P∆R∆NOI∆ PT. 1 [FEAT. EMIL]

With his cybernetic implants deactivated, the lieutenant was forced to act solely under his warrior’s perception within the dusty veil. While his senses weren’t perfected, they were always under full alert and used to the best of their ability. The moment he heard the well-acquainted sounds of bullets firing, V. prepared himself to block and endure any of the missiles, using his released blade as an extension of self to swiftly swipe, slice, and block any of the bullets; his speed of his stance coming into more use than the opponent knew. Instinctively, the Shinigami took a large backward leap out of the vision-impairing fray. As he would touch back on the ground many meters outward, the invader would notice one bullet lodged within his stomach, and two in his right thigh—not by indication of pain, but by the inability stand correctly.

But more importantly, blood had been drawn and Kenketsusha’s blood puppetry was bound to come into effect within the next few seconds. Little did his opponent knew, the sword form ‘Binkatsu’, also applied the weapon’s properties onto the target. And as he used his Zanpakutō as the chosen weapon, the most prominent ability of the shikai; Ketsueki Ningyō would kick in. By the time touched foot into the fog, he would find his anatomy suffering of a near body-paralyzing numbness, and soon after he would irrefutably become the sole target of Ashton’s voodoo curse. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Emil tripped the moment the infection kicked in.

Ashton appropriated the palm of his left hand over his injured thigh; he nearly fell back to his knees, noticing that one of the bullets contacted was too deep to be plucked for the moment. However pain was welcomed, and in the coming seconds, he would define it for Emil Heidrich. And by that token, a prolonged cackle exploded from the sadistic intruder’s mouth, as he taunted him, and as Kenketsusha’s disease crept within the bloodstream of the enemy. “How does it feel, Emil?”

“You are mine!!”

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

As the obstructing dust began to clear and wither into the atmosphere, a recognizable thud came to match a fallen body. An extra film of smugness layered over the soul reaper’s undying grin, the enemy’s life had very literally been put in his hands; ignorance of the ability rendering the Knight-Commander’s strategies useless, and no amount of speed could evade the amount of pain he was about to endure. The redhead’s throat leaked of a deeper, yet controlled chuckle as he gave his blade an area view, blade-side downward with a one-handed reverse grip.

“Anyway, as I was saying...” He sighed, precisely thrusting the tip of his blade into his thigh to excruciatingly remove the bullets. “You know what? You’re too damn rude for me to tell you anything about your Sternmords.” His arrogant voice fell silent, allowing that repetitive maroon red energy swirl about his body and swiftly heal his injuries via a steam. As he pricked the tip of his blade deep within his abdomen to retrieve the projectile, the holes within his thigh began to close and the moderate cracking down to his bone would repair, as would his abdomen by the time he continued speaking.

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one allowed to feel pain!” The intruding death god’s face began to integrate with pure malevolence, insanity even. His main hand and weapon drifted idle by his side, his left hand gripped the purple handle of one his secondary katana, and introduced the Soul-Synthesized steel to the downpour of rain. The moment the blade met the air, it would begin vibrating at an immense high-frequency—a weapon Emil Heidrich would no doubt be familiar with; a Selee Schneider. V. brought the reverse-gripped armament to level with his face, staring lustfully at the blade, the tone of his voice becoming oddly sensual. “You should feel it too…”

And upon the next breath, the Knight-Commander would become the sole blood puppet of Ashton Arterius. Every movement that the Shinigami made would be forcibly imitated by the enemy, and every pain he suffered would be felt and endured. His illogical agility was useless if he couldn’t utilize it.

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

From this moment onward, Emil Heidrich was the blood puppet.

Truth be told, with one stroke he could have ended it for the Knight-Commander right there, but he wanted him to suffer. He held him not in contempt, but he was an enemy nonetheless, and for the greater good he had to taste agony before being dropped on death’s doorstep. The Shinigami’s violently vulnerable eyes drifted onto Emil, gazing upon him like a piece of art; examining the structure of his visage. It was time to feel pain.

