He did not know why he was doing this. Truth be told, he was still a child at heart ... a young and sweet and innocent boy who loved all his fellow arrancar, but today that loving side of him he showed to all of those that were his kind, his kin, would have to be quashed.
It seemed apparent to him now, how luxurious rank had been ... and though he had climbed back up from his fall from grace, it was not enough. It would never be enough until he won back his old rank ... and for that reason he stood here, out in the desert, a short distance from Las Noches. His little rump was already upon the ground as he sat there patiently, his zweihander lying beside him all neatly wrapped in the long cloth that was attached to it's hilt.
He absent-mindedly traced one finger about the cross guards with his left hand ... all the while, he was already gathering destructive energy for a cero ... although it'd take a little while in this relaxed state, he would have the blast ready and loaded to unleash by the time his opponent got there (Tech #3, Charging Phase).
The black-haired youth kept cleching and unclenching his right hand ... his sense of love and respect for all arrancar, especially that of the Espada was pounding away from the prison in his mind ... wanting to free itself and tell him it wasn't too late to stop this madness.
But, these human emotions found themselves enveloped by instinct ... and the natural desire of power. Be it physical or political power ... and rank certainly help establish differences in power.
His small smile faded away, perhaps not going to return for a long time as he let loose his maniacal chuckle. His orbs no longer had the gentle look, and took on the characteristic view of hate ... as he awaited his opponent.
OOC: Shitty post, sorry.
Thu Dec 10, 2015 8:47 pm by 
