Pandemonious Ivy
Panties, Revolution. Big Drawers. Parachute.
Yo if we win I'm gonna cry.
Now You Feel Like Number None [Bleach Arrancar Quest]
- Thread starter Omicron
- Start date
- Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
In before we defeated in 2 lines and exiled to wander the endlesss desert of Las Noches or caged in dimensional prison.
If Nemo gets sent to ultra!prison she is not getting out of there unless she gets swole. Im talking Espada levels of strength here.
Cue frantic training/omakes to try and get us out before death.
- Location
- Should be a bit higher
They're not going to waste one of those cubes on us. They're specifically for Espadas, aka prime war resource. It's execution and/or escape and/or exile for us.
Plus extended manhunt plus burning of everything we cared about.
Plus extended manhunt plus burning of everything we cared about.
Last edited by a moderator:
No, the Caja de Negacion are for use on uppity Fraccion or Numeros. Grimmjow uses his on Ulqiorra, but he states that the Espada originally received them to punish subordinates.
XII. Cornered
- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
XII. Cornered
You back up slowly, your heart beating a mad rhythm.
Can you even trust that Findor is saying the truth? That he will spare you if you answer?
He's in your home. In your little piece of sanctuary. The one safe place you have carved in Las Noches, filled with little things that bring you comfort - and casually destroying them.
Your hands are shaking, your throat is dry. You blink, rapidly, eyes bleary. No, it's just a feeling. You feel like a cornered beast but you're an Arrancar. Your sword is heavy at your side.
Your hands flutter, you shake your head in denial, you point at yourself, obfuscating gestures of panic. You don't know what Findor is talking about, you just took the crown into the sands. You didn't wither or age, and you certainly didn't break it, only a fool would do that. The crown is only a symbol, right? It's what Barragan said. You listened to the king's order and carried it unseen into the sands of Hueco Mundo, there was no-
Your right hand falls on the hilt of your sword, your mouth forms a word.
Findor's Bala hits you square in the chest, and you hit the wall behind you, body twisting under the shock. Your hand falls from your hilt and the breath with which you would speak is knocked out of you. Pain radiates across your back and dust falls on your shoulders.
He's upon you, drawing his own blade, too fast, too fast…
Findor's saber slices the air and you duck to the ground, almost losing your head - the point of the saber stings your cheek and something warm gushes down your face. You roll away and push yourself up, feet beating the ground without rhythm, erratic steps- your hand reaches for the hilt but you don't have time to draw. He's already upon you, sword falling. You raise your sheathed blade to take the blow. The shock buckles your elbows. Blood drips on your chin, warm and salt-laden.
"Incorrect," he says. "Do you really think I can't sense every motion of your reiatsu, the surge of what little power you have? Do you think you can fool me?"
You barely have time to stand before he is upon you again. You intercept the first blow with your scabbard, but not the glint of his wrist-dagger. He thrusts at your chest and you can't stop the blade cutting into your flank. He closes in, rapid blows putting more pressure on you. His casual one-handed style concealing his off-handed strikes. You take one step back. He grazes your shoulder, drawing more blood. You take another. Little dots of pain are all across your skin now. But none are deep. You barely catch another hidden strike, but now your guard is open…
There is a sound like thunder and you are behind him. You wrench Polilla out of its scabbard and cuts into his open back, slicing the uniform, spilling blood.
Not deep enough! Before you can put distance between yourselves he pivots on his heels locks blades with you, matching strength with strength.
"Good answer! You're faster than I imagined," he says with a grin. "It would appear that you warrant-"
Your off-hand grasps your blade and gives you the force to swat his blade aside. You try to follow up, strike in the opening but he steps back and raises his dagger…
His dagger hits his own face, shattering a piece of his mask. Bone-white fragments fall to the ground and one expressionless yellow eye becomes an all-too human one, adorned with paint.
