JULY 9, 2014.
Post by KAZAN on Dec 19, 2013 15:08:24 GMT -5
A steady tempo of dull thuds upon the ground announced the presence of the Arrancar; here the night sky hung over the desert, endless and indefinite. Kazan's red eyes gazed up at the moon longingly as if this would be the last time he'd see it - within Las Noches, he knew there was no sky of eternal night to gaze upon, only ceilings and false skies to imitate those found in other worlds. Worlds his proud species should not have been imitating.
The Revenger slowly rose a fist. His shins and forearms were clad in skeletal, partial armoring. Vambraces worked of spines and plates pried from the corpses of his victims, and short greaves of ribs, various bones, claw-like segments and skulls. He wore similar covering across his hips and shoulders but much of the youthful male was still exposed; raw musculature adorned every inch of his flesh, as did myriad fresh scars earned from relentless combat. His long silken blonde hair descended down his rippling back in unusually graceful golden strands that contrasted sharply with the rugged brutality of his appearance.
This was a barbarian in every sense of the word. From the cruel toothed greataxe he carried in his left hand, to the crude blood-smeared rusty chains wrapped around his thighs, waist, and forearms, everything about him spoke of a life apart from society - a life of predation and chaos, where strength ruled all. Torn shreds of red fabric were the most advanced garments he wore - a single crimson cloth hung from his front to make the savage at least immodestly decent, whilst a shorter strip descended down the center of his rear, which was scarcely clad in a bone tasset wrought from the shaved down pelvis of a giant being with skeletal hands of bone gripping the male's tight, muscly glutes.
A long, torn red cloth hung from the male's right shoulder plate, which was just a huge lizard skull carved out from a dead Hollow. The ruined crimson cloak or whatever it had once been swayed wildly with the motion of the wind that sailed around it's battle weathered form as it shifted about Revenger's back with his motions as he approached one of the towering, immovable walls of the great white fortress. The coarse Arrancar now stood at the very edge of the white desert's only semblance of society, and the only civilization to rise above the white dunes...
Raising the lightly tanned fist of his right hand, Revenger immediately began pelting the face of the wall in an innumerable sequence of flat punches. Grey dust mingling briefly with shards of broken white stone pushed out from around his hardened knuckles, spraying quickly around him until a growing cloud of debris appeared, billowing outwards from the Arrancar's sides. The seven and a half foot tall brute continued repeatedly drumming the wall - his tempo of punches became faster and faster steadily until dozens of projections from his fists were driven into the wall one after the other, turning the Arrancar's image into a distorted smear of unending blows against stone, all of which rang out wildly as a gaping hole began to appear. The fractures and cracks spread wildly over it's white surface, slowly growing and multiplying across the porcelain-like surface...
Revenger began stepping through the hole he'd carved with his punches, and continued to beat the rocky substance of the stone down in front of him. With naught but his bare hands he was drilling an entrance into the fortress, the inhabitants of which would certainly be well aware of his efforts by now. The jagged crude hole he'd pounded through the stone thus far spanned for a width of seven feet and a height of ten, plenty enough even for his large body, but was still yet a tiny scar upon the impossibly massive front of Las Noches. Even at the swift pace of his fists, it would take days and days to have made any mark on the foreboding structure that would be still be visible from a mile's distance. Even Kazan felt daunted by the sheer mass of the structure he was attacking.
But continued he did; two low class numeros laid dead in the sands behind him, reduced to pieces and red streaks across the white sand. He had chosen his path - and there was now no turning back. The white stone in front of him slowly became shrouded in darkness as what began as a small dent in the wall became a veritable tunnel that deepened until light shined through the ever multiplying cracks Kazan pounded into the wall, until only the sensation of air touching his flying fists greeted him along with an almost blinding light issuing forth from the interior of Las Noches...
The Revenger slowly rose a fist. His shins and forearms were clad in skeletal, partial armoring. Vambraces worked of spines and plates pried from the corpses of his victims, and short greaves of ribs, various bones, claw-like segments and skulls. He wore similar covering across his hips and shoulders but much of the youthful male was still exposed; raw musculature adorned every inch of his flesh, as did myriad fresh scars earned from relentless combat. His long silken blonde hair descended down his rippling back in unusually graceful golden strands that contrasted sharply with the rugged brutality of his appearance.
This was a barbarian in every sense of the word. From the cruel toothed greataxe he carried in his left hand, to the crude blood-smeared rusty chains wrapped around his thighs, waist, and forearms, everything about him spoke of a life apart from society - a life of predation and chaos, where strength ruled all. Torn shreds of red fabric were the most advanced garments he wore - a single crimson cloth hung from his front to make the savage at least immodestly decent, whilst a shorter strip descended down the center of his rear, which was scarcely clad in a bone tasset wrought from the shaved down pelvis of a giant being with skeletal hands of bone gripping the male's tight, muscly glutes.
A long, torn red cloth hung from the male's right shoulder plate, which was just a huge lizard skull carved out from a dead Hollow. The ruined crimson cloak or whatever it had once been swayed wildly with the motion of the wind that sailed around it's battle weathered form as it shifted about Revenger's back with his motions as he approached one of the towering, immovable walls of the great white fortress. The coarse Arrancar now stood at the very edge of the white desert's only semblance of society, and the only civilization to rise above the white dunes...
Raising the lightly tanned fist of his right hand, Revenger immediately began pelting the face of the wall in an innumerable sequence of flat punches. Grey dust mingling briefly with shards of broken white stone pushed out from around his hardened knuckles, spraying quickly around him until a growing cloud of debris appeared, billowing outwards from the Arrancar's sides. The seven and a half foot tall brute continued repeatedly drumming the wall - his tempo of punches became faster and faster steadily until dozens of projections from his fists were driven into the wall one after the other, turning the Arrancar's image into a distorted smear of unending blows against stone, all of which rang out wildly as a gaping hole began to appear. The fractures and cracks spread wildly over it's white surface, slowly growing and multiplying across the porcelain-like surface...
Revenger began stepping through the hole he'd carved with his punches, and continued to beat the rocky substance of the stone down in front of him. With naught but his bare hands he was drilling an entrance into the fortress, the inhabitants of which would certainly be well aware of his efforts by now. The jagged crude hole he'd pounded through the stone thus far spanned for a width of seven feet and a height of ten, plenty enough even for his large body, but was still yet a tiny scar upon the impossibly massive front of Las Noches. Even at the swift pace of his fists, it would take days and days to have made any mark on the foreboding structure that would be still be visible from a mile's distance. Even Kazan felt daunted by the sheer mass of the structure he was attacking.
But continued he did; two low class numeros laid dead in the sands behind him, reduced to pieces and red streaks across the white sand. He had chosen his path - and there was now no turning back. The white stone in front of him slowly became shrouded in darkness as what began as a small dent in the wall became a veritable tunnel that deepened until light shined through the ever multiplying cracks Kazan pounded into the wall, until only the sensation of air touching his flying fists greeted him along with an almost blinding light issuing forth from the interior of Las Noches...
