http://henkonasuisho.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
henkonasuisho.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-03-10 12:44 pm
henkonasuisho.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-10 12:44 pm
log; Complete
When; March 9th, late night/early morning... 3-4am ish...
Rating; PG-13 for language, violence, and blood
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch], Zaheela Rouchelette [henkonasuisho]
Summary; It was late, and one of them wanted the blood. The other was in no mood to deal with it.
Log;
Zaheela paused as she watched the wind pass through the trees, her eyes dull and her mind in chaos. She closed her eyes, hugging one knee as she balanced on the branch, listening to the wind and the spirits swirl around her, trying to soothe her. But it wasn't working, practicing her sword forms, swimming, getting lost in work, NOTHING. It bothered her immensely. She couldn't think straight, she wasn't even aware of the danger which was close by.
Cirucci was masking her reiatsu as best she could, not releasing her blade, though she was itching to do so. The time was long past for words, for those stupid games and for letting it all slide. She was angry, angry, angry and someone was going to die. It was Zaheela’s misfortune the curse the other day had not only angered the Privaron, but also given her something to direct that emotion towards. Zaera-Polo wanted to play research, wanted to play other things, with this cat-thing, and it angered her all the more. Anger. And a touch of bitterness, of disappointment, concerning her own recent situation that she chose to discard. Anger. That was best. Her gaze smoldered when the finally caught sight of the woman she sought, concealed, for the most part, a distance away, watching, only for a moment.
The wind whistled and she sighed, eyes focused on the flower in her hand. The pale pink petals shone faintly in the moonlight, a flower from her own world. The snow lily, part of what made her scent unique.
“Tragic love hrm?” She muttered, letting the flower hang loosely from her fingers. She hated this, hated feeling so alone. She curled her arms tighter as her ears flattened against her skull.
“Why can't I hate you damn it?” She whispered to herself.
If it had been conducive to her work at the moment, the Arrancar may have gagged at the mere… foppishness of the view. But no matter. As much as she loved to taunt, it had been mildly vexing just finding her, and she was no longer in the mood for play. First the curse, then Grimmjow, then… no, this was not play. This was all seriousness. The soft hum of steel was the only sound heard as she slid Golondrina from her sheath, a sonido propelling her rapidly forward towards her target where she arrived in the ripple of air the technique left behind, blade raised for a downward swing as she suddenly appeared from nothing.
A Shadow exploded to take the blow and Zaheela twirled around, eyes wide and on high alert as it disappeared. Her eyes latched onto the sight of the Arrancar and they narrowed. She didn't really care for the woman, didn't care for any of their kind. The Pressure was heavy, but as for now, she didn't give a flying fuck. She had been attacked, and her hands immediately drew the twin blades at her side, the silvery steel hissing as they escaped their sheaths , reflecting the moonlight. She may of not had their sonido, but a ninja was well suited for speed, and this time, she wasn't weighed down by another human body. Leg muscles bunching, she lunged forward at a surprising speed, blades lashing out to catch metal, bone, whatever, as long as it BLED.
Perhaps, Cirucci mused, two swords could be better than one. In blocking one she left part of her arm exposed, a cut drawing blood to the surface before she spring back to break the lock of blades, snapping her arm down to release her zanpakutou to the first stage. Good thing her sword wasn’t precisely normal. Where usually the Privaron would be gloating now, insulting, goading, she was silent, concentrated only on the matter at hand, which she rarely did. This was serious. The blade now a wheel shape, wire looped in her other palm and through the metal circle, was let fly with the his of cording wire, heading straight for her opponent with an intent mirrored in the arrancar’s steeled gaze
Zaheela darted away from the circular blade, instinctual knowing that it would do her no good in letting it hit her, even with her shadow defense. Darting suddenly to the side, she managed to dodge the blade. Her hand darted to her tool pouch and drew out small circular pouch and small coil of green thread. She launched both at her opponent and motioned as it flew towards the target before exploding with a blinding powder and threads of the stickiest substance. She wasn't playing, not anymore, not ever. One of them would die.
