THE ART OF PEER PRESSURE [FEAT. ESPADA]

I'm a bad motherfucker

Not a fucking role model

Fuck church, hit a bong, then go smash a fucking bottle

Got a few sluts to help me roll a few blunts

And they never question me because they know I hate cunts

Rowdy laughter filled the room, interrupted only by the loud clinking of glasses and the occasional scream of pain. Smoke clung to the air like a thick mist, obstructing the sight of the patrons of the bar, which was probably for the best given the sanitary state of the establishment. Cigarette butts and broken glass littered the cracked stone floor; the scent of stale beer and depression was discernible underneath the aroma of tobacco, if one smelled for it. The walls were stained yellow in a similar manner, splatters of dark red adding to the grimy aesthetic. The paintings that once lined these walls, ones of grandeur with beautiful picture frames and artwork of dogs playing poker, had long since been torn down or vandalised so much that even the owners of this shady environment declared them unsightly. Behind the bar stood an array of assorted liqueurs, many embellished with the pickled remnants of ingredients that generally belonged inside of bodies, rather than alcohol. Some of these organs were familiar; eyes, brains, the occasional fragment of a Hollow’s ceramic mask. The vast majority were unfamiliar. However, the most interesting object behind the bar wasn’t alcoholic, nor was it the broken and ransacked cash register. No, the most interesting object was the sword, a claymore to be exact, embedded into the back wall. The claymore wasn’t alone however; a lone sword wouldn’t be as impressive as some of the organs in the jars around it. What made it impressive however was the bartender skewered to the wall with it, his stomach leaking a steady trickle of viscous red as it dripped down the excessively large edge of Nico’s blade, unfortunately still alive.


The crowd that had gathered around the white haired Arrancar burst into laughter, slinging drinks down their gullets and white powder up their flared nostrils. Nico himself sat upon a barstool, directly before the shish-kebabbed bartender, each arm around the shoulder of an absurdly gorgeous woman. If one were to be able to see through the smoke, they may have been able to discern an odd combination of fear and amazement on their face. But let’s be real, it was mostly fear, they were fucking terrified.

Burly and outlandish Arrancar formed the group that cheered on Nico, generally looking like the scum reserved for the lowest pits of hell. Tattoo’s and piercings were almost uniform among these, Nico the only one devoid of any ink, which had lead to this entire situation. Nico slammed back another shot of whiskey and the women at his side grew even more beautiful. A pained groan came from the shattered pool table in the corner, splinters of wood covered in blood impaling the still breathing form of some unfortunate Arrancar that Nico had to teach a lesson. He’d just come here for a drink, you see, he had no intentions of causing trouble for the patrons of this, quite frankly, shitty bar. He had decided to explore the seedy underworld of Asiento de Dios, go through the rougher parts of town and see what cool stuff was hidden away from the Godking’s authority. Turned out, quite a lot of shit happened down here. Nico had entered the bar, a flickering neon sign outside reading “STRIPPERS” luring him in, for a few drinks and good company. However, jealousy is an ugly thing, especially for the fucks that inhabited this place. Resigned to deforming their own body to look “tough” through the medium of ink and metal, the handsome and untouched face of Nico enraged some of these louts on sight. It didn’t end well for them. It didn’t end well at all. Unfortunately for the remaining patrons, Nico was growing bored with their company, his drunken mind wandering from the whorish strippers at his side and towards the cuntish Sexta Espada. A look of anger grew on Nico’s face, crimson Reiatsu beginning to boil off his body as his thoughts enraged him, the patrons stepping back a few.


The strippers tried to squirm from his grasp, but he clenched tighter and tighter onto their shoulders, as he became more and more furious, sharp shrieks of agony audible over the shattering crunches of their shoulders being ground to dust under his grasp. Nico’s whiskey drunk was not a particularly pleasant thing. His eyes glowed crimson, focusing upon the sword in the bartender’s chest. He appeared behind the bar with his hand on the hilt of his sword, the two strippers he maimed clutching their useless arms in pain as they cried, his illuminated eyes locked onto the bartender.


