When The Sky Burned [Alastair]

Alastair had been rushing to the scene with a team of fellow Sternritter, the city itself shaking with every impact as the other brave warriors of the Vandenreich threw everything they could at this menace. Then, from nowhere, they watched as an entire block was bathed in purple light and then a sizable chunk of it was nigh-evaporated by the errant display of power. His squad baulked in the face of the scale of the devastation, but Alastair could not afford to show that he too was terrified by it. Instead, he took another step forwards, toward the path of ruin, so that they would have the courage to follow.

With a simple nod, the rest of his squad set about the arduous task of picking through the wreckage and getting what survivors they could find to the nearest medical centre. They were all skilled fighters, some of the finest in the Vandenreich were Alastair wanting to brag, but this was no ordinary threat. He did not want to be the type of leader that sent men to their deaths for a minuscule advantage, so they were there purely for support and evacuation.

Other members of the Sternritter had been right there at the tip of the spear, fighting against this Hollow threat. Alastair had to be proud of his subordinates, for they had given it their all, and it would be insulting to them if he did anything less too.



Flaming wings burst from Alastair's back as he entered the Vollständig state, his eyes burning with the passion they so often lacked. Besting his comrades was one thing, but such wanton destruction was something he could not abide by. Were Alastair to have a final straw then this would likely be it. Falke materialised in a flash of orange light, taking the form of a dazzling longsword, and he flew in the direction of the conflict.

He could see the Arrancar ahead of him, squaring up to the unmistakably bloodied form of Uriel, but he was not going to be fast enough. That giant blade raised high, a deathblow likely soon coming, and yet Alastair could not help but feel helpless as he surged forwards. There was a cry about to escape his lips, a desperate plea and a battle cry both, but it was cut short by the appearance of a giant shield.

It took him a moment to recognise that it was Shirohime's power, a few moments more to comprehend the scale of it, and then he saw the White Witch collapse to her knees from the exertion. Seeing the mask break on the Arrancar as he released his Ressurection, he watched as that dead gaze turned to the peculiar woman now. He did not even have to think to alter his course, hurtling between broken buildings in a desperate attempt to interpose himself between the pair.

But Alastair was almost comically slow compared to this mythical figure, he did not even register the movement until it was far too late. A Garganta had opened and the Arrancar had pulled Shirohime through in the blink of an eye. He rushed in still, trying so desperately to make it to the portal as well, with little regard for what exactly he would do if he got there, but it did not matter. The gateway closed, leaving a single lasting memory of the shocking white of Shirohime's hair against the black void that engulfed her.

With that, the hollow presence had vanished. He hovered in place for a few moments, astounded by the level of destruction that had been caused in such a short space of time. Slowly dispersing the excess energy from his release as he lowered himself back to the ground and let the weariness of such an intense period of exertion wash over him. Hardly enough to make him sweat, but it was never an easy process to quickly switch from exertion to contemplation.

They had been entirely outmatched by a single Arrancar, and he had little idea why. Was this something they should have expected? Or had Shirohime known more than she let on? There were so many questions right now, and Alastair didn't even know if he should have been the one asking them.

All that mattered was that they had failed. He had failed. And he had not even been able to raise a hand to the man who did it.