post-apocalyptic [o]

Abrupt beyond comprehension, something fell only but a little ways ahead. What resulted was an eruption of sands accompanying a sounding deep, thunderous and foreboding. A pall pulsed through a heart he'd thought ceased to exist long ago. It was hardly a surprise that his paces halted and his eyes, nigh radiating an electric blue, stubbornly seized the impacted land before him following their reopening.

There was something familiar about whatever it was spilling over the area. The pressure disgorged over all and the maniacal laughter that took to the air did little but overstate its spirit-stifling presence. What could the canid Adjuchas do but remain fixated where he was as he braced for the perverse aura to wash him over?

Pitifully obvious it was that what presented itself before him like a deranged meteor with vocal cords would not make for anything but a disgustingly one-sided match. He could not eat that humanoid creature and, in fact, if he continued to remain where he was, it was likely that he might eat him. That was just a smidgen counterproductive.

But that immense spiritual pressure kept him frozen in place. It was something only endurable for that particular duration. When he had his fill of being overwhelmed by it, the best course of action would be to retreat with as much speed as he could muster. What were the chances of him crossing such a bombastic threat?

Fen hopelessly missed the lands of weaker hollow where he could eat without fear of being eaten. At that moment in time, he was uncertain as to whether or not he could be able to experience such a thing again. So, he remained still and quiet, watching the Espada as he turned his sights onto him. When he did, the hollow's legs were spread just a little bit wider, seemingly in preparation. Fortunately, his mask hid his anxiety - but perhaps its pungency would catch his senses.

Seemingly, a revelation settled atop the lowly beast. It followed the Espada's turn, the unveiling of a telling numeral. A generous collection of years, while ostensibly insufficient in placing him before one, proved more than enough for his ears to catch wind of those whole ruled the lands he trod.

An Espada.

Tensioned pool within his balled fists. Note was taken of such as was his very being, which appeared inundated in an infinitely swelling ire. Fen's nose seemed to burn as a result of this ridiculous reiatsu, its potency amounting to a spirit-shearing irritant and a weight that threatened to thieve the strong suit that was his agility. It whispered not of growing any lighter as he approached with seemingly maddened strides.

Why was he so angry?

Did he know wrath? What kind of question was that? His aggressor was nigh drowning in seriousness. There was absolutely no way he was not expecting an actual question to his undeniably cryptic question. It became even more obvious as he pulled him up by a front leg to look him dead in the eye to ask him the same question, except much louder and profane.

Bearing being held in such a way with tightly-knit teeth, he choice to dig into a past he was likely never meant to remember after his descent into hollow-hood. "It's-it's how I was born!" he growled with a voice doubled and perverse with a demonic tone, yet adolescent. His answer likely made little sense, demanded elaboration, but the growling hollow had yet to supply such.

He didn't like Fen's answer.

Such a fact was made known to Fen with the splintering soundings that ensued, which shared company with an acute pain that shot through his arm and rolled through the rest of him like stinging waves breaking against a glassy shore. He fell against the ground, falling into a pathetic pile as the man's words precipitated onto him.

The first response pelted him with the mild confusion Fen had instilled within him. However, Fen found his reply favourable - at least to himself. The sniveller within wished nothing more but to broadcast the rampant unfairness that was his short-lived human life. And that was exactly what he would do.

"As a human..." he breathed and as he did, the first hints of an attempt to push himself up began.

"I was repeatedly struck by lightning for all of my life..."

Weight was distributed through three of the limbs that had finally pushed the bulk of his body upright. The delicate placement of the fractured leg was done as his regenerative powers continued to fleetly mend the bone.

"Until it finally killed me..."

Fen was determined to fight against the spiritual falls breaking against him, evident as he turned his sights upwards and towards the choler the Espada's eyes radiated. He dared say something afterwards that could appear many a things: arrogant, naive, humourous perhaps for its context and implications.

"So, I know wrath.

God's wrath..." 

And as his words touched the the air, his body crackled with strands of broken, blinding blue in a manner casual and effortless.

A virile hilarity was found in his words. It was to no surprise for why would such a great, asphyxiating power take the words of one barely unable to bear it for anything more than the grains of salt they were? Silence was Fen's response. He allowed the laughter to have its perverse, bridling way with the figurative spirit he fought to keep preserved.