An appreciation for her zanpakutou’s skill crossed her mind as she flicked her wrist, calling the whirring blade back to her through the path of the smoky explosion, the circular blade spinning quickly and making fine work of the threads, sliced cleanly by the high velocity at which Golondrina spun. There were no words, the Arrancar saw no need for them at this point. She was angry, this was true, but she was also tired. Tired of many things, one of them being Zaheela. And she wanted it to end, and though she knew her death wouldn’t end it, well… it would do something, she was sure. Calling the blade back to her sword hilt, the Privaron waited for the smoke to dissipate, eyes narrowed, watching for movements in the screen the smoke offered.
Zaheela had not been idle as the powder and smoke exploded as her legs pushed her across the landscape, eyes narrowed as she leapt into the trees, footsteps almost inaudible. After landing with hardly a sound or even a rustle of leaves, she pulled another packet out of her pouch and activated it, the prism powder instantly hiding her in the shadows. She circled around and pushed off from a tree, both blades arcing downwards at Cirucci's unprotected back, eager to taste blood.
She'd been waiting for that. Just when she knew the other woman was close, close enough for the blade to begin biting into her flesh, she turned, the steel arcing into her shoulder instead of back, a grimace coming to her face at the pain, but it quickly turned into a smirk as she raised the hand not holding her blade, revealing the subtle glow of a cero building. It was only seconds time left to react before the blast of reiatsu released in a blinding flash of white, raw spirit power that burned and crackled.
A second and a shadow was all she needed, the shadow rising to take in the damage as Zaheela let a blade slip out of her hand. Bending sideways, the partially blocked cero streaked by her head, burning a shoulder, and her now free hand grabbed the woman's neck. Using the momentum, she slammed the woman down and snarled as she held her other hand free, the thrown movement causing the path of the blade to become a half moon. Quickly snatching up her dropped blade, Zaheela leapt backwards, eyes glowing in the darkness. Holding both blades steady, she watched the bitch, carefully, legs ready to sprint at any sign of movement.
Cirucci hopped to her feet quickly, light as a feather, rolling her wrist out and her shoulders with a small grimace of pain. That smarted~ The Arrancar’s eyes narrowed, watching the thing Zaera-Polo had taken as his personal pet project. Annoying, that. But this was more than about this, this was personal. She hated Zaheela, for everything she was, for how she acted, how she spoke, how she looked, how she thought. She frowned, letting her blade fly out from the hilt again, Golondrina’s familiar hissing whir as the steel wire guides grated against spinning metal, waiting for the dodge with a bala in her palm.
Zaheela watched as the blade came streaking towards her and her hand blurred to gather two tools in her hands. It was obvious the arrancar had something planned. Her mind began to formulate counter attacks and attacks as she ducked under the wire and waited for whatever would come. Her shadows were still active, and she was ready for any attack the woman could throw.
The duck was expected, and Cirucci let her blade continue on its path for a few seconds as she focused on her other hand, the bala, like cero only much quicker, less powerful, and firing out like a bullet made of hardened reiatsu, having waited for the muscles to move and dodge her blade to meet her other weapon, the very thing she was made of. Just in case, her wrist flicked back towards her, gloved hands and bare fingers manipulating the wires in her hands and bringing the spinning metal looping back to catch from behind.
Zaheela let the shadow absorb the Bala as she dropped the triangular shards of metal and activated them, pillars of earth coiling around her and forced the spinning metal blade to deflect, but not before catching the wire itself in it's diamond strength grip. She let the paper in her hand burn, new shadows gathering to her command and leapt out of the hastily made shield, using her full speed and slicing one blade at the woman's side as she passed by.
The slice of blade was avoided easily enough, full speed was fine, but sonido quicker, the tell-tale ripple of air noting her disappearance and reappearance of booted feet on the earthen pillars, dtaring down at the wire trapped in earth. She tugged once. Hmmph. How annoying. Easily solved, however. The familiar trip phrase of her zanpakutou came to her lips. “Behead her,” The blade dissolved into shimmering reiatsu, visible to even those without spirit power as her bone mask remnant dissolved from her hair, began to form and convalesce into her true form. “Golondrina.”
Lips pressed together as she watched the blade shift and disappear, as well as the form begin to shift. Her memory immediately brought up the form she had seen when Masaki had been attacked. This is what he must of meant by released. It was impressive to see, but it also signaled the battle had just become even more dangerous. Zaheela leapt back into the trees, waiting for the woman to complete her change. Her blades gripped tight in her hands, she waited in silence, placing something down on the branch.
