Shun
New Member
30% Restoration Complete.
Power. Time. A goal. The need to live long enough to think things through. Although he had acquired all of such things, the fact that few years had passed since that eventful day still never went unnoticed. It would be no exaggeration to say nothing had remained the same. With each new day, brought with it a new challenge, a new obstacle, another adversary that intended on stirring up chaos.
The thoughts ran through a particular individual’s mind as he shifted his way through the city towards an abandoned warehouse at the ends of the city. While his movements were in all likelihood very erratic, each had a purpose behind it. It was pretty much the only lead he had, but it was good enough. Although he probably shouldn’t have been more preoccupied with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but laugh at how right he was those three years ago. They were indeed his first before being accepted into a division, but he probably could have never foreseen how accurate they would wind up to be. As he transitioned into and out of reality, he noticed his surroundings. A normal night in Tokyo. Citizens parted, oblivious to the going ons of the afterlife and were merely returning home from a long day of work and in a rush too as the crackle of lightning forewarned of an impending storm. Rain began to pour down on the city. To any ordinary onlooker, there wouldn't have been anything wrong, but something was indeed brewing within the city's recesses.
And then the same thought struck him. He really was never cut out to be a shinigami,a truth that he had come to understand over time.
When one is on the verge of death, time seems to come to a still, almost like it was taunting the victim. Such a revelation would make sense for the amount of things that can happen when you're presumably dead. Despite the passing of two years since his disappearance, he could still sometimes almost feel death and fear’s choking grip on him. Back then he had so stubbornly stuck to his childish ideals that the world could one day be a completely peaceful place, somewhere where not even the root of evil could reach it. He had tried to accomplish what his predecessors could not, what those shinigami in the grave nearby the First Division were unable to do, what not even the former Soutaichou Faust could ever hope to accomplish. He went so far as to live through the worst of dangers even while sticking to such an impossible dream.
Now though such a notion never even crossed his mind. Rather than trying to accomplish such a remote goal, he lived long enough by now to have thought things through like a former Acting Kenpachi had advised him to do. Even though it was already as good as written in stone that he would not be able to return to the Guard Squads lest he wanted to be branded and treated as an enemy, he did have the occasional temptation to return just to surprise anyone that still remembered him namely a particular co-vice captain - that is if she was even alive. The look on her face as she stared at him now would have been priceless. Unfortunately, no such thing would happen as despite having been away, he had still managed to uncover recent events that had happened. In the time that he had kept hidden under the radar, like him, the death gods and their divisions had undergone a change. Both friends and family alike were either dead or had vanished. There were still a select few whom he had befriended that were still within the military’s ranks, but he had yet to encounter any of them.
When he looked on it though, it was better that way.
Here he was free. No longer under the allegiance of the Courts. Here, although enemies lurked everywhere, he was able to use his experience and power to survive. Although definitely on opposite ends of the spectrum, he still shared the enmity towards common enemies of the Gotei. Even if he was not necessarily apart of it anymore, in a way, he still was in that sense. That was one thing that would not change no matter where or how far he sunk.
This should be the spot, he mused, cloaking himself in the shadows. As his most recent target let his guard down, he disappeared in a flash blossom, passing through the burly man with his sword already painted with the ex-shinigami’s blood.
Staggering back, the victim clutched his wound, howling in pain. Finally facing the stranger that had ambushed him, his hazel eyes narrowed in upon the man's figure. He stood taller, a good six inches or so. His head was wrapped with a white headband along with a matching white scarf. Although he wore something reminiscent of a shihakushou, he also wore a blue haori.
“W-w-w-what are you? Who are you!?” the rogue shinigami cried, cowering into a corner as the purple-haired man approached him. In a last ditch effort to somehow defend himself, he slashed at his assailant with a killing stroke, but just as instantly as he did, he was just as quickly disarmed. It wasn't until then when his zanpakutou shattered from the clash of steel that the convict realized just how much foolish he was to not have noticed. Donned with an ivory mask, the purple-haired assailant's identity, at least part of it, was revealed.
