Shun
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Splat.
Yet another felled by his blade.
There was no genuine surprise at the spectacle taking place. The ones that were assigned to patrol had done everything but that today. They had searched all of the blatantly obvious locations, relying on statistics and probabilities to decide where the hollows had gone when all of them were right under their noses. To add to insult, this had been the second batch that had escaped in a week. Their defenses had weakened; either that, or the hollows had adapted to their environs well enough.
Not that he had any complaints. After all, doing someone else’s dirty work didn’t always have its disadvantages. At least now, his zanpakutou would be able to find itself some purchase. And find it did.
In a fluid fashion, a blood-red katana danced madly through the cluster of hollows that had somehow managed to escape from one of the Ninth's laboratories yet again. Although he was not assigned to patrol the Rukongai today, he had nothing else to do; besides, the fight with Tsubaki a few days ago served as yet another reminder of how his ambitions were not high enough. At one point, he had garnered a power that was formidable to match the top tier of fighters that were in the Gotei’s arsenal, but once more, he found himself at the bottom rung. How long did he even endure the brunt of Tsubaki's Axis of Anarchy? A minute? Maybe less? It was difficult to really tell what with all of those explosions and the last maneuver that she pulled on him when she threw every fiber of strength in her for that one strike that perhaps surpassed even speeds with which Nana could move. If it was not for his stubbornness to hold on, to grasp desperately onto life like a wild animal, then she could have likely killed him.
Nevertheless, no matter how awe-inspiring the fight had been, the fact of the matter was that it was not that he was growing weaker, but rather, everyone else around him seemed to be getting stronger at an accelerating rate. Normally, something like that wouldn't bother him, but the thoughts that crept in seemed to have sedimented themselves deeply into his conscious. He could not accept the fact that there was nothing more after attaining a Bankai release. Ever since becoming a soul reaper, he had chased after unlocking his soul slayer's powers, as if that would solve everything. Back during the time when the wind demon, Kazeoni, finally revealed itself to him, it felt like there was much more to be learned; that potential was limitless.
Yet, now, after three years of clogging others and getting battered by others himself, he was questioning what good it had done. It almost seemed virtually impossible to imagine anything beyond a Bankai.
...And that was probably the reason why he set his purpose as acting as the Eleventh's pillar. It was a sorry excuse for not knowing what else to do with his life.
Although the Templar Queen had not said it outright, the clash of their blades defined much more than words could. She knew what he could be better than anyone, and usually, her intuitions were spot on. In that tournament fracas, she had made it abundantly clear that there was indeed more out there; that if he were to grow, he would have to step out of her shadow... and for that matter Kyuketsu's. That progress could only be made if he were to become less transparent. As to how he could do that, well that was uncertain, however, he knew where to go to and who to find to guide him to the answer that he was seeking.
Why does it have to be him though? Ryoujin thought distraughtly, distracted by having to deal with the snide remarks that the samurai would likely make if he were to ask for some advice so much so that for a split second, it almost sounded like the other man was there right now as his ears picked up on the last few words of a rather incessantly annoying voice.
“YOU PINK-HAIRED FUCK!” the leader of the bunch, a rather grotesque and parasite-like fiend, exclaimed. Any other words that it had to say though were drowned out by the cries around it. In moments, the number of enemies dwindled until only the pink-haired youth and the rowdy one that had elected to spew garbage from his mouth remained.
Without wasting any time exchanging words. Ryoujin sheathed his blade, and raised a hand towards the demon, trying to emulate a shooter. It didn’t take too long before the beast became riled, its advance not lasting long unfortunately as it was halted by the numerous blades suddenly surrounding it.
As the lightning channeled through his summoned blades from Tsuzuri Raiden, he aimed down the sights.
“Bang.”
It was the only warning before he pulled the “trigger,” blowing the smoke from where the muzzle would be to add to the theatrics. As if on cue, in one fell swoop, the dozen of blades shot down towards their target, who for a moment seemed like it would be able to counter. It managed to catch one of the blades, but the voltage from the sum of the weapons was too much. As the last fiend disintegrated along with all of the weapons, Ryoujin turned towards what would certainly be a long trudge back to headquarters even with shunpo. Regardless of how painstaking it would be in his condition, only one thought was prevalent to him at the moment.
There's definitely something out there... even if that meant leaving the Eleventh entirely, a possibility that still didn’t sit right nor one that he could even imagine coming to fruition.
And ironically, the person that would be able to get his thoughts together and provide some experienced insight was the last person that he wanted to cross paths with.
C’est la vie, right? Or whatever it was.
