Oh, I meant like the Tall Hollow
made of sand. You know, the one that Rukia killed when she showed up to tag along and revealed her shikai?
Another example would be the BE TALL Carrier that shows up during the negacion scene.
Hey, wait, Yamamoto calls out Negacion as being something that everybody who's ever fought a Menos knows about, because it's so broken and stuff, and later we see that hollows are still messing around with the reality phasing when they punt Ulquiorra into that trap dimension for a bit so that he can break out dramatically.
What's your stance on Arrancar vis a vis dimensional control?
That makes sense. So you'd say it's less like being Wolverine, and more like being an Unkillable Nightmare, if we had to go thematics?
Perfect:
ASSAULT RIFLE OF THE HELL KING
Asalto Pistola, peering in through an ornate window at the top of the cavernous room below her, stared at the handsome and powerful man who embodied her dream. Most Arrancar would have assumed that she idolized Aizen-sama, for he was their king and naturally attracted such respect from Hollows with no strong opinions on such things, but they would be wrong; she meant the Uno Espada, Starke, master of the Cero, said to have such powerful blasts that they could take on their own lives to hunt down his foes! Most would have scoffed at his undignified appearance, slumped over the table and quietly drooling, whilst his rambunctious Fraccion skipped around at his feet attempting to awaken him (That girl knew not the honor that Stark-sama visited upon her in her every waking hour!), but they were fools! That he was asleep did nothing to detract from his grandeur! If anything, the sheer power he displayed merely by resting in the presence of the other Espada amplified his glory! She knew that one day, she too would sit in a chair near Aizen-sama! And that she, too, would be able to take a nap whilst he sipped his tea, through the sheer strength she could provide him! That was her dream! To be the best Energy Specialist in Los Noches!
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The black haired Shinigami Lieutenant stabbed once more into the panicking group, his large falchion swinging with supernatural speed, as he proceeded to attempt to de-limb every member of their squad in quick succession. Several weaker Arrancar, luckily nobody she would miss, which was actually quite a feat, considering her habits of companionship, rushed him in quick succession, but his prowess with his absurd blade proved their confidence false as they doubled over, clutching their stomachs, before dissipating into the fine, scentless smoke that signified a hollow's death at the hands of the Shinigami. One particularly unlucky fool remained alive, but bleeding out on the ground, a victim of the stupid little spinny blade thingy on the back of his sword. Their hasty actions had rendered them unwilling sacrifices to the cause of the Shinigami's demise, but
their deaths would not be in vain. Asalto nodded to Cuchillo as they held each other's blades and released their true forms; this man, who sought to kill all that they knew, was about to see the might of BAYONETE!
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The Noveno Espada stared as the purpled winged centipede, a minor hollow, died at the blade of the local Shinigami, a brawny young man with a penchant for revealing clothing, that she had been surreptitiously observing under orders from Aizen-sama himself. For some reason, he wasn't turning to smoke like normal hollows; if anything, he was becoming more and more solid, as if transforming from a vague idea into a real entity. Then what for lack of better words she told herself was a gate, for it resembled a gate, appeared behind him, covered in chains and pierced with keys, its sinister purple a backdrop to the skeleton embedded on either side. When it opened, she knew what she saw, deep in her bones. They were the Gates of Hell. A giant carving knife, wielded by a proportionate and demonic hand, stabbed through from beyond the irreversible veil and impaled the hollow, his skewered form screaming in horror and dawning comprehension as he realized with supernatural instinct what it meant to be truly damned. They both withdrew slowly into the mists of the nether world, but the horrific barrier remained open. A second hand, the partner of the first reached out, pointing towards the now terrified Pistola, and made a beckoning motion. Despite all her common sense and prominent survival instincts, she approached, terrifying the young looking Shinigami into muteness when he realized that she had been beside him all along, pretending to be his robes. The hand came down, and she closed her eyes to be spared the sight of the grisly fate it had in store for her, but all she felt was a pat on the head.
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Asalto Pistola checked out her new clothing, pleased at the fashion aesthetic of the Guardians of Hell. Bones folded over each other and bent to assume the form of a beautiful ballgown, two skulls with yellow wisps residing in their eye sockets subbing in for her typical puffy shoulder thingies. Ribbons of what were either rope, sinew, or just more darn bone were tied into a bow around around her waist, the two loops hanging off from either side of her body like some Victorian noblewoman. She couldn't see much of her hat, because she was wearing it, but she suspected that were she to raise her hand to its brim she'd find teeth or something. But that wasn't the only change; she could feel it in her... heh, bones. With a quick snap of her arm and the mimed finger gun that accompanied her signature technique, she released a stupefying barrage of condensed balas, each quarter-sized projectile as powerful as a normal cero and glowing a yellow even she acknowledged as ghostly (What did that make it, double ghostly?). She knew that she'd reached the point at which she needed a cool name to call out when she used it; all the cool people did it, after all, and she was the coolest of the cool. With a voice more suited to laughing smugly at frustrated schoolgirls whilst herself being a schoolgirl than to saying the name of an evil ghost's evil ghost technique, she whispered what it deserved to be called. "Ametralladora."
~
Two dimensions away, almost the entirety of a society full of magical ghost Samurai shuddered in fear.
One simply noticed the phenomenon, and got back to work. His daughter handed him a final, extraneous bolt, which he affixed it to the face plate, and then he sat back, satisfied. "I'll see your gun, and raise you explosives! Rise,
Bakuyaku!
Rocket propelled Grenadier of the Soul Society! Ahahahahahahaaaa!"