"The Army of Masks," the rogue hissed. "What do you lot have against me? We're both the same. We're traitors."
"No," the vizard replied curtly. "You're a traitor. I have bargained with the Devil, but I haven't strayed from the wrong path."
Before the rogue could recover from his stupor, he was flooded by the fluctuation of spiritual pressure around him. It was almost tangible. In fact, if he weren’t so wounded, he would have noticed the teal reaitsu swirling around the vizored.
“Bankai....Shichitai Momentos,” the purple-haired man said. As the ground rumbled beneath them, seven gargantuan mirrors appeared, closing them in from the outside world.
“W-w-what sort of enchantment is this?”
“The Seven Truths. Welcome to my domain,” the veteran death god explained as his form vanished. In moments, he appeared to move from mirror to mirror, and not only just that, there seemed to be clones of him as well. Upon further observation, the mirrors themselves seemed to reveal some sort of flashback, a replay of times that had been better left forgotten. In quick succession, an assortment of these memories replayed and flooded back to the rogue shinigami, tormenting him as a reminder of the guilt and betrayal that had led him to this moment. When it seemed like the other man would be overwhelmed by the images flashing through his mind, they receded.
"Now that you understand your wrongdoings, I'll let you know my name before ending your pitiful existence," the purple-haired man said, his clones repeating the same thing almost in unison. Each of them held their hands outstretched, palms facing the target who still remained rooted to the spot. As he uttered the name, there was no time to discern if he had garnered some sort of reaction or sense of recognition. In a brilliant explosion, the rogue was no more.
As his soul slayer's release and his very own mask peeled away, the glasses shattered into thousands of shards, raining down on the ground. Sighing, the successful assailant turned towards the next source of malevolent energy that he could sense.
More trouble, Shun-chan? the zanpakutou spirit asked.
Looks like, he thought.
He was Shunsen of Takehiro, and this... this was the rebirth of his legend.
‘I wasn’t entirely sure at the time if I was willing to take on the responsibilities and duties that were expected from all soul reapers. I mean for a guy like me, who would be bold enough to take on those obstacles with a straight face?'
The thoughts ran through a particular individual’s mind as he shifted his way through the city towards an abandoned warehouse at the ends of the city. While his movements were in all likelihood very erratic, each had a purpose behind it. It was pretty much the only lead he had, but it was good enough. Although he probably shouldn’t have been more preoccupied with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but laugh at how right he was those three years ago. They were indeed his first before being accepted into a division, but he probably could have never foreseen how accurate they would wind up to be. As he transitioned into and out of reality, he noticed his surroundings. A normal night in Tokyo. Citizens parted, oblivious to the going ons of the afterlife and were merely returning home from a long day of work and in a rush too as the crackle of lightning forewarned of an impending storm. Rain began to pour down on the city. To any ordinary onlooker, there wouldn't have been anything wrong, but something was indeed brewing within the city's recesses.
And then the same thought struck him. He really was never cut out to be a shinigami,a truth that he had come to understand over time.
When one is on the verge of death, time seems to come to a still, almost like it was taunting the victim. Such a revelation would make sense for the amount of things that can happen when you're presumably dead. Despite the passing of two years since his disappearance, he could still sometimes almost feel death and fear’s choking grip on him. Back then he had so stubbornly stuck to his childish ideals that the world could one day be a completely peaceful place, somewhere where not even the root of evil could reach it. He had tried to accomplish what his predecessors could not, what those shinigami in the grave nearby the First Division were unable to do, what not even the former Soutaichou Faust could ever hope to accomplish. He went so far as to live through the worst of dangers even while sticking to such an impossible dream.