To the beast, such twisted beings, one that he was very aware he had long-since become - calling themselves gods was akin to parrots calling themselves human just because of their ability to mimic the complexities the latter's tongues wove. It was not because he felt himself superior to anybody nor more powerful. It was a part of his cocktail perception.

He was sure he would die that day - but had he not already died once? A request to show him his wrath tantalized his spirit. The Espada's pressure was still overwhelming. Running was not an option.

Opportunity?

A chance to lash out.

"Chicharrón..."

That spherical mass of energy that threatened to swallow him into dimensions unknown appeared before Fen this time, except it pulsed a blue and crackled with arching branches of cauterizing light.

"Cero."

The air cried out a deep, shearing wail. It contrasted the surprising calm - the reined ire he possessed, lashing forward in a comported manner. A crisp, horizontal column of blues and whites with a coating of chaotic, jagged bands of misguided light was directed the Espada's way for his sampling, his judgment. Of course, he was not holding back.

That titanic force of power did not make an attempt to evade his galvanic projection. Fen could not know such a thing right away. His focus was solely upon the attack's creation and maintenance, not whether or not his target had escaped it; but he assumed that now, he did not.

He was right.

It was hardly expected that such a monster would fall to any single assault Fen could conjure. However, it was both surprising and dispiriting that sitting within the ash and dust cackled his completely unscathed aggressor. He failed to inconvenience him let alone harm him in any way.

Though, there was something grading about that laughter. He mocked his obvious lacking strength and completely dismissed a spiritual assault that represented him in his totality. There stormed within him a disorientating coalescence of fear and anger - a willingness to retreat if given a chance. It surfaced as he managed to conjure the strength to take a single step rearward.

The paw came down with a great weight. The step was submissive; but, as it struck the waiting sands beneath it, a clear frustration and anger had instilled within the limb the muscular strength to cause an explosion of the monochrome grain. It erupted behind him, swept over a meager portion of his bottom half before settling quickly.

This foe of his demanded his wrath. For what purpose, he did not know; but as time passed, obliging became more and more alluring. There was a distaste in succumbing to such emotions, but he would indulge.

There was no lengthily recollection of tearful moments, no mulling over his circumstances. It was akin to reaching out an arm, grabbing a crimson goop that burned to the touch and would not hesitate to swallow its victim hole.

He snapped.

An instant that slipped through the clutches of time itself birthed an Adjuchas with eyes maddened, feral, ostensibly having lost its sentience, its human speech. His mouth opened to bear lines of teeth joined by a flux of gum and strings of gossamer saliva.

Had the real Fen Dweller retreated or had he ascended in a blaze of his own soul-consuming rage? He always appeared on the edge because he always was. Settling into baser instincts was something infinitely effortless; but throwing reasoning to the wind was an action Hueco Mundo would seemingly punish itself.

His jowls opened wide to birth before it a familiar ball of blue.

The same trick?

It appeared to be as power pooled towards its centre just as it had before. There were two differences, one being the physique the canine wielded being laced within an unseen choler and rage as blind as an infantile kit. The other ensued in a moment's passing.

The ground beneath him vanished. Fen was left within the eye of a crater. The sands were whisked away, repurposed through the fleet, instinct-bound performance of Reutilizar and swirled about the fetal Cero until coalescing with it. Wordlessly, a beam of intense white, furnished with a blue covering and crackling wildly tore forth towards the Espada's direction. Its size was bolstered, the lands within its path would vanish and behind it, seemingly pushing it along were the apparent compounded wails of hollowed long-since passed.

Of course, the speedy projection of the Espada's Bala plunging through the collected energy would disperse it before it could be fired. Its continuance through the creature's stomach made it an impossibility to focus the no-longer-present assemblage of energy and project it to any degree. The skill his mastery over his spiritual control birthed did not even possess the slightest of chances of being revealed before the mindless creature plopped onto the untouched grains beneath him. His commitment to an attack that would never be seen was what robbed him of the miniscule opportunity there was in eluding such a quick and powerful attack.

Non-fatal, yet infinitely debilitating. It was too much for him. He did not even possess a powerful enough regeneration to negate such a level of damage. His consciousness was slipping away. Whatever words were being precipitated onto him might as well be cast upon stones. They harboured echo and a faded volume the creeping darkness dulled and dissipated.

His words were falling upon deaf ears.

And then sleep.