"...one third of my power," Findor grins. His blade strikes and you raise Polilla to parry it, but his strength is far more than it was an instant before. He shatters your guard and thrusts one hand to your chest, a dark blue bolt of energy slamming into you. You slide along the ground through your room, coming to a rest amidst your senseless furniture. Your hand grasps a curtain, not a thinking gesture, a reflexive grasp for something you know. You push yourself up on a warped rock, dragged from the desert weeks ago, standing up on shaking legs.
Your Resurreccion. You need your Resurreccion but you need more time. He will sense your surging power and close in before you can complete it. Blood drips from shallow cuts all over your body. Not enough to kill you. Just enough to hurt like hell.
"Here's another problem for you to solve: why do you think you can't win this fight?"
Because he's more powerful than you, obviously. You hold your blade in both hands but his strength is too great for you to properly defend. You need to put distance between him and you, but he's too fast-
"Wrong!" He announces cheerfully, and in a blink he is upon you. Your sword strikes his in a shower of sparks and a ring like a bell, steel biting steel, but his one arm pushes against your two and your defense caves. The cut your arm suffers isn't shallow like the others, and it burns.
"Or half-wrong, at least." His wrist-dagger thrusts but you're waiting for it, and this one at least you can dodge, hopping back over an upturned black table. "Half of why you can't win is because true power is something you are born with, not something you achieve. Nobility is in the blood. But the other half is that you're not fighting for anything. You're just a thief and an unbound Arrancar."
All you need is one moment to charge your Cero and hit him full-on, then he'll be stunned long enough for you to release Polilla. But you don't know how to get that moment. He moves in on you again and you give up parrying in favour of bobbing and weaving between his strikes. It gives you no openings but at least only nets you shallow cuts. You step back again and again, the tattered remains of your curtains snapping in the wind of your rising spiritual pressures.
"Me, I fight for the honor of my king. I fight for my fellow royal Fraccions. I fight for pride and loyalty. You just fight to survive. You have no drive. No will. No sense of self-sacrifice."
You breathe haltingly, the leather grip slick with fear. You try to adjust and it almost slides out of your grasp. You're not heavily wounded. You're not even exhausted. You're just terrified.
He's right. God, he is right. You panicked because he cornered you in your owne safe place. You have no plan beyond living through the next moment. Your spirit is faltering, cowed by fear. But what else would you do? What's the point of finding resolve in fighting for something when you're only going to die regardless?
So you'll be the rabbit in her den clawing at the wolf's maw.
He moves on you and this time you give ground without being forced, sliding back before he can overpower you. He follows in with a second cut and you duck low, one hand on your sword and the other reaching to your right. His blade follows you but his momentum is expended enough that his blow doesn't break your guard.
You rip the curtains off the wall and throw them in his face.
Findor bites back a curse, the fabric blinding him. His two blades slice it apart in an instant, and he strikes where he thinks you are - but you're on the floor, cutting at his ankle. The skin is hard, supple; like leather as strong as steel. Still you draw blood. Findor jumps back, grunting, and you get up. You're covered in dust. You take a beautiful rock from a nearby table and hurl it in his face, accelerating it with a bala. The Fraccion swats it aside with his wrist-blade, shattering the rock in the air, but it was not your real strike.. Your real Bala hits him in the face, cracking his mask. He takes one step back and you follow with your free hand, punching the air, grey bolts slamming into Findor's chest and head, moaning with each impact. The room soon sounds like a funeral wake, distant mourners fading as your attack ends.
He roars in anger and flashes forward but half-blinded as he is you can match him. His blow goes wide, and your hand grasps the rough stone you always thought of as a cupboard.
You'd planned to find something to store inside it so that it would deserve that name.
With all your strength you push it down over Findor's head. The cupboard-to-be crumbles against his sword.
You only needed the one moment to charge your Cero. As Findor steps out of the dust and rubble your horns shine and whisper, and then scream as you unleash your power on him. Grey light flattens the shadows of your room, scours the floor beneath him, shreds what remains of your curtains, destroys the small square box that you used as a chair. But Findor burns.
