hoisted by it’s ankle and slammed into the earth again, and then again, and again with every increasing speed.

Emotion was a powerful force in this world. Hollow energy doubly so when those negative emotions fed into a tangible vessel. What Desmond was doing, how he looked, was far less like a hero and more like a berserker hellbent on breaking their opponent. As he hefted the monster once more the veins of his arm pulsed expanding outward, pushed to the surface as muscles tensed with unholy power. He rarely got to exhibit his full power. He rarely needed to.

But now he did.

He slammed the body of the monster into the earth with such force that if the city had not been prepared for a battle like this, it would have sunken the city. But thankfully Vastime was built knowing that one day a battle of this magnitude would happen. The city or continent would not break so long as he didn’t exhibit monstrous strength like this again. Even a monster of this magnitude could not shrug off such blows, it’s body broken as it sought to desperately repair it’s injuries.

Hayden knelt down grasping it’s throat with both his hands, a snarl on his face. A wild look in his eyes. A look of pure, utter, hatred. The feelings which bubbled to the surface as a Hollow mask began to form on his face, slowly manifesting as he grasped it’s throat. His mouth opening to speak with venom laced words.

“You forgot who I am.” Hayden growls as both his hands squeezed upon it’s throat, fingers digging into darkened flesh and bone. The avatar hissing as it tried to smash it’s own fist into his face, having lost it’s sword in the carnage of Hayden’s assault. "Let me remind you, who you chose."

Whatever flesh remained around his grip was squeezed into nothingness, his hand grasping the sharp vertebrae of spine. In one smooth motion he’d grasp the bone to dust, before pulling his hands back. His hands closing into fist as violence overtook him. It was pure savagery from that moment onwards. Fists striking a body which sought to repair itself, nails digging into black flesh ripping away chunks at a time. Each strike seeking to tear a piece of Death apart, spraying blackened blood across the concrete background and coating the king in viscera.

His hands grasped the ripped open chest of Death, two hands coming to rest against an exposed rib cage. With a gross yell and straining of his muscles, he began to pray back the chest of the monster. The sickening snap of bone and flesh echoing outward to those who might witness the display. This was not an honorable clean duel, this was a disgusting life or death battle against two titanic forces. As Hayden splayed open the ribcage of Death he gazed down at the beating black heart.

A hand reached for it, grasping it.

And squeezed.

So much happened, and so little, that brought Hayden’s determined eyes to the woman descending from the heavens. His mouth opened while he fought for heavy breaths, the circumstances of his life weighing heavy on the king. Then it all came into focus who this woman was, the familiar voice of a distant friend whom he had forgotten existed outside the hell of his personal creation.

“I… I can do that.”

Each syllable that left his mouth grew more confident with each passing moment. By the time the last word left his mouth, it carried with it all the tenacity and anger that he was known for. His head turning to the slowly regenerating corpse before him, that held the visage and weapon of his oldest ally. A pang of hurt resounded within his heart knowing that he was committing the one entity that was truly by his side to oblivion.

The nature of the Zanpakatou to it’s user was something that varied dramatically, but for Desmond Hayden it was his friend. His mentor. A person who pushed him to truly accomplish the deeds which cemented his name as legendary. And in the end, the only being who saved him from an eternity as a slave. His mouth closed tightly as white hot fury seemed to ignite in his veins, his eyes burning with the tears of a man.

His fists closed into white knuckle grips, his body flowing with almost godlike energy. Energy that brought to the surface a simple and genuine desire: To set free the soul of his friend from this abomination. When he landed the first colossal blow upon the shattered corpse it shook the land, when he landed the second it shook Hayden, and when he began to launch a series of consecutive strikes it was as if he was releasing years of pain.

The veins upon his neck pulsing outward, his mouth opened in a guttural scream as his fist began to punch from flesh into the earth. Each striking carving away the essence of the abomination, of his friend, utterly committing it to oblivion until nothing remained. It was only then that he could rest his shredded hands on the ground, steaming and smoke rising from the area. A moment of complete silence dominating the world.

It was slow.

Him getting to his feet was slow. Almost jerky in it’s design, like a machine knocking rust off it’s eroded gears. And when he got to his feet, in the crater, he looked upwards towards the rim of it. The gathering of people who stood slacked jaw at the living king of Vastime. A man thought dead to only rise from the earth, and slay a monster.

The coming hours would be chaos. But one question, one important notion, remained on his mind that he gave verse to.

“Where is my family?”