It was the familiar sense of returning home that enveloped her, of becoming part of something more like herself, more true, more real. And she reveled in it, eyes closing for a brief moment. Golondrina was part of her, was her, and she the same. The bony wings bent at the join and she caressed the metal feather blades with ivory talons, crooning softly, the words lost in the grating of steel and bone. And then she smiled, spinning a half-circle to face where Zaheela had hidden and letting her wings whip out from her body, shotting the metal projectiles towards the trees that would soon be only stumps.
The forest was leveled, easily, quickly, and without mercy. Zaheela grimaced as the shards of wood pelted her, only to feel a blade slice through her side, a inch deep. She bit back a hiss of pain, her hands tightening against her side. She barely was able to dodge the next 'feather' from slicing off her tail, and parried the third as it passed by. The wings were dangerous, and a small yellow fan snapped into her hand. Concentrating on the runes painted onto the fan, she drew it back and let mana gather around the tool. Swiping the air, the spirits of air eagerly tore towards toward Cirucci, powerful and relentless. She quickly threw something at the woman's face, eying the tail as well.
The bone wings lay bare, but all it took was the call of her reiatsu for the blades to shudder where they lay, embedded in wood, rock, and earth, returning to her along with the wind from Zaheela’s fan, drawing an annoyed look from the Privaron as the air buffeted the bones back and threw her blades off course. She had to wait for the air to die, hair whipping wildly about her face, before calling the blades back to line again on the bones outline of her wings, preparing now to spring forward, the mouth at tail’s end opening with a subtle glow as a cero began to form.
The glow of energy gathering at the tail could only mean that Cirucci was preparing for a dangerous attack. Zaheela's ears flattened as she threw a metal forked pin at Cirucci, but not before she let the transparent shard of ice hit the tail, freezing the thing to the core as it hit.
“RAITON: NI!” She cried out as the pin embedded itself in the ice.
She sprung, glancing back with a widening of eyes as her tail froze, the mouth’s glow still brightening even encases in ice as she continued to push reiatsu into the channel, to prepare her cero. The pin brought a confused look to her face, which quickly changes to one of horror as, mid-flight, something, lightning, arced out to the metal embedded in the frozen appendage and… she screamed, a keen of indignation, had to right herself In the air as her balance suddenly shifted, the weight of her tail end lightening with the removal of the mouth, whose cero died when it left her and hit the ground. … Oh no, she didn’t. Eyes coldly furious and gritting her teeth, the Privaron turned her eyes back to her opponent, flying forward with talons at the ready even as she released the blades from their line-up on her wings once more, flying ahead to reach her before she did.
She took a deep breath and relaxed her muscles, the circlet around her neck barely humming as it acted as a mana focuser and her eyes grew sharper. At the scream, a smile as cruel as any heartless being appeared on her face. Zaheela smirked as the woman flew forward, nimbly dodging the wing blades this time, her movements like water. As the talons came within striking distance, she crouched downwards, the talons slashing her cheek. Her leg propelled her forward as she rolled out from under the woman. She waited till she had cleared the vicinity of the woman and smile a cruel smile. Lifting her hand, she made a small motion, and the small fragment of ice exploded, aiming to impale the woman.
Cirucci was more nimble in the air than on the ground, now that those pesky trees weren’t in the way, evidence of which form was truly her. Her wing joints rotated, the wings tucking into a dive roll, looping back up again in a large draft of air before swinging her flight path hard right and calling back her blades with the metal hum as they slid into their spots by bone, ice pinging like hail on a rooftop against the hard surfaces. But one found soft tissue, a shard of the ice embedding in her left side during the barrel-roll, a flash of cold before the warmth of blood making her bite her bottom lip. No more words or sound. Blood leaking steadily from the stump of her long tail and staining the white of her uniform, she swooped down again, not yet releasing the blades this time, but aiming to snatch up, to grab.