You suppose it's a worthwhile trade.
Dust blows out of the window and you realize you have carved a hole in the wall of your room. The sun shines down on the Fraccion.
Slowly he stands up, his uniform torn to tatters. You swallow sharply, your hands wet and nerveless. You should release now, but he's too close, you thought it would stun him more…
"Why are you this strong?" The arrancar spits, standing up. Now, you've wounded him, you're sure of it. His breathing is ragged. He'll be slowed down enough. You open your mouth-
"TWO THIRDS!" He screams, and his dagger slices through the mask and across his face, revealing his brow. His reiatsu floods the room, and you can't speak under the weight of it. He shouts again, wordlessly this time, and thrusts his blades towards you, crossed, and blue light fills the space between you - Cero?
It's not a Cero, and you don't have time to dodge. The air is thick with Balas, a rapid-fire deluge that hits every square inch of your body, knocking you down against your own wall - and then as the pressure intensifies, through it. You are thrown on your back into a dark and empty room, dust and rubble scattered all around you. You curl up on the ground, trembling, your whole body a wound. The floor itself feels like gravel raking your skin. The air is thick in your throat, hard to breathe, the cracked walls groan around you.
"You gave me a good work-out," Findor says as he steps into the opening, backlit by the sun. His smile is almost manic, entirely too joyful for this. "But all your answers are half-correct at best! You go through life with only a little understanding. Too much to stay in your place, too little to climb any higher."
He walks over to you and you crawl on the ground, inch by inch, covering your head. He snorts and kicks your flank, hard, shaking your body.
"A moment ago your power was truly that of an Adjucha. But you burned all you had in that one attack, didn't you? Thinking it would take me down… How foolish. Now you're an empty husk, back on the ground where you belong…"
He kicks you, again, harder. You clutches at your sword, pathetically. Findor raises his saber, and his foot rests against your head, lifting you by the chin, forcing you to look up at him.
"...a mere Gillian."
You look into his eyes.
The King's Veil drops from your face and you let your reiatsu slam into him. It's one moment of surprise, a single instant, a half-second's opening, and it's enough. You push yourself off of the bloody floor with all you can muster and slam into his chest. Polilla is like a lance, a crude and pointed blade, but your strength isn't enough; it pierces the skin, draws blood, but his Hierro is too strong, it does not reach the muscle…
You let go of the handle and hammer Polilla deeper in with a Bala. The shockwave is deafening this close, and Findor slams into the wall, the blade forced inches into his chest, past the bone. He coughs up blood. You flash-step up to him and rip it out of his chest, slamming a second Bala into the wound. This time he goes through the wall like you did an instant before. Prone. For now.
One moment. You have one moment. Your whole body is bleeding, you have cracked bones, ruptured veins. If he releases his zanpakuto, if he shatters the rest of his mask-
No time. You're running on instinct now.
You pounce onto him, one fist pushing him against the stone. Your blade hits his forearm, doesn't go through it but interrupts his attempt at raising his sword. You blast a third Bala into his head, cracking the stone beneath him. You daze him for one second, and it is the second you need.
You rear up, a lion roaring, a moth breaking out of its cocoon and offering its wings for the sun to dry, an ant flicking her antennae to take in the world around her. Motes of grey light gather between your horns, illuminating the room in your colors, shades of grey and forlorn voices. They mourn. You're never sure for whom.
You snap your head down and fire the Cero into Findor's face. Even now he is too strong, too fast. He brings up his dagger-hand against his face, shielding himself from part of the blast.
You were never aiming for him. Under him the ground shatters under your beam. Findor falls, hurled downwards by your Cero, and the floor beneath him shatters, and the one below that. You rear up, raising all the power you have, not letting your body cool down. You snap down and blast another Cero, and more stone crumbles.
Findor falls into the darkness below, the empty rooms unused in forever.
You fall to your knees, barely able to move. Your body feels like a great piece of cloth tearing apart at all its seams. Your own power is burning you from within, too many Balas and Ceros in quick succession.