Now though such a notion never even crossed his mind. Rather than trying to accomplish such a remote goal, he lived long enough by now to have thought things through like a former Acting Kenpachi had advised him to do. Even though it was already as good as written in stone that he would not be able to return to the Guard Squads lest he wanted to be branded and treated as an enemy, he did have the occasional temptation to return just to surprise anyone that still remembered him namely a particular co-vice captain - that is if she was even alive. The look on her face as she stared at him now would have been priceless. Unfortunately, no such thing would happen as despite having been away, he had still managed to uncover recent events that had happened. In the time that he had kept hidden under the radar, like him, the death gods and their divisions had undergone a change. Both friends and family alike were either dead or had vanished. There were still a select few whom he had befriended that were still within the military’s ranks, but he had yet to encounter any of them.
When he looked on it though, it was better that way.
Here he was free. No longer under the allegiance of the Courts. Here, although enemies lurked everywhere, he was able to use his experience and power to survive. Although definitely on opposite ends of the spectrum, he still shared the enmity towards common enemies of the Gotei. Even if he was not necessarily apart of it anymore, in a way, he still was in that sense. That was one thing that would not change no matter where or how far he sunk.
This should be the spot, he mused, cloaking himself in the shadows. As his most recent target let his guard down, he disappeared in a flash blossom, passing through the burly man with his sword already painted with the ex-shinigami’s blood.
Staggering back, the victim clutched his wound, howling in pain. Finally facing the stranger that had ambushed him, his hazel eyes narrowed in upon the man's figure. He stood taller, a good six inches or so. His head was wrapped with a white headband along with a matching white scarf. Although he wore something reminiscent of a shihakushou, he also wore a blue haori.
“W-w-w-what are you? Who are you!?” the rogue shinigami cried, cowering into a corner as the purple-haired man approached him. In a last ditch effort to somehow defend himself, he slashed at his assailant with a killing stroke, but just as instantly as he did, he was just as quickly disarmed. It wasn't until then when his zanpakutou shattered from the clash of steel that the convict realized just how much foolish he was to not have noticed. Donned with an ivory mask, the purple-haired assailant's identity, at least part of it, was revealed.
"The Army of Masks," the rogue hissed. "What do you lot have against me? We're both the same. We're traitors."
"No," the vizard replied curtly. "You're a traitor. I have bargained with the Devil, but I haven't strayed from the wrong path."
Before the rogue could recover from his stupor, he was flooded by the fluctuation of spiritual pressure around him. It was almost tangible. In fact, if he weren’t so wounded, he would have noticed the teal reaitsu swirling around the vizored.
“Bankai....Shichitai Momentos,” the purple-haired man said. As the ground rumbled beneath them, seven gargantuan mirrors appeared, closing them in from the outside world.
“W-w-what sort of enchantment is this?”
“The Seven Truths. Welcome to my domain,” the veteran death god explained as his form vanished. In moments, he appeared to move from mirror to mirror, and not only just that, there seemed to be clones of him as well. Upon further observation, the mirrors themselves seemed to reveal some sort of flashback, a replay of times that had been better left forgotten. In quick succession, an assortment of these memories replayed and flooded back to the rogue shinigami, tormenting him as a reminder of the guilt and betrayal that had led him to this moment. When it seemed like the other man would be overwhelmed by the images flashing through his mind, they receded.
"Now that you understand your wrongdoings, I'll let you know my name before ending your pitiful existence," the purple-haired man said, his clones repeating the same thing almost in unison. Each of them held their hands outstretched, palms facing the target who still remained rooted to the spot. As he uttered the name, there was no time to discern if he had garnered some sort of reaction or sense of recognition. In a brilliant explosion, the rogue was no more.
As his soul slayer's release and his very own mask peeled away, the glasses shattered into thousands of shards, raining down on the ground. Sighing, the successful assailant turned towards the next source of malevolent energy that he could sense.
More trouble, Shun-chan? the zanpakutou spirit asked.
Looks like, he thought.
He was Shunsen of Takehiro, and this... this was the rebirth of his legend.
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