Zaheela's eyes narrowed, the slits becoming more animal like as she took this all in and gathered in the energy, the pain, and cleared her mind. She stood relaxed, calm, but internally, Mana was churning, shifting, improving. Her blades were humming and the air around her became heavier. She waited for the woman to get close, her eyes focused on her opponent. Many people would of stopped, the bloodlust almost visible, and she shifted her stance.
It was a collision course. And Cirucci smirked, because this was something she loved. Fighting, hurting, killing… it was euphoric, and she reveled in it. Her blades released when she was closer, the detach of metal audible as they rushed towards their intended target, tail leaking blood out behind her in a splotchy trail, talons head before her, blood-stained tips outreached to grab, her mind whirring with the idea of what to do in that instant.
Zaheela released the breath and let the skill take it's release, her form blurring immediately as Cirucci launched her attack. Her shadows took out 3 of the blows, but she didn't flinch as she was left with one final shadow. She had been observing, watching, waiting, TIMING. Slowly, she twisted her body slightly, one katana pointed downwards in front of her and the other held parallel. She released the trigger. Blade: Ku, the one move which focused everything about a ninja, a speed that surpassed what Cirucci had, sonido included. She disappeared from Cirucci's view entirely, and aimed the first blow to the back.
As soon as the blade bit deeply into the woman's back, barely missing the severing the spine, she blurred again, as if warping, the next blow eagerly cutting the shoulder and bone. Third came a gash across both legs, the fourth, deep across the stomach. She smiled as she dove in for the fifth blow, the blade eagerly digging into the soft flesh of the neck. Thin skin gave way to now warm metal. Only luck could save the bitch now.
It was almost suicidal, to stand there and take such attacks. But there was something vastly insane about the Privaron, always had been. And she was almost to her breaking point, just wanting to kill her, she didn’t care how, didn’t care why, didn’t care about pain, about sacrifice, about price, or about much of anything.
She stood stock still, eerily so, under the cut of blade. The pet could heal those, make her body so they had never occurred. She bit her bottom lip and muffled cries, only concerned with one thing. She waited for the piercing of her hierro, damn the City for weakening the iron skin, in Hueco Mundo an unreleased blade could never pierce their hides, and then moved. She whirled with the movement of the blade in her neck, stopping further progress by executing a flip to the side, extended arm, already red-stained, punching through skin, soft skin, no protection, no innate defense… soft… warm. The arrancar smiled, a true smile, not a smirk, gazing at her handiwork she’d sacrificed for. Ivory bone, stained crimson, still embedded in the mithra’s chest, visible, over her shoulder, a still beating organ twitching and convulsing in her claws.
A suicide move, one that relied on luck mostly. But luck had been on the whore's side. Zaheela's eyes were narrowed as she could feel the claws around her heart. She coughed out blood only once before biting down on the blood, and glared, her eyes cold, filled with intense rage, and yet at the same time, calm. She would not scream. She would not let the bitch hear her scream, no, that pleasure would be out of her grasp. Zaheela could feel the blood run down her legs, staining the flowers below them red. Somehow the Snow lilies had survived, their pink petals covered in blood, the flower which was part of own scent.
'I suppose they do suit me...' she thought briefly before the end came.
Cirucci licked her lips, tasting blood there and savoring the sharp taste, bitter, copper. And oh but she was disappointed there was no scream. Oh well. All that mattered was the death, no matter how it occurred, what you gave to get it, there was never an acceptable loss. Only wins. Still smiling, the Privaron let her zanpakutou reseal, taking away part of the pain in the forms of her mangled tail and shoulder bones. The body slumped back, now unsupported by the boned talons, leaving the Thunderwitch standing over her, heart still held delicately in her hands, soaking into the white of her gloves. She watched it for a moment, watched it quiver, then still, before she squeezed. A satisfying thing, to squish a heart. Let them say she wanted a heart now, let them say she was jealous of them, that she lacked one, it didn’t matter. It now lay discarded beside the corpse. She stumbled, blood loss… oh, there was that. The adrenaline still kept her going on her way back to the City, as she still smiled. … Satisfying.
The woman left the corpse there, staggering away. Body rapidly cooling and eyes closed, the mangled heart cushioned by the flowers now turning red. Around the corpse, the spirits began to whimper. It's cherished lay dead, it's soul seeking escape, so they did what they could do... they locked her in the shell. They trapped her, caged her, and yet, they mourned. The wind howled it's loss, and the battle ground was forgotten.
