MIJUMARU KHAJIAMAZA

NAME: mijumaru goganrao jueroala khajiamaza



ALIAS: miju (me-jew)



AGE: 458 



ALLIANCE: El Renacimiento

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APPEARANCE: mijumaru's appearance is not too strange in comparison to his fraccion leader, he tends wear similar clothing that makes him look both intelligent & professional  

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HISTORY: Ezequiel de Bouvere was born to nobility in France in 1297. The fifth son to diplomats within the grand nation, his experience of life has been the best anyone could hope for at that era. In his position, he had all the possibilities in the world for the time, and his physical aptitude and early intelligence insured such features were possible. As were all families of the century, his was in close connections with that of the Church of the time, and under its grace they remained showered in wealth. While his siblings stayed with in the political business his family was known for, Ezequiel took a different route and became squired to a Templar, aspiring to join their ranks.

At the age of manhood, he was knighted by the Pope himself, and inducted into that of the Templars, and while they so no action after the final crusade years back, they still operated and remained functional while its final grandmaster remained at work. With such prestige available, and a life of luxury and respect before him, leave it to the same thing that he desired to be the bane of his life. Ezequiel was pompous with his status, and over-confident to the likes of causing unrest with the civilians around him. While he remained vigilant to his duty, he lacked the compassion for those beneath him, in which case, was the majority of France. Even as a conditioned practitioner of the code of chivalry, and the teachings of the church, he held no respect for the poor and needy, and only served them as it was his duty. A bad tongue was the leading ingredient for a recipe for his demise, and when he spoke out towards a poor man delusional with hunger and injury, Ezequiel would have his eyes staring at a six inch blade with red pooling around its base from the gaping wound in his stomach. 

It wouldn't even be the injury that caused his death, but with an exposed stomach, disease found him, and his wound festered. Several weeks of agonizing pain is what he tried to sleep through, deeper and deeper he dove into the grasps of such wicked bacteria. There were days where he had the courage to continue, but it took just one rough morning for him to decide that he didn't want to go on any longer. His body was already permanently affected, and he'd be unable to fully operate again - or that is what the priests told him. With a final prayer, he gave into the pain, and stopped protesting death's beckoning.

Ezequiel awoke among a foreign land that he matched with the descriptions of the Far East, descriptions familiar only by the tales that merchants brought back. The people were dressed well enough, and the place itself was in an appropriate condition. The details of what happened he only vaguely remembers, but it had to do with a group fascinated by his Western appearance taking him in and feeding him. Whatever the words were that were exchanged, he found himself living with these people, and while they called themselves a family, each looked just as different from the last, and with a house of fifteen, that was a lot of variation. 

Over time, Ezequiel learned what this new experience was, and how he was in the glory of Soul Society, attributed to District 7. They spoke of luck, and how most are delivered to harsh slums, though he could hardly remain modest about it. Ezequiel bragged, and he bragged often about the palaces he was from in France. He shared legends that his "siblings" were fascinated with, yet others received agitation from. Even in a world he knew nothing of, Ezequiel had the tendency to act better than everyone, and it only took a beating from some neighboring kids, and a back-hand from the "mom" of the household to put him in his place. It wasn't a solid change, but over time, his eyes opened up to how much modesty was appreciated, or at least a lack of arrogance. And when it came down to it, he didn't have that rank that he possessed in his prior life. All that former wealth was gone, and he only had value in the skills he could bring to the table at that very moment.

For almost a century, Ezequiel lived in complacence. There were moments where he was almost pressured into joining the Shinigami, but hesitance paralyzed him each and every attempt. All he could remember from before was a life a duty, and here he was able to just lounge about and relax. Sure, it wasn't what he imagined Heaven would be like, but it had its charm. Eventually, over time, that same fascination with justice and virtue came back to him, the same motivation he had for joining the templars. Except this time, he didn't possess that cockiness that spoiled his spirit to begin with. Fortunately for his former sword skills, Ezequiel faired easy in all preliminary tests, and he was admitted into the academy with little effort.

It could be assumed that Ezequiel was gifted to an extent, and could have easily graduated ahead of time, as whenever tested, he excelled; however, there was a lack of motivation to continue with that route. Even if he could cut corners, he failed to see the reasoning behind it, and felt it was necessary to attend the full curriculum. Maybe in his younger years he would have jumped at that opportunity, but a hundred years is enough to wisen a soul. 