And he's still alive.
[ ]Grab anything valuable you still own, and run. Where are you going?
-[ ]Esmeralda's infirmary.
-[ ]Cirucci's fort.
-[ ]The white desert beyond Las Noches.
-[ ]Barragan's court, hoping you can get protection against Findor from his own lord.
-[ ]Open a Garganta into the living world.
[ ]Chase Findor down into the depths. See this through to the bitter, bitter end.
You back up slowly, your heart beating a mad rhythm.
Can you even trust that Findor is saying the truth? That he will spare you if you answer?
He's in your home. In your little piece of sanctuary. The one safe place you have carved in Las Noches, filled with little things that bring you comfort - and casually destroying them.
Your hands are shaking, your throat is dry. You blink, rapidly, eyes bleary. No, it's just a feeling. You feel like a cornered beast but you're an Arrancar. Your sword is heavy at your side.
Your hands flutter, you shake your head in denial, you point at yourself, obfuscating gestures of panic. You don't know what Findor is talking about, you just took the crown into the sands. You didn't wither or age, and you certainly didn't break it, only a fool would do that. The crown is only a symbol, right? It's what Barragan said. You listened to the king's order and carried it unseen into the sands of Hueco Mundo, there was no-
Your right hand falls on the hilt of your sword, your mouth forms a word.
Findor's Bala hits you square in the chest, and you hit the wall behind you, body twisting under the shock. Your hand falls from your hilt and the breath with which you would speak is knocked out of you. Pain radiates across your back and dust falls on your shoulders.
He's upon you, drawing his own blade, too fast, too fast…
Findor's saber slices the air and you duck to the ground, almost losing your head - the point of the saber stings your cheek and something warm gushes down your face. You roll away and push yourself up, feet beating the ground without rhythm, erratic steps- your hand reaches for the hilt but you don't have time to draw. He's already upon you, sword falling. You raise your sheathed blade to take the blow. The shock buckles your elbows. Blood drips on your chin, warm and salt-laden.
"Incorrect," he says. "Do you really think I can't sense every motion of your reiatsu, the surge of what little power you have? Do you think you can fool me?"
You barely have time to stand before he is upon you again. You intercept the first blow with your scabbard, but not the glint of his wrist-dagger. He thrusts at your chest and you can't stop the blade cutting into your flank. He closes in, rapid blows putting more pressure on you. His casual one-handed style concealing his off-handed strikes. You take one step back. He grazes your shoulder, drawing more blood. You take another. Little dots of pain are all across your skin now. But none are deep. You barely catch another hidden strike, but now your guard is open…
There is a sound like thunder and you are behind him. You wrench Polilla out of its scabbard and cuts into his open back, slicing the uniform, spilling blood.
Not deep enough! Before you can put distance between yourselves he pivots on his heels locks blades with you, matching strength with strength.
"Good answer! You're faster than I imagined," he says with a grin. "It would appear that you warrant-"
Your off-hand grasps your blade and gives you the force to swat his blade aside. You try to follow up, strike in the opening but he steps back and raises his dagger…
His dagger hits his own face, shattering a piece of his mask. Bone-white fragments fall to the ground and one expressionless yellow eye becomes an all-too human one, adorned with paint.
"...one third of my power," Findor grins. His blade strikes and you raise Polilla to parry it, but his strength is far more than it was an instant before. He shatters your guard and thrusts one hand to your chest, a dark blue bolt of energy slamming into you. You slide along the ground through your room, coming to a rest amidst your senseless furniture. Your hand grasps a curtain, not a thinking gesture, a reflexive grasp for something you know. You push yourself up on a warped rock, dragged from the desert weeks ago, standing up on shaking legs.
Your Resurreccion. You need your Resurreccion but you need more time. He will sense your surging power and close in before you can complete it. Blood drips from shallow cuts all over your body. Not enough to kill you. Just enough to hurt like hell.
"Here's another problem for you to solve: why do you think you can't win this fight?"
