Post by Value on Aug 12, 2014 22:37:55 GMT -5
The battle raged across the sand of Las Noches, and Takua still watched. It had been an...interesting conversation, and he was glad that he had had it, but it was almost showtime, the point at which he couldn't simply stand by and watch. But before he entered the fray himself, there was one thing that he wanted to take care of. There were too many Quincies here, destroying souls entirely by attacking them. Those souls weren't just dying, they were being erased, their reincarnation ended here on the desert sands by the tip of an arrow. It was one thing in self-defense, while he didn't like it he could accept it...when it was either you or them, you made sure they didn't harm you and your people. Even if it meant destroying a soul.
But this wasn't defense.
This was revenge.
Thousands of pinpricks of spiritual pressure standing out against the background, with a few who towered above the seething masses. One by one, two by two, those lights would vanish. Some of them died to Shinigami, some to Spiritualists, and some died to Quincy, where they would never return. It was tricky, to keep tabs on the battle in its entirety, but even if he couldn't tell exactly where all of the combatants were, he knew a bit about their strength, how hard they were fighting...and, of course, when they died. Which was how he knew that it was just about time to step in. The rescue force was on a rampage, and they didn't care what they destroyed or killed. As one of the Espada Takua should be out there now putting a stop to this.
But first he had some personal business to take care of. There was someone here, someone that he had met last time during the Incursion. It hadn't been a pleasant meeting for Takua, wrapped up as he was in his Aspect, in his own despair. This time, he was looking forward to having a meeting with a head that was far clearer.
Not that he knew what he was expecting. Hatred, of course, probably another fight. The man had been really fucking hard headed the last time they had met, unbending in his principles. Didn't stand to reason that Rick would do anything but that once again. What would their next encounter yield but another clash, another fight? Takua knew that, knew that-
And yet, hoped.
The human half of him hoped to help the Quincy open up his mind, see that things were not always so black and white.
The Hollow half of him hoped to grind the man's face into the sand, to make him see. Take revenge, leave him broken at Takua's feet. How dare the Quincy remind him of the men who had killed him, of the Crusaders that had raped and murdered Constantinople in their lust for gold and their zealotry.
The Arrancar currently leaned more toward the human side of him. There was enough violence out here, he didn't need to needlessly add to it. But if the Quincy forced it...if the man who shared the bloodline and smell of a man long dead decided to fight...Takua knew that he wouldn't shy away from it. That a part of him he didn't like would welcome it, the opportunity to fight. It was hateful, craving power and destruction, enjoying the chance to set loose skills that were better loosed for the defense of someone or something.
The Quincy he sought was fighting in the ruined husk of a small building. Someone, perhaps even the Quincy himself, had blown open its side; and it was there that a man, who reminded Alexander Warde so forcefully of the men who had slashed his throat open and left him to die, fought against Hollows. Killing and erasing their souls.
Takua lowered his spiritual pressure, the action second nature by now, barely even needing more than a thought and a few seconds of action. He needed to prepare after all.
He had long been the Fraccion of the fastest person in all of Hueco Mundo, a true master of Sonido, and he'd learned a few things from watching her. Saw how to gather the energy to the bottom of his feet, how to truly move as though the hounds of hell were baying at his heels. Months of practice as her Fraccion, especially after her speed had dramatically improved following their run-in with Kenshou Ine. Copying her movements as best as he could and using them to find his own inefficiencies...to say that he was faster now was an accurate statement. But true speed, the kind of insane leaps she could do across hundreds of meters at once in a split second, eluded him. What he needed was practice, to ingrain all of those things he had to think about doing, the tricks that Amaya did to accomplish the impossible, into his steps. Until what was impossible came into reach.
What he knew, though, was enough for him to leap from his perch and dash. Reishi platforms were something he'd always been good at, and even now he was blazing along them at an excellent clip. In seconds he had traversed the space between where he had been and the building he wanted, landing lightly on his feet as he turned to the battle-stricken interior. More than a little busted up in there! Yet another reason to step in and get this to stop, since Amaya wouldn't want to have Las Noches too damaged. Which...really meant that the Hollow part of him was more likely to get what it wanted.
But his voice was still pleasant enough as it rang out to confront the Quincy within. To Rick, it would seem as though Takua hadn't grown at all since their last meeting, the pressure of his reiatsu still at the level that it had been back during the Incursion. Nothing could be further than the truth though...Takua had changed. But he'd still start this off with as close to an actual hope for peace as he could give. He stood easily, hands away from his sword, slouched and relaxed. “Hello, descendant of Ashia. I see you've been making yourself welcome here.”
Not that Takua expected there to be anything less than a fight here. No matter what he said, Rick would attack, fueled by the memory of the dead that Takua had not killed. Not that there was any question about whether Takua's hands were dyed red with blood, stained so deeply that his soul would never be clean.
The only question would be how soon, and how the man would attack. Whether the first blow would come with words, or with the shotgun he carried.
WC: 1114 | GP: 22 | Total: 22