aleksandr chevalier

NAME | aleksandr chevalier
ALIAS |
HEIGHT | six feet four inches [6ft 4in]
WEIGHT | two-hundred fifteen pounds [215lb]
BLOODTYPE | o positive
BASE FORM | vasto lorde

APPARENT AGE | mid-twenties [25yr]
REAL AGE | ninety years [90yr]
RESIDENCE | las noches outskirts
LOCATION | hueco mundo
ALIGNMENT | independent
DIFFICULTY | hard

BEHAVIOR | Aleksandr is a very reclusive individual, harboring a fair amount of regret and anguish for his past life, and the present. This is because he has yet to encounter any other of his close battle buddies who have succumb to the Hollow way of life, like he himself has. It means that, out of all of his friends, the only Captain rank-- He was the weakest in spirit. He couldnt rest peacefully, or at all with his life-- The way it had ended.

Regardless, within Aleksandr is a will to live like no other. Even through the invasion of Normandy, he was extremely perseverant and persistent in his actions and commands. He is not one to hesitate or ponder, instead he is swift to execute whatever plans he aspires to make.

Even though he normally adorns a callous nature, due to wanting to be left alone, Aleksandr truly misses companionship as a quality of life. He hasn't been able to tell anyone about his human life, mostly because he feels they can't connect with him. He is very sensitive about this information, even so much as the mention of Normandy causing him to wince or cringe due to the mental frustration that is coorelated to that day.

As a person, Aleksandr is a heterosexual male, his masculinity influencing his decisions and actions on a specific level. While women receive his softer side, he reserves his hatred mostly for other men. To him, females have no place on the battlefield. Not just because they aren't naturally built more physically dominant as men are, but also because he feels no men deserves the disgrace in killing a lady. It would be completely shameful for a man to kill a woman in the world of the living, and so Aleksandr has taken similar ideals to heart in his life as a Hollow.

His three main interests as a man on Earth were females, music, and swordsmanship. All of which were capable of being different based on their cultures, allowing Aleksandr to expand his knowledge and capability as a history teacher, but also in understand the human psyche. Every cvilization had their own way of life, their own outlooks on life. But all of them found a reason to smile-- To be happy with themselves. People of Mexico ate differently from those in Taiwan. The use of a sword in Japan, along with the smithing techniques applied to craft said swords in Japan varied from other places on the globe, like Europe.

It brought to Aleksandr a sense of enlightenment on how similar yet different everyone in this world is, and how the only reason they were so quick to put up their walls is because they were afraid of the unknown-- The others who looked different, talked different, and lived life in a foreign way to their own. Uncertainty was a scary thing to the human mind. The ability to fabricate endless outcomes plagued their worries and senses constantly.

As with many others, the only thing stopping Aleksandr is himself. He holds much self-ridicule and disgust for his own life and actions, that it can sometimes distract him. Regardless, his killing instinct still composes the core of who he is. Trained as a human in the mind of war, and forced to fight as a both man and Hollow, the art of murder has been a consistent practice for him, and to this day he aspires to become even greater yet. Not because he wants to be strong to hurt, but so that he can preserve what is left of his life, as he still holds on to what was taken away from him decades ago.

APPEARANCE |

Aleksandr is fairly tall, with lean muscle layering his bones and ligaments. His arms and legs were longer than someone of his height, giving him an advantage of reach over many. His distinctive facial features would be his long ebon locks of hair, his cerulean eyes, and the markings on his bodies-- Scars, among other things. It is easy to tell his body is a superb physical specimen, boasting not only height and strength, but also accompanied with intense agility and fleet of foot. This has complimented his swift and lethal approach to combat.

On his front torso, coming to his clavicle and shoulder tops as well as the sides of his ribs and arms resides a black spiraling marking-- Like a tattoo, although he never had this in his life as a human. On his left shoulder this marking comes to meet a black spiked pauldron similar to when he enters resureccion-- Which is his bone fragment.

At the center of the tattoo-esque marking is where his Hollow hole resides, right over where his actual heart would normally be beating. Normally small in appearance, the hole and marking grows bigger when he releases Ressurecion, symbolizing that there is a bigger void made to fill with each feat he accomplishes. Power without purpose was an emptiness unlike any other.

THE BEGINNING

Born in the year of 1924, Aleksandr was a normal child like any other immigrant in the land of the free, the home of the brave. His mother was of a Russian heritage, while his father was of French descendence. Taking on his father's Chevalier name, his mother gifted him with the name Aleksandr (Russian; Defender of Men). Through his years of school and being a child in the south, Aleksandr was very smart in all aspects of education. Not only did he take advantage of the information being enforced upon him through the beneficial education system, Aleksandr also knew how to pick his friends well.