Rating; PG-13 for language, violence, and blood
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [
thunderwitch], Zaheela Rouchelette [henkonasuisho]Summary; It was late, and one of them wanted the blood. The other was in no mood to deal with it.
Log;
Zaheela paused as she watched the wind pass through the trees, her eyes dull and her mind in chaos. She closed her eyes, hugging one knee as she balanced on the branch, listening to the wind and the spirits swirl around her, trying to soothe her. But it wasn't working, practicing her sword forms, swimming, getting lost in work, NOTHING. It bothered her immensely. She couldn't think straight, she wasn't even aware of the danger which was close by.
Cirucci was masking her reiatsu as best she could, not releasing her blade, though she was itching to do so. The time was long past for words, for those stupid games and for letting it all slide. She was angry, angry, angry and someone was going to die. It was Zaheela’s misfortune the curse the other day had not only angered the Privaron, but also given her something to direct that emotion towards. Zaera-Polo wanted to play research, wanted to play other things, with this cat-thing, and it angered her all the more. Anger. And a touch of bitterness, of disappointment, concerning her own recent situation that she chose to discard. Anger. That was best. Her gaze smoldered when the finally caught sight of the woman she sought, concealed, for the most part, a distance away, watching, only for a moment.
The wind whistled and she sighed, eyes focused on the flower in her hand. The pale pink petals shone faintly in the moonlight, a flower from her own world. The snow lily, part of what made her scent unique.
“Tragic love hrm?” She muttered, letting the flower hang loosely from her fingers. She hated this, hated feeling so alone. She curled her arms tighter as her ears flattened against her skull.
“Why can't I hate you damn it?” She whispered to herself.
If it had been conducive to her work at the moment, the Arrancar may have gagged at the mere… foppishness of the view. But no matter. As much as she loved to taunt, it had been mildly vexing just finding her, and she was no longer in the mood for play. First the curse, then Grimmjow, then… no, this was not play. This was all seriousness. The soft hum of steel was the only sound heard as she slid Golondrina from her sheath, a sonido propelling her rapidly forward towards her target where she arrived in the ripple of air the technique left behind, blade raised for a downward swing as she suddenly appeared from nothing.
A Shadow exploded to take the blow and Zaheela twirled around, eyes wide and on high alert as it disappeared. Her eyes latched onto the sight of the Arrancar and they narrowed. She didn't really care for the woman, didn't care for any of their kind. The Pressure was heavy, but as for now, she didn't give a flying fuck. She had been attacked, and her hands immediately drew the twin blades at her side, the silvery steel hissing as they escaped their sheaths , reflecting the moonlight. She may of not had their sonido, but a ninja was well suited for speed, and this time, she wasn't weighed down by another human body. Leg muscles bunching, she lunged forward at a surprising speed, blades lashing out to catch metal, bone, whatever, as long as it BLED.
Perhaps, Cirucci mused, two swords could be better than one. In blocking one she left part of her arm exposed, a cut drawing blood to the surface before she spring back to break the lock of blades, snapping her arm down to release her zanpakutou to the first stage. Good thing her sword wasn’t precisely normal. Where usually the Privaron would be gloating now, insulting, goading, she was silent, concentrated only on the matter at hand, which she rarely did. This was serious. The blade now a wheel shape, wire looped in her other palm and through the metal circle, was let fly with the his of cording wire, heading straight for her opponent with an intent mirrored in the arrancar’s steeled gaze
Zaheela darted away from the circular blade, instinctual knowing that it would do her no good in letting it hit her, even with her shadow defense. Darting suddenly to the side, she managed to dodge the blade. Her hand darted to her tool pouch and drew out small circular pouch and small coil of green thread. She launched both at her opponent and motioned as it flew towards the target before exploding with a blinding powder and threads of the stickiest substance. She wasn't playing, not anymore, not ever. One of them would die.