Because he's more powerful than you, obviously. You hold your blade in both hands but his strength is too great for you to properly defend. You need to put distance between him and you, but he's too fast-
"Wrong!" He announces cheerfully, and in a blink he is upon you. Your sword strikes his in a shower of sparks and a ring like a bell, steel biting steel, but his one arm pushes against your two and your defense caves. The cut your arm suffers isn't shallow like the others, and it burns.
"Or half-wrong, at least." His wrist-dagger thrusts but you're waiting for it, and this one at least you can dodge, hopping back over an upturned black table. "Half of why you can't win is because true power is something you are born with, not something you achieve. Nobility is in the blood. But the other half is that you're not fighting for anything. You're just a thief and an unbound Arrancar."
All you need is one moment to charge your Cero and hit him full-on, then he'll be stunned long enough for you to release Polilla. But you don't know how to get that moment. He moves in on you again and you give up parrying in favour of bobbing and weaving between his strikes. It gives you no openings but at least only nets you shallow cuts. You step back again and again, the tattered remains of your curtains snapping in the wind of your rising spiritual pressures.
"Me, I fight for the honor of my king. I fight for my fellow royal Fraccions. I fight for pride and loyalty. You just fight to survive. You have no drive. No will. No sense of self-sacrifice."
You breathe haltingly, the leather grip slick with fear. You try to adjust and it almost slides out of your grasp. You're not heavily wounded. You're not even exhausted. You're just terrified.
He's right. God, he is right. You panicked because he cornered you in your owne safe place. You have no plan beyond living through the next moment. Your spirit is faltering, cowed by fear. But what else would you do? What's the point of finding resolve in fighting for something when you're only going to die regardless?
So you'll be the rabbit in her den clawing at the wolf's maw.
He moves on you and this time you give ground without being forced, sliding back before he can overpower you. He follows in with a second cut and you duck low, one hand on your sword and the other reaching to your right. His blade follows you but his momentum is expended enough that his blow doesn't break your guard.
You rip the curtains off the wall and throw them in his face.
Findor bites back a curse, the fabric blinding him. His two blades slice it apart in an instant, and he strikes where he thinks you are - but you're on the floor, cutting at his ankle. The skin is hard, supple; like leather as strong as steel. Still you draw blood. Findor jumps back, grunting, and you get up. You're covered in dust. You take a beautiful rock from a nearby table and hurl it in his face, accelerating it with a bala. The Fraccion swats it aside with his wrist-blade, shattering the rock in the air, but it was not your real strike.. Your real Bala hits him in the face, cracking his mask. He takes one step back and you follow with your free hand, punching the air, grey bolts slamming into Findor's chest and head, moaning with each impact. The room soon sounds like a funeral wake, distant mourners fading as your attack ends.
He roars in anger and flashes forward but half-blinded as he is you can match him. His blow goes wide, and your hand grasps the rough stone you always thought of as a cupboard.
You'd planned to find something to store inside it so that it would deserve that name.
With all your strength you push it down over Findor's head. The cupboard-to-be crumbles against his sword.
You only needed the one moment to charge your Cero. As Findor steps out of the dust and rubble your horns shine and whisper, and then scream as you unleash your power on him. Grey light flattens the shadows of your room, scours the floor beneath him, shreds what remains of your curtains, destroys the small square box that you used as a chair. But Findor burns.
You suppose it's a worthwhile trade.
Dust blows out of the window and you realize you have carved a hole in the wall of your room. The sun shines down on the Fraccion.
Slowly he stands up, his uniform torn to tatters. You swallow sharply, your hands wet and nerveless. You should release now, but he's too close, you thought it would stun him more…
"Why are you this strong?" The arrancar spits, standing up. Now, you've wounded him, you're sure of it. His breathing is ragged. He'll be slowed down enough. You open your mouth-
"TWO THIRDS!" He screams, and his dagger slices through the mask and across his face, revealing his brow. His reiatsu floods the room, and you can't speak under the weight of it. He shouts again, wordlessly this time, and thrusts his blades towards you, crossed, and blue light fills the space between you - Cero?