The tip of the Quincy katana within the death god’s left hand came to touch the far upper left of his abdomen, his enemy’s hand mimicking the motion from his downed position. The lieutenant’s throat began to erupt with another prolonged, sadistic chuckle as his eyebrows rose in anticipation. And without hesitation, he impaled himself with the steel! The blade pierced right through his spleen and came out through his back, the blade curved as to audaciously avoid the ribcage and spine. Every single pearly white within the Shinigami’s mouth came to bare as he trembled with excitement and perverted hilarity, a disturbing trail of blood leaking out from either side of his mouth.

It did not matter what defense Emil had or didn’t have, for whatever injury Ashton endured, he would endure. And whether he liked it or not, the enemy’s spleen would have been illogically pierced as well, and he would have felt a blade impaling him as if he and the demonic redhead shared the same body. And Ashton, he wanted to see the red liquids trail from the Gemischt’s mouth as it did his; it was pain knowing that the exhilaration wasn’t shared between the two. It was so fun, it was exquisite, it was absolutely beautiful…

As the blood continued to slither down from the Shinigami’s whimsically trembling lips, he managed articulation through his high-pitched laughter, “The pain is so great, isn’t it?! Isn’t it?!”

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

When one’s primary tactic was to inflict destructive amounts of pain upon themself to torture and kill the target, anguish was no longer a negative sensation. It was a delicacy, a luxury, and you were to cherish every moment you had with it. And yet as his hands loosened their grip upon the handle lodged within his abdomen, he noticed that his voodoo plaything had managed to lessen the effects of the injury via Blut; a technique recognized due to his own Echt operatives. And by extension, the Knight-Commander also severe loss of blood from V as well, had he a perceptive eye he would have noticed a halt in the leaking of blood. For all it mattered, their fates were one in the same.

The only difference being the Shinigami didn’t nearly die as easily, and their shared Blut Vene did absolutely nothing to lessen the intensity of the pain. V’s head lifted upward in what seemed to be pure sexual ecstasy, his grip retightening upon the handle protruding from his body. Every particle of joy assimilated within the male’s wet, widening smile, and he twisted the blade piercing his spleen and allowed it to two columns of the ribcage. That hole within Emil and the Death God’s body would have radiated with torment. After all, it was the least the intruding soul could have done for him. He deserved the ability to swim in agonizing pleasure like everyone else.

“The difference between you and I, is that I can truly enjoy pain.” He claimed calmly, emboldening his perverted resolve to define it for the Gemischt before him. Without a molecule of doubt, V. swiftly, and painfully plucked the vibrating Quincy katana from his abdomen and let it fall to the ground. His arms spread outward wide, his Zanpakutō resting within the confines of his dextral hand as the rain cascaded down his bleeding body. Once again, the swirling red energy began to creep about the soul reaper’s body and hastily repair his body of the heavier words: stitching and rejuvenating his spleen, his ribcage, and the impaling hole opened from his torso and back—yet no mending would be done to any of the Knight-Commander’s wounds. He would suffer in his powerlessness.

“I suppose I should finish this.” He laughed, cracking his neck while the healing steadily met its culmination. “I’m sorry it came to this, I really am.” And as the Shinigami took his pattered his lethargic stroll towards the downed Quincy, the blonde’s feet would do none but consistently lift up and down as the tip of his shoes slapped against the wet pavement. Coming to a stop no more than three inches away from Emil’s fallen form, he would let his primary weapon rest released by his side, staring upon the male with his vacant eyes.

“You would have been a nice wingman, Emil Heidrich.”

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

When it was time to rid the Earth of this half-breed liability, hesitation soured the redhead’s ruthless anatomy. In that split-second, he could only think of one thing; one person. The ecstasy integrated into his form steadily dissipated with his introspection, and the apathy within his eyes slithered into his visage.

If Reisha saw me like this...