An appreciation for her zanpakutou’s skill crossed her mind as she flicked her wrist, calling the whirring blade back to her through the path of the smoky explosion, the circular blade spinning quickly and making fine work of the threads, sliced cleanly by the high velocity at which Golondrina spun. There were no words, the Arrancar saw no need for them at this point. She was angry, this was true, but she was also tired. Tired of many things, one of them being Zaheela. And she wanted it to end, and though she knew her death wouldn’t end it, well… it would do something, she was sure. Calling the blade back to her sword hilt, the Privaron waited for the smoke to dissipate, eyes narrowed, watching for movements in the screen the smoke offered.
Zaheela had not been idle as the powder and smoke exploded as her legs pushed her across the landscape, eyes narrowed as she leapt into the trees, footsteps almost inaudible. After landing with hardly a sound or even a rustle of leaves, she pulled another packet out of her pouch and activated it, the prism powder instantly hiding her in the shadows. She circled around and pushed off from a tree, both blades arcing downwards at Cirucci's unprotected back, eager to taste blood.
She'd been waiting for that. Just when she knew the other woman was close, close enough for the blade to begin biting into her flesh, she turned, the steel arcing into her shoulder instead of back, a grimace coming to her face at the pain, but it quickly turned into a smirk as she raised the hand not holding her blade, revealing the subtle glow of a cero building. It was only seconds time left to react before the blast of reiatsu released in a blinding flash of white, raw spirit power that burned and crackled.
A second and a shadow was all she needed, the shadow rising to take in the damage as Zaheela let a blade slip out of her hand. Bending sideways, the partially blocked cero streaked by her head, burning a shoulder, and her now free hand grabbed the woman's neck. Using the momentum, she slammed the woman down and snarled as she held her other hand free, the thrown movement causing the path of the blade to become a half moon. Quickly snatching up her dropped blade, Zaheela leapt backwards, eyes glowing in the darkness. Holding both blades steady, she watched the bitch, carefully, legs ready to sprint at any sign of movement.
Cirucci hopped to her feet quickly, light as a feather, rolling her wrist out and her shoulders with a small grimace of pain. That smarted~ The Arrancar’s eyes narrowed, watching the thing Zaera-Polo had taken as his personal pet project. Annoying, that. But this was more than about this, this was personal. She hated Zaheela, for everything she was, for how she acted, how she spoke, how she looked, how she thought. She frowned, letting her blade fly out from the hilt again, Golondrina’s familiar hissing whir as the steel wire guides grated against spinning metal, waiting for the dodge with a bala in her palm.
Zaheela watched as the blade came streaking towards her and her hand blurred to gather two tools in her hands. It was obvious the arrancar had something planned. Her mind began to formulate counter attacks and attacks as she ducked under the wire and waited for whatever would come. Her shadows were still active, and she was ready for any attack the woman could throw.
The duck was expected, and Cirucci let her blade continue on its path for a few seconds as she focused on her other hand, the bala, like cero only much quicker, less powerful, and firing out like a bullet made of hardened reiatsu, having waited for the muscles to move and dodge her blade to meet her other weapon, the very thing she was made of. Just in case, her wrist flicked back towards her, gloved hands and bare fingers manipulating the wires in her hands and bringing the spinning metal looping back to catch from behind.
Zaheela let the shadow absorb the Bala as she dropped the triangular shards of metal and activated them, pillars of earth coiling around her and forced the spinning metal blade to deflect, but not before catching the wire itself in it's diamond strength grip. She let the paper in her hand burn, new shadows gathering to her command and leapt out of the hastily made shield, using her full speed and slicing one blade at the woman's side as she passed by.
The slice of blade was avoided easily enough, full speed was fine, but sonido quicker, the tell-tale ripple of air noting her disappearance and reappearance of booted feet on the earthen pillars, dtaring down at the wire trapped in earth. She tugged once. Hmmph. How annoying. Easily solved, however. The familiar trip phrase of her zanpakutou came to her lips. “Behead her,” The blade dissolved into shimmering reiatsu, visible to even those without spirit power as her bone mask remnant dissolved from her hair, began to form and convalesce into her true form. “Golondrina.”
Lips pressed together as she watched the blade shift and disappear, as well as the form begin to shift. Her memory immediately brought up the form she had seen when Masaki had been attacked. This is what he must of meant by released. It was impressive to see, but it also signaled the battle had just become even more dangerous. Zaheela leapt back into the trees, waiting for the woman to complete her change. Her blades gripped tight in her hands, she waited in silence, placing something down on the branch.