It's not a Cero, and you don't have time to dodge. The air is thick with Balas, a rapid-fire deluge that hits every square inch of your body, knocking you down against your own wall - and then as the pressure intensifies, through it. You are thrown on your back into a dark and empty room, dust and rubble scattered all around you. You curl up on the ground, trembling, your whole body a wound. The floor itself feels like gravel raking your skin. The air is thick in your throat, hard to breathe, the cracked walls groan around you.
"You gave me a good work-out," Findor says as he steps into the opening, backlit by the sun. His smile is almost manic, entirely too joyful for this. "But all your answers are half-correct at best! You go through life with only a little understanding. Too much to stay in your place, too little to climb any higher."
He walks over to you and you crawl on the ground, inch by inch, covering your head. He snorts and kicks your flank, hard, shaking your body.
"A moment ago your power was truly that of an Adjucha. But you burned all you had in that one attack, didn't you? Thinking it would take me down… How foolish. Now you're an empty husk, back on the ground where you belong…"
He kicks you, again, harder. You clutches at your sword, pathetically. Findor raises his saber, and his foot rests against your head, lifting you by the chin, forcing you to look up at him.
"...a mere Gillian."
You look into his eyes.
The King's Veil drops from your face and you let your reiatsu slam into him. It's one moment of surprise, a single instant, a half-second's opening, and it's enough. You push yourself off of the bloody floor with all you can muster and slam into his chest. Polilla is like a lance, a crude and pointed blade, but your strength isn't enough; it pierces the skin, draws blood, but his Hierro is too strong, it does not reach the muscle…
You let go of the handle and hammer Polilla deeper in with a Bala. The shockwave is deafening this close, and Findor slams into the wall, the blade forced inches into his chest, past the bone. He coughs up blood. You flash-step up to him and rip it out of his chest, slamming a second Bala into the wound. This time he goes through the wall like you did an instant before. Prone. For now.
One moment. You have one moment. Your whole body is bleeding, you have cracked bones, ruptured veins. If he releases his zanpakuto, if he shatters the rest of his mask-
No time. You're running on instinct now.
You pounce onto him, one fist pushing him against the stone. Your blade hits his forearm, doesn't go through it but interrupts his attempt at raising his sword. You blast a third Bala into his head, cracking the stone beneath him. You daze him for one second, and it is the second you need.
You rear up, a lion roaring, a moth breaking out of its cocoon and offering its wings for the sun to dry, an ant flicking her antennae to take in the world around her. Motes of grey light gather between your horns, illuminating the room in your colors, shades of grey and forlorn voices. They mourn. You're never sure for whom.
You snap your head down and fire the Cero into Findor's face. Even now he is too strong, too fast. He brings up his dagger-hand against his face, shielding himself from part of the blast.
You were never aiming for him. Under him the ground shatters under your beam. Findor falls, hurled downwards by your Cero, and the floor beneath him shatters, and the one below that. You rear up, raising all the power you have, not letting your body cool down. You snap down and blast another Cero, and more stone crumbles.
Findor falls into the darkness below, the empty rooms unused in forever.
You fall to your knees, barely able to move. Your body feels like a great piece of cloth tearing apart at all its seams. Your own power is burning you from within, too many Balas and Ceros in quick succession.
And he's still alive.
[ ]Grab anything valuable you still own, and run. Where are you going?
-[ ]Esmeralda's infirmary.
-[ ]Cirucci's fort.
-[ ]The white desert beyond Las Noches.
-[ ]Barragan's court, hoping you can get protection against Findor from his own lord.
-[ ]Open a Garganta into the living world.
[ ]Chase Findor down into the depths. See this through to the bitter, bitter end.
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There's no real good place to run. Everywhere we go is basically a death sentence where he can hunt us down at his leisure or which can't provide enough protection.