These friends knew each other all the way from K-12, and even enrolled into the United States Army at the same time, going through schooling before they saw any real combat training. While Aleksandr and another were learning battle schematics and tactics on a wide scale ranging from infantry to vehicular support, two others had taken up the medic position. They finished in their field of education, and then after their tour of boot camp, they were told they would be needed within a full year's time.

During the course of this year, Aleksandr was promoted to a Captain in the United States Army, also taking on a job as a history teacher for the Highschool he had went to himself. The two medics were employed at the same hospital nearby, and the other man had taken up occupation at the closest military base. Needless to say the tension overseas was building, and the tide was about to be unleashed.

Before the year had even ended, the four childhood friends received a letter of immediate deployment. They threw a going away party with their families together, as they were all very close-- Even their infant children had seemingly become friends, except Aleksandr's child who was still in the womb. Having pictures taken of their loved ones just before setting off, they all had their own precious pieces of paper to help remind them what they had when they came back home.

But as soon as they left their families and began heading to the port, the words they hid like poison lingered out-- None of them may very well make it out of this. They were all scared, petrified even, battle shakes taking place before they got to the port. But they walked into Hell as brothers in arms all-the-same. This is what they were training for, this is what their country-- No, the world needed of them. Sacrifices always had to be made.

---

THE END

All of his friends and he were stuffed onto one sea-craft, a vessel just big enough to carry their fair-sized platoon of sixty (60) men. They knew they weren't going to be the first ones to hit shore, as Aleksandr stood in the front with his friends tucked behind-- Namely the medics. He peaked over and could see the mortars going off, the tracer rounds of the heavy machine guns pelting the sandy beach-- But what he saw was worse than any photograph or illustration of war he had ever seen as a history teacher.

Their boat was now meters from hitting shallow water, and he could see the blood-soaked sands and water. He could see the arms and limbs-- The bodies of other men torn to pieces. His fellow comrades were using the dead bodies for cover, stacking them up for a more efficient barricade than what all the czech hedgehogs and belgian gates could provide withotu beign easy to move. Screams of terror wore a guise of gunfire and concussive force from the explosions, along with the naval vessels bombarding the bunkers inland with heavy artillery. His heart almost stopped as he looked forward, the first one in-line as the gate lowered to let them walk into the battlefield taking place before them.

An explosion right in front of their boat alarmed Aleksandr, who commanded them all to commence their charge for the beach. Bobbing and weaving, it seemed surreal that Aleksandr had made it halfway up the beach near a grouping of czech hedgehogs. However, when he turned back at this oppurtunity, he could see that he may very well have lost half of his men. Another mortar went off as he turned to look, and the three friends of his were engulfed in the explosion-- All except one.

Lieutenant Bastien, or rather, what was left of him, landed next to Aleksandr. He was only himself from the waist up, his entrails hanging where his legs should have been. He gurgled as he struggled to hand his pictures of his family to Aleksandr, who refused initially but accepted because of the horror spelled on his dying friends face. His last words were him begging, not for mercy, not for Aleksandr to kill them all-- He wanted his family to be taken care of, to let them know he loved them-- That this sacrifice was for them.

Cradling his now dead brother, he stuffed the pictures of his deceased friend's baby boy and wife into his pocket, where the picture of his pregnant wife resided. Grabbing his M1 Garand with blood on his finger and the trigger, he leaned over to see a machine gunner's head poking out. Wiping the tears from his eyes to make a clear shot, when he popped off the 30-06 round the scarlet splatter was almost instant-- The relief finite.

Hungry for more, Aleksandr charged the bunker ahead of him, whose gunner was now in need of being replaced. Just before the second came to begin popping off more rounds, Aleksandr cooked a grenade for a small moment from the side of the window, hurling it in towards his enemy. He could hear them scream momentarily, just before the grenade took them all out. Pointing his gun in from the window, he saw red mist illustrating the air, pieces on the ground suggesting the men were obliterated. What was left of his platoon came rushing to his side, noticing that this was not their target.

In the distance a bigger bunker, with an even larger gun poking out of it was positioned towards the shore-- The ships in their harbor. That's when he noticed the extremely large cannon go off, the force and speed awing even Aleksandr. He turned to look at where the shot had struck, and he saw a wave-like splash just next to one of their battleships. Moving forward once again, it wasn't long until they got next to the door where one could enter the bunker. Setting a satchel charge, Aleksandr stood against a concrete wall away from the charges's blast radius, and gave the command to blow the hatch.

Fortunately, Aleksandr was in a frenzy, with only one thought-- Attack. Kill. Use the gun, grenades, bayonet, knife, and if he had to-- His hands. Allowing the satchel charge explosion to dissorient the enemy for the elemeent of surprise, Aleksandr shot the first four Nazi's that he saw cluttered in the room-- The fifth having his bayonet ran straight through their heart. While he was reloading, his men flooded in from behind him, going down the stairs to the right and running into their own gunfight. By the sounds of it, they had an automatic positioned downstairs. Sending men down to look, they came back concuring their was an MG staring straight at the stairwell behind cover.