While he lacked the flair of some of the upper-echelon students in first class that received a quicker graduation date, he matched their skill nonetheless. In fact, he was one of few that was already being sought after by different division. A skill within the art of kidou even opened many opportunities for the kidou corp, but something brought him back to his days as a Templar. He was a defender, the shield of the Lord above, and that's what he felt most comfortable with. While many offered him spots, he applied for one of the few divisions that didn't seem interested, the 9th Division. 

While not sought after, Ezequiel's prodigal status earned him the thirteenth seat of the division upon being accepted in, giving him a junior officer rank, and political power within the division. Despite his rank, he preferred stationary work, and being sent to the Human World to operate. There existed a longing for returning home, and this was as close as he got, able to bask in the development of his old home, and watch France rise and fall through the years. It was this desire that was probably the downfall for him. He couldn't detach himself from what used to be, and he found himself cursed in a world that he wished not. As much as he attempted to suppress the demons of his past, constantly visiting the human world reopened every wound inflicted by falling short of what he was destined to accomplish.

By all means, Ezequiel continued to serve as a functioning shinigami, but as the years passed, he grew reckless, and it took one foolish fight against a Hollow horde to nearly fell the proud man. He was stricken was a sickness from the fight, one that he never seemed to conquer. It was the remnants of the hollows' reiatsu that tainted his soul, and while he struggled to overcome the illness, his own sins caught up with him. Confused him. Damned him. He kept quiet for the majority of the transformation and descent, and it was fortunate for his existence that he was on duty when the shift occurred. Ivory appendages sprouted from his spine, and from the covered scars that his body possessed. In agonizing screams he called out as the bones encompassed and cocooned his flesh. And in a mighty roar, a beast of a hollow broke free from what the Shinigami used to be, consuming the very souls he fought so hard to protect. 

The memories of Ezelrick become unclear at this point, as a menos, his body was comprised of hundreds of humans souls. Yet, out of them all, it was one conscious and more powerful soul that took charge and command of the menos persona. Some years must have passed, maybe a decade or two, but Ezelrick's memories only clear up once again in the form of adjuchas, one that terrorized the slate sands of Hueco Mundo. His memories before were gone, but the ambition and the dedication to destroying the damned showed perseverance. Ezel hunted, and he was good at it. His form humanoid in many aspects, a twisted version between man and beast, but with an outfit that could mutilate the other hollows.

It began with the simple hunts against other gillian, ripping through their shadowy fabric with the swords he bolstered as hands, strong jaws tearing and swallowing the pieces of their bodies. The menos recognized that they were fodder for his power, and that he could best even members of his own kind - which he did. Adjuchas were butter under his blades, and their bodies were so much more appeasing. That fear of dropping into a loss of conscious and sanity was so threatening, and the taste of self-awareness so sweet that he became a most prominent hunter. What took arrancars hundreds of years to achieve, he did in half the time, becoming fully aware, and potent with his own consciousness that he could rule the others with ease. 

But with that awareness came a sickening for his own self, his own kind. Ezelrik could remember how much he hated the hollows, and how mindless and treacherous they were. To be even considered similar was poison in his food. So he strove for more, declaring himself a king among the others. Few could match or dispute such clause, and any that threatened his rule as one of the strongest of Hueco Mundo were made short work of. As a vasto lorde, he ruled the desolate plains of the abyss, and satiated his cravings.



It was only a temporary remedy though, nothing that could give him the absolution his old identity struggled so much for. The worst pain was not knowing what it was, just that Ezelrik felt entitled to more. He knew what he was, one of those very beasts. Most importantly, he remembered what he used to be, nobility. But now he would be cast out of any kingdom, any house, any civilization as a barbarian - even less - a mongrel. The irritation became unbearable and so those same swords that hunted reached and clawed, and stabbed, and carved, ripping that marrow from his face, and with it, the beast that cloaked his body. He arose as an arrancar.



What came first were the memories, a flood of it all that hardly made sense in the monsoon of information. He couldn't pick one part from the other, but the one thing that was most prominent was the constant pounding of his name, and how proud of it he was. Next came the devotion he was haunted with, and his purpose. The man cast away the family name, and took his others to establish a new identity, a new archangel, Ezelrik. 



As an arrancar, he was quickly brought into Hueco Mundo, and his own ability surpassed the majority. The authorities knew his prowess, and immediately tested him on loyalty. The composure he wore was good indication of how he would fair as a leader and in short years he found himself as a listing Espada member. It was the current Godking at the time that trusted him too much, as Luccio had already won him over. And he would be there, opening the floodgates, and doing nothing to defend against the assault Luccio placed on his ruler. There was only one Godking that deserved the title, and Ezel was devoted to the cause he brought forth. El Renacimient.

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DIFFICULTY: Hard.