It was the familiar sense of returning home that enveloped her, of becoming part of something more like herself, more true, more real. And she reveled in it, eyes closing for a brief moment. Golondrina was part of her, was her, and she the same. The bony wings bent at the join and she caressed the metal feather blades with ivory talons, crooning softly, the words lost in the grating of steel and bone. And then she smiled, spinning a half-circle to face where Zaheela had hidden and letting her wings whip out from her body, shotting the metal projectiles towards the trees that would soon be only stumps.
The forest was leveled, easily, quickly, and without mercy. Zaheela grimaced as the shards of wood pelted her, only to feel a blade slice through her side, a inch deep. She bit back a hiss of pain, her hands tightening against her side. She barely was able to dodge the next 'feather' from slicing off her tail, and parried the third as it passed by. The wings were dangerous, and a small yellow fan snapped into her hand. Concentrating on the runes painted onto the fan, she drew it back and let mana gather around the tool. Swiping the air, the spirits of air eagerly tore towards toward Cirucci, powerful and relentless. She quickly threw something at the woman's face, eying the tail as well.
The bone wings lay bare, but all it took was the call of her reiatsu for the blades to shudder where they lay, embedded in wood, rock, and earth, returning to her along with the wind from Zaheela’s fan, drawing an annoyed look from the Privaron as the air buffeted the bones back and threw her blades off course. She had to wait for the air to die, hair whipping wildly about her face, before calling the blades back to line again on the bones outline of her wings, preparing now to spring forward, the mouth at tail’s end opening with a subtle glow as a cero began to form.
The glow of energy gathering at the tail could only mean that Cirucci was preparing for a dangerous attack. Zaheela's ears flattened as she threw a metal forked pin at Cirucci, but not before she let the transparent shard of ice hit the tail, freezing the thing to the core as it hit.
“RAITON: NI!” She cried out as the pin embedded itself in the ice.
She sprung, glancing back with a widening of eyes as her tail froze, the mouth’s glow still brightening even encases in ice as she continued to push reiatsu into the channel, to prepare her cero. The pin brought a confused look to her face, which quickly changes to one of horror as, mid-flight, something, lightning, arced out to the metal embedded in the frozen appendage and… she screamed, a keen of indignation, had to right herself In the air as her balance suddenly shifted, the weight of her tail end lightening with the removal of the mouth, whose cero died when it left her and hit the ground. … Oh no, she didn’t. Eyes coldly furious and gritting her teeth, the Privaron turned her eyes back to her opponent, flying forward with talons at the ready even as she released the blades from their line-up on her wings once more, flying ahead to reach her before she did.
She took a deep breath and relaxed her muscles, the circlet around her neck barely humming as it acted as a mana focuser and her eyes grew sharper. At the scream, a smile as cruel as any heartless being appeared on her face. Zaheela smirked as the woman flew forward, nimbly dodging the wing blades this time, her movements like water. As the talons came within striking distance, she crouched downwards, the talons slashing her cheek. Her leg propelled her forward as she rolled out from under the woman. She waited till she had cleared the vicinity of the woman and smile a cruel smile. Lifting her hand, she made a small motion, and the small fragment of ice exploded, aiming to impale the woman.
Cirucci was more nimble in the air than on the ground, now that those pesky trees weren’t in the way, evidence of which form was truly her. Her wing joints rotated, the wings tucking into a dive roll, looping back up again in a large draft of air before swinging her flight path hard right and calling back her blades with the metal hum as they slid into their spots by bone, ice pinging like hail on a rooftop against the hard surfaces. But one found soft tissue, a shard of the ice embedding in her left side during the barrel-roll, a flash of cold before the warmth of blood making her bite her bottom lip. No more words or sound. Blood leaking steadily from the stump of her long tail and staining the white of her uniform, she swooped down again, not yet releasing the blades this time, but aiming to snatch up, to grab.
Zaheela's eyes narrowed, the slits becoming more animal like as she took this all in and gathered in the energy, the pain, and cleared her mind. She stood relaxed, calm, but internally, Mana was churning, shifting, improving. Her blades were humming and the air around her became heavier. She waited for the woman to get close, her eyes focused on her opponent. Many people would of stopped, the bloodlust almost visible, and she shifted her stance.