With a single motion Nico pulled the blade out of bartender’s chest, more specifically his chest cavity, blood pouring from his open wound. The blade continued on its arc though, Nico nonchalantly swinging his arm back without looking, blood flying from the tip of the sword and splattering the Arrancar behind him. He turned to face them, his face taking the form of his signature devilish grin.“Next time I come here, clean this shit up. I don’t expect there to be corpses in my bar.”He appeared by the door, kicking the black rectangle of metal off its hinges and sending it flying, the smoke that once filled the room now rushing past the Arrancar in a torrent of white wisps. He almost forgot something.


As if on cue beads of red started to form on the throats of the two girls, these beads quickly joining to form a single line that stretched all the way around. They couldn’t even scream as they looked at one another, their heads slowly sliding from their shoulders, eyes wide with pain and desperation. The crowd looked back to the door and proceeded to lose their shit. Nico was long gone though, leaving the murder scene far behind him.His drunken teleportation took the Vasto Lorde on a magical journey through Asiento, materialising in random houses and buildings as he blindly proceeded towards the lands of the Sexta Espada. Even while drunk off his face, Nico could still sense the presence of that stoic cunt, his inaccurate teleportations heading in the right general direction.

It took a few minutes for him to reach his destination, if only for the fact that he needed to stop for a piss on some unsuspecting people from a rooftop. When it rained, it poured. When Nico finally arrived though, it seemed he had been beaten to the punch. Ahead of him stood a massive blond Arrancar, a form that Nico immediately recognised as that of one of the Espada he had met at the Cero’s execution. Out of all the males, this was the one that had interested Nico the most, only for the fact that he had spoken Nico’s native Italian tongue. It seemed he was here to party, something Nico was very much interested in, though he didn’t expect someone to come to the Sexta’s lands to party. He doubted the swordsman would know a good time if it flew up his nose. He materialised before the Espada, a few meters away from the imposing man simply by error of accuracy, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He’d had the time to swipe it before he left, as was common for a man who could teleport at will.


He tossed the bottle, one of the tamer examples from the bar, to the Espada before him. As the bottle sailed through the air, Nico grabbed a cigarette and light from his pockets, lighting it up in his mouth and withdrawing his ancient ignition tool. An inhalation of the smoke made Nico subside his rage, calming him in the presence of the Aspect of Wrath, who for all Nico cared could have been the Aspect of Love and Unicorns. The man had mentioned two things the white-haired Arrancar loved, booze and bitches. Nico was down to party.

Nico was somewhat impressed as he followed the steps of Lan-Shi, materialising before the entrance to his personal chambers. The interior was filled with antiques and memorabilia of ancient civilisations, both of Human and Hollow origin, which was something Nico was very much interested in possessing. Perhaps when Lan-Shi got himself killed by charging recklessly into battles he couldn’t win, like he almost did against Alastar, Nico would take it all for his own. He walked past the various treasures slowly, the occasional drunken stumble requiring him to refocus on his balance, simply observing the wonders around him. He grasped an ancient chalice from a pedestal, forged from gold and bejewelled with expensive gemstones, pouring the remainder of the wine from the bottle into it and replacing it upon its perch with the now empty wine bottle.

Nico drank deeply from his lavish cup, continuing through the room with steady footsteps, entering into Lan-Shi’s alcohol chamber. Now he was impressed. The walls were lined with more bottles than Nico had seen in his life, even the most expensive bars he had frequented did not possess such a selection. Had he been a fool to have judged Lan-Shi so quickly? Perhaps the man knew how to party after all. He turned to Vaaen, who had fittingly picked out an Italian wine from the bunch, taking another sip of his own drink. He spoke of the deceased Espada, who’s death Nico had witnessed only days earlier, going on to welcome Nico into the fold. Nico hadn’t been part of a society since his death, living the life of a loner upon becoming a Hollow. He had actively resisted the Hohlreich in order to maintain his solitude, and now he found himself drinking among friends. It was an odd notion for Nico, El Proscrito as he was once known, to now be a member of the Espada. He didn’t give it much thought though, as long as he was still free to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do he didn’t mind going along with Luucio’s plans.

He raised his chalice.