They needed to take this bunker, especially the lower floor which housed the cannon-- A second shot ringing off giving Aleksandr a sense of unease. Looking outside, the noise thought he heard was true- They struck the battleship, and now it was sinking. countless lives were on board, even more on shores. Aleksandr had the will to fight, but not to go on, not like this. He lost his brothers, and even though he had a family, he just couldn't find happiness for himself. Grabbing his two grenades, he tip-toed down just before the stairwells opening.

Kissing the pins with eyes shut as he prayed to God that he would remember what they gave up today and why, he clenched them with his canines and turned the corner, running with a craze- A vendetta. Hurling himself past the gunfire and their wall of shelter, he fell onto the machine gunner and looked at the eight or so other men manning the cannon and giving coordinates. He leered at them, dread and fright plastered to their facade, noticing even a SS Nazi soldier standing among them. Within his own self-destruction, a smile was adorned on his face right until the bitter end.

---

THE RESURRECTION

He had killed many men that day, and his soul was drowned in burdens, guilt. Drifting into unconsciousness, Aleksandr soon discovered he was not so dead as he thought. Sitting with his back against the wall, he noticed men of similar outfit walking around and taking care of the aftermath. Getting up and trying to talk to them, that was when he noticed they couldn't hear him. They didn't see him.

Looking down at his body, he noticed a pile of chains latched onto his chest. Pulling on it seemed to aggravate whatever it was, as it began to devour itself. Aleksandr was still stuck in his thoughts, and they lingered on the entirety of this day. He wanted to move on with his friends, but they all died just as him. He wanted their families to seem them all, to live happily. Nobody deserved this, but someone had to take the fall. The pain yanking at his chest only seemed to grow worse, and finally Aleksandr grew sick of it all.

Pulling at it, he didn't realize what it was he was really doing. But he had just killed himself, and now he was trying to do the same. He didn't want to be left here to reminisce. It would only cripple him more, it was something he could barely handle. Fortunately, the chain came free, and Aleksandr noticed himself dying again. Everything went black, his senses dull. But then he was overcome with instinct so strong he could not resist. He stood outside once again, staring to the beach which was still festering with human activity. But Aleksandr was no longer one of them.

Turning around, their was a fight still going on, and he had an unsatiable appetite for destruction. Treading towards the German enemy, they had no idea what was hitting them. He slaughtered them by the dozens, and they didn't even get to see their enemy-- For his presence was hollow. After killing over a hundred, some of them too manifested around where they died, covered in chains. He didn't know why, but they looked, smelled, and even tasted like something he had never thought of or believed.

Eventually, there were no more Germans to kill and eat in this area, and Aleksandr found himself tired of this dull place. Seeking out asylum, he opened up a portal that even he didn't know where it led. But white sands called to him, unalike the bloodied sands of this world. It was purity, all in one place. Leaping into the portal, he left this life behind the best that he could.

---

THE HOLLOW LIFE

Living in Hueco Mundo has been quite an experience for Aleksandr. Without much time, his instinctive approach to combat and survival, along with his strong impulses, have kept him more than alive and well. He has slain and eaten many hollow, most of which despising his ways Some offered treaties, others sacrifices for their safety. But Aleksandr was not a bias man, and every monstrosity around him was a potential next meal.

He worked for everything he had, in this life and the last, which was the reason for his individuality and reclusive disposition. He couldn't trust anyone in this world, they weren't real people. They were broken, influenced by a harsh life. All they knew was hunger, and eternal damnation.

Living by himself for over 50 years, Aleksandr has climbed the chains of Hollow evolution just as quickly as he jumped ranks in the United States Army, back when he was a human. As of recently becoming what is known as a Vasto Lorde, Aleksandr was told he could attain something closer to being human-- A chance for a new life. It didn't come easy, as the Hollow he had to fight and eat was also a Vasto Lorde. Somehow they managed to encounter Aleksandr and another highly skilled Adjuchas simultaneously. At first, they fought together. But after that, they fought each other for the prize. Being the persistent bastard that he was, Aleksandr came out on top with a hefty reward.

As he was told, by tearing off his mask, Aleksandr would be rid of his hunger, which by now was already tamed, but still present. Not only that, but he would return to an appearance much alike to what he was at death. He would be able to transcend most Hollow, and become something worthy of mention-- Of praise. He wouldn't be able to regress, either, something that haunted many minds of the Hollow.

Discarding his mask, Aleksandr seeks to change his ways. As a Hollow, he had given in to the hunger and temptation, because it was a means of survival, and regressing was a real worry for the Hollow, and especially someone like Aleksandr who was instilled with valor and the will to survive. With his old face and body back, Aleksandr wants to redeem his name, his honor. Wandering outside Las Noches, Aleksandr is waiting to be recruited by the Espada, so that his values may be put to use.

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