It was a collision course. And Cirucci smirked, because this was something she loved. Fighting, hurting, killing… it was euphoric, and she reveled in it. Her blades released when she was closer, the detach of metal audible as they rushed towards their intended target, tail leaking blood out behind her in a splotchy trail, talons head before her, blood-stained tips outreached to grab, her mind whirring with the idea of what to do in that instant.
Zaheela released the breath and let the skill take it's release, her form blurring immediately as Cirucci launched her attack. Her shadows took out 3 of the blows, but she didn't flinch as she was left with one final shadow. She had been observing, watching, waiting, TIMING. Slowly, she twisted her body slightly, one katana pointed downwards in front of her and the other held parallel. She released the trigger. Blade: Ku, the one move which focused everything about a ninja, a speed that surpassed what Cirucci had, sonido included. She disappeared from Cirucci's view entirely, and aimed the first blow to the back.
As soon as the blade bit deeply into the woman's back, barely missing the severing the spine, she blurred again, as if warping, the next blow eagerly cutting the shoulder and bone. Third came a gash across both legs, the fourth, deep across the stomach. She smiled as she dove in for the fifth blow, the blade eagerly digging into the soft flesh of the neck. Thin skin gave way to now warm metal. Only luck could save the bitch now.
It was almost suicidal, to stand there and take such attacks. But there was something vastly insane about the Privaron, always had been. And she was almost to her breaking point, just wanting to kill her, she didn’t care how, didn’t care why, didn’t care about pain, about sacrifice, about price, or about much of anything.
She stood stock still, eerily so, under the cut of blade. The pet could heal those, make her body so they had never occurred. She bit her bottom lip and muffled cries, only concerned with one thing. She waited for the piercing of her hierro, damn the City for weakening the iron skin, in Hueco Mundo an unreleased blade could never pierce their hides, and then moved. She whirled with the movement of the blade in her neck, stopping further progress by executing a flip to the side, extended arm, already red-stained, punching through skin, soft skin, no protection, no innate defense… soft… warm. The arrancar smiled, a true smile, not a smirk, gazing at her handiwork she’d sacrificed for. Ivory bone, stained crimson, still embedded in the mithra’s chest, visible, over her shoulder, a still beating organ twitching and convulsing in her claws.
A suicide move, one that relied on luck mostly. But luck had been on the whore's side. Zaheela's eyes were narrowed as she could feel the claws around her heart. She coughed out blood only once before biting down on the blood, and glared, her eyes cold, filled with intense rage, and yet at the same time, calm. She would not scream. She would not let the bitch hear her scream, no, that pleasure would be out of her grasp. Zaheela could feel the blood run down her legs, staining the flowers below them red. Somehow the Snow lilies had survived, their pink petals covered in blood, the flower which was part of own scent.
'I suppose they do suit me...' she thought briefly before the end came.
Cirucci licked her lips, tasting blood there and savoring the sharp taste, bitter, copper. And oh but she was disappointed there was no scream. Oh well. All that mattered was the death, no matter how it occurred, what you gave to get it, there was never an acceptable loss. Only wins. Still smiling, the Privaron let her zanpakutou reseal, taking away part of the pain in the forms of her mangled tail and shoulder bones. The body slumped back, now unsupported by the boned talons, leaving the Thunderwitch standing over her, heart still held delicately in her hands, soaking into the white of her gloves. She watched it for a moment, watched it quiver, then still, before she squeezed. A satisfying thing, to squish a heart. Let them say she wanted a heart now, let them say she was jealous of them, that she lacked one, it didn’t matter. It now lay discarded beside the corpse. She stumbled, blood loss… oh, there was that. The adrenaline still kept her going on her way back to the City, as she still smiled. … Satisfying.
The woman left the corpse there, staggering away. Body rapidly cooling and eyes closed, the mangled heart cushioned by the flowers now turning red. Around the corpse, the spirits began to whimper. It's cherished lay dead, it's soul seeking escape, so they did what they could do... they locked her in the shell. They trapped her, caged her, and yet, they mourned. The wind howled it's loss, and the battle ground was forgotten.