Yet another felled by his blade.
There was no genuine surprise at the spectacle taking place. The ones that were assigned to patrol had done everything but that today. They had searched all of the blatantly obvious locations, relying on statistics and probabilities to decide where the hollows had gone when all of them were right under their noses. To add to insult, this had been the second batch that had escaped in a week. Their defenses had weakened; either that, or the hollows had adapted to their environs well enough.
Not that he had any complaints. After all, doing someone else’s dirty work didn’t always have its disadvantages. At least now, his zanpakutou would be able to find itself some purchase. And find it did.
In a fluid fashion, a blood-red katana danced madly through the cluster of hollows that had somehow managed to escape from one of the Ninth's laboratories yet again. Although he was not assigned to patrol the Rukongai today, he had nothing else to do; besides, the fight with Tsubaki a few days ago served as yet another reminder of how his ambitions were not high enough. At one point, he had garnered a power that was formidable to match the top tier of fighters that were in the Gotei’s arsenal, but once more, he found himself at the bottom rung. How long did he even endure the brunt of Tsubaki's Axis of Anarchy? A minute? Maybe less? It was difficult to really tell what with all of those explosions and the last maneuver that she pulled on him when she threw every fiber of strength in her for that one strike that perhaps surpassed even speeds with which Nana could move. If it was not for his stubbornness to hold on, to grasp desperately onto life like a wild animal, then she could have likely killed him.
Nevertheless, no matter how awe-inspiring the fight had been, the fact of the matter was that it was not that he was growing weaker, but rather, everyone else around him seemed to be getting stronger at an accelerating rate. Normally, something like that wouldn't bother him, but the thoughts that crept in seemed to have sedimented themselves deeply into his conscious. He could not accept the fact that there was nothing more after attaining a Bankai release. Ever since becoming a soul reaper, he had chased after unlocking his soul slayer's powers, as if that would solve everything. Back during the time when the wind demon, Kazeoni, finally revealed itself to him, it felt like there was much more to be learned; that potential was limitless.
Yet, now, after three years of clogging others and getting battered by others himself, he was questioning what good it had done. It almost seemed virtually impossible to imagine anything beyond a Bankai.
...And that was probably the reason why he set his purpose as acting as the Eleventh's pillar. It was a sorry excuse for not knowing what else to do with his life.
Although the Templar Queen had not said it outright, the clash of their blades defined much more than words could. She knew what he could be better than anyone, and usually, her intuitions were spot on. In that tournament fracas, she had made it abundantly clear that there was indeed more out there; that if he were to grow, he would have to step out of her shadow... and for that matter Kyuketsu's. That progress could only be made if he were to become less transparent. As to how he could do that, well that was uncertain, however, he knew where to go to and who to find to guide him to the answer that he was seeking.
Why does it have to be him though? Ryoujin thought distraughtly, distracted by having to deal with the snide remarks that the samurai would likely make if he were to ask for some advice so much so that for a split second, it almost sounded like the other man was there right now as his ears picked up on the last few words of a rather incessantly annoying voice.
“YOU PINK-HAIRED FUCK!” the leader of the bunch, a rather grotesque and parasite-like fiend, exclaimed. Any other words that it had to say though were drowned out by the cries around it. In moments, the number of enemies dwindled until only the pink-haired youth and the rowdy one that had elected to spew garbage from his mouth remained.
Without wasting any time exchanging words. Ryoujin sheathed his blade, and raised a hand towards the demon, trying to emulate a shooter. It didn’t take too long before the beast became riled, its advance not lasting long unfortunately as it was halted by the numerous blades suddenly surrounding it.
As the lightning channeled through his summoned blades from Tsuzuri Raiden, he aimed down the sights.
“Bang.”
It was the only warning before he pulled the “trigger,” blowing the smoke from where the muzzle would be to add to the theatrics. As if on cue, in one fell swoop, the dozen of blades shot down towards their target, who for a moment seemed like it would be able to counter. It managed to catch one of the blades, but the voltage from the sum of the weapons was too much. As the last fiend disintegrated along with all of the weapons, Ryoujin turned towards what would certainly be a long trudge back to headquarters even with shunpo. Regardless of how painstaking it would be in his condition, only one thought was prevalent to him at the moment.
There's definitely something out there... even if that meant leaving the Eleventh entirely, a possibility that still didn’t sit right nor one that he could even imagine coming to fruition.
And ironically, the person that would be able to get his thoughts together and provide some experienced insight was the last person that he wanted to cross paths with.
C’est la vie, right? Or whatever it was.