So the consequence if we lose is pretty obvious. What happens if we win? Is Barragan likely to take offense or is it just one of those Hollow things - he tried to attack us, he failed and died?
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Barragan's unlikely to take serious offense, but the problem is he's had time to spool up too.
I would suggest we move for the Forest of Menos if possible, with the King's Veil, we could blend in pretty easily there.
Garganta is a bad idea, that'll make us Aizen's Problem. Cirucci is unlikely to stick her neck out and Esmeralda has no power, begging the King is a bad idea--even if he has mercy, we'll be sworn to him forever.
The Desert is our best bet I think.
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TheLurker
Random Omnipotent Lazy-As-Fuck Being
- Location
- The space beyond the stars
Honestly even if he did, barragan would be more likely to bitchslap him for losing to a weaker opponent.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Or he's just weaker than hyped. He did get punked by a fairly low ranking Lieutenant in canon.
Ylamona
Konlulu~
I'll be honest and say I don't even remember which ones Findor are. That's how strong he is to me.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
That was fucking awesome.
- Location
- Currently in the local dimension.
DevilsAdvocate
Always follow the golden rule.
[X]Chase Findor down into the depths. See this through to the bitter, bitter end.
-[x] Wrong, I fight for my home...and you attacked it.
-[x] Wrong, I fight for my home...and you attacked it.
Um, yeah? It's not just that he lost to a weak opponent after picking a fight, he also apparently failed miserably at a task Barragan set him to... Then attacked the one who actually succeeded.
Well, we could always hide out with those nice~ Fullbringers we met...
Vulpes1307
The friendliest fox
- Location
- New Jersey
Probably not the best idea to try to kill Findor now. We never really had the element of surprise and if he removes most of his mask/uses his ressurecion he's supposed to be captain-class in canon.
DevilsAdvocate
Always follow the golden rule.
I don't think we are planning to kill him.
It sounds like it's a fight to the KO.
NonSequtur
a body
[x]Grab anything valuable you still own, and run. Where are you going?
-[x]Cirucci's fort.
We're going to hide in her wardrobe.
She better not have mothballs.
Anyway, Barragan is terrifying, Esmeralda is awkward, leaving Las Noches is possible but I'd have to see a good character argument beyond 'flight response' - which makes sense but needs more.
Meanwhile following him down is... nah, I don't see that as a character option. Get away.
-[x]Cirucci's fort.
We're going to hide in her wardrobe.
She better not have mothballs.
Anyway, Barragan is terrifying, Esmeralda is awkward, leaving Las Noches is possible but I'd have to see a good character argument beyond 'flight response' - which makes sense but needs more.
Meanwhile following him down is... nah, I don't see that as a character option. Get away.
[X] Run to the Forest of Menos.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Yeah, he's not the strongest Fraccion out there, but he's still beyond us now that he's had a moment to collect himself. We need to retreat--and to the right place too. As I said, I think the desert's our best bet, but the Living World is almost certainly a bad one, because that makes us Aizen's Problem.
Barragan would probably solve our problem, but give us new ones in the form of "Now you are one of Barragan's servants, probably forever". Cirucci is too whimsical to be trusted, and Esmeralda is too weak to stop any Arrancar who wants to do anything.
We have the right tool to hide in the background outside at least. And it's not like there's nothing beyond the walls of Las Noches.
Barragan would probably solve our problem, but give us new ones in the form of "Now you are one of Barragan's servants, probably forever". Cirucci is too whimsical to be trusted, and Esmeralda is too weak to stop any Arrancar who wants to do anything.
We have the right tool to hide in the background outside at least. And it's not like there's nothing beyond the walls of Las Noches.
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No, he CLAIMED he was Captain Class.
Shu put the lie to that REAL fast.
- Location
- The Void
Suppose is the important word here. After all he did get curbstomb as soon as a lieutenant stop playing à round
He doesn't live up to his own hype
- Location
- ⇙
We still haven't released unless I missed it, but Findor also has not done so. Running is probably the better option for now.