It didn’t matter; he was a matured soul with a job to do. The male’s resolve emboldened like the grip upon his reverse-gripped soul slayer and thrust it downward into Emil’s exposed neck! No, he thrusted his steel into…the concrete? And like a mutated version of himself, reluctance had sorrowfully betrayed him and cast his opportunities and overall chances of success into the trash. The target had managed to disappear even with his severe wounds; an obvious testament to his illogical agility. In that concurring instant, caution withered away any lingering arrogance. The Shinigami withdrew his remaining katana-formed Seele Schneider with his non-dextral hand, and appropriated his Boueikisei stance to it; giving him access to ultimate defense and power within his left hand, and overwhelming speed and long-range capabilities in the other.

Bringing the strength of his perceptions to bare, V. followed the droplets of red liquid before the rain could sweep the sightings up. Or at least, he attempted to. His eyes were still slightly off-kilter due to the overusing of his cybernetic implants, though he was capable of attaining knowledge of the opponent’s general direction. Taking a step backward, the god of death situated raised his blades to his sides for a defense stance, yet left open space for offensive movements. Strategies and counterattacks formulated, and a grin upon his face.

Surprisingly, he could feel the killing intent within the air. As if he’d injected the Quincy with his malevolence. “Interesting.”

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

For someone who regulated their actions with ruthlessness, there would always be repercussions for hesitations, miscalculations, and emotional liabilities. This had not been the first time the latter caused him to steer towards failure, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. No matter how much rage was imbued into the opponent’s offenses. By the time he looked up, he saw a downpour of arrows that steadily started to outnumber the rain itself. Exhilaration, rage, and caution assumed the throne and he raised his weapon, allowing the enemy’s taunt to fuel his anatomy.

He had no injuries to speak of; there was only fatigue, the adrenaline of battle, and the newfound ambitious will to live. As flash stepping out of the chaos was evidently futile, he would have to allow his weapons to cajole the missiles. Before the arrows reached yards towards their target, they would see the demon raising his left armament, to which he appropriated his defensive stance, whirling above his head in swift, non-stopping 360° spins. His Zanpakutō wielding arm strokes at every known arrow accosting him, utilizing blurred arched slashes and precise stabs. Arrow after arrow was dispersed against the Shinigami’s masterful defensive movements. One hundred were gone, and the onslaught was halted—two hundred more.

Had he the ability to activate his cybernetic implants, this would have been a cakewalk with minor bruises, yet he felt himself almost becoming overwhelmed. He continued the fluid strokes from both blades, situating the spinning shield from his left weapon in front of him, behind him, to his upper right, and each general direction available when necessary. He found his warrior’s awareness being put to the limit, yet finding slight growth in his stretched capability to detect and observe the projectiles. As the hundred multiplied and multiplied, a few arrows had managed to prick themselves into his back, though they went ignored, yet not unnoticed.

Instinctively, the soul reaper began twisting his body, shifting into backflips; side flips, and front flips; all while deflecting the oncoming arrows. He felt like an Olympic medalist chaining his aerial motions, and felt like a child fallen in an ant bed at the same time.

One hundred arrows deflected…

Two hundred arrows deflected…

Three hundred more arrows deflected…


There was no stopping the onslaught, there was no stopping the fun, and despite the injuries he incurred with the minor loss in agility, there was no stopping V. His artful movements continued and continued, but to seemingly no avail. Had it not been for his illogical tolerance to pain, he might have succumbed to fate. He spat on fate. The arrows amassed into what seemed like a thousand, but there was no stopping the wine-colored demon.

And in the blink of an eye, blood was leaking from the male’s lips, his movements had slowed, and the plentitude of his body had been covered from shoulder to toe in arrows; one barely deflected to miss his heart. Though the culmination didn’t matter, arrows surrounded him and hugged his body like a hellish acupuncture. He relished in the agony he stood in, and slowly fell to his knees using his Zanpakutō to stand, his left fist crunching onto the ground with air sucked out of his lips. He kneeled upon the precipice of death, barged in defeat’s premises, and soiled himself in rage.

Had he the capability to heal himself at this very moment, he stood a chance, yet as he healed the rupturing of his spleen and the cracking of his ribcage, he was forced to wait, and by then it would have been too late to scrape this liability from existence. His breaths became slower, and his visual disorientation began to deceive him.

“That’s…annoying..”

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS