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 The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present

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Subject Post 11PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Sun Feb 05, 2017 7:40 pm


Rodolfo, awake,


and really damn pissed




Rodolfo wasn't, at first, sure if if was his sickness or if he had actually been tossed from the position he believed he was in with a sonido from Yaksha to destabilize. This lasted just a moment, but an opportune enough moment that Rodolfo couldn't counter outright, as he normally would, to give himself the upper hand.

Damn. He really was too slow for this fight, both in mind and in reaction. He experienced, for about a second, full weightlessness as his momentum was interrupted by Yaksha's. He tried to predict what the man would do now. Possibly try to disarm him again? Probably not with the same trick. Yaksha would know he would be willing to withstand plenty of pain, and so any twisting and turning won't do anything.

Then the better situation would be to put him in a position where he could not easily fight back. He could let go of his weapon to catch his fall, but if he did that, he wouldn't be able to fight regardless. He let go of his blade, catching himself and freeing his hands.

While he was deciding, his body fell, and his sword clattered beneath him. Yaksha lay atop him, heavy, with arms wrapped around his throat. Rodolfo's now free hands allowed him to move to grip Yaksha's own arms as he moved to strangle. He gasped, wheezed. At least if he held Yaksha's arms, he couldn't move for his weapon. And he made sure to hold Yaksha against him.

"S-simple enough... binary... to deal with you..." He wheezed out, defiant still, even perhaps a little cocky. His mouth opened again, while his hands gripped tighter, and another Agente Irritante gathered in his jaws. However, instead of launching it, he bit down and caused the concentrated energy to explode in his own mouth, filling the air around Yaksha and him with the terribly stinging, difficult-to-breathe gas.

Then, gathering his strength, he began to try and pull Yaksha's arms off him with one arm, the other reaching for where he remembered his blade was. It was a painful strain, but this was quickly going out of control. He might need to use his resurreccion, after all. His hand grabbed his blade by the knife edge, and his blood spiked out of his hands like weapons of their own. He grunted, but ignored the pain for now.

Yaksha couldn't possibly know that he needed to sheathe his blade to release. If he could somehow trick him...

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Subject Post 12PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Sun Feb 05, 2017 8:53 pm


Yaksha, The Anthropophagus




"Rodolfo. Fall with me. There will be no casualties of this skirmish."

The hollow began to sink towards the ground, his movements rapid and precise. His technique had been nearly perfect, and he was almost shocked to realize it; was this because of the Juin yet again? Had they already realized his acceptance of them, and decided to augment his physical capacities still further? Was this parasite power enough to let him stand up to even a Vasto Lorde? He could boggle at that later. At this exact moment, he needed to follow through on his slam. Rodolfo had tensed his body, and Yaksha could already feel it; the hollow was preparing for the fall. But he had once more anticipated the wrong thing entirely.

He was going to fall a lot further than five feet.

Yaksha's tail finished dragging along the floor as he dropped, opening another purplish-black portal, swirling enormously. Rodolfo's cero exploded almost exactly at the moment the two of them passed through it, leaving them both shrouded in a cloud of stinging, painful gases...which faded almost immediately, when the sheer forces of passing wind struck the two of them. Rodolfo had tensed entirely too late, and Yaksha was already capitalizing on it. He tightened his grip on the arrancar's throat, shoving down on Rodolfo's body...and leaving him on top.

The arrancar had nearly a mile to fall, before he would land in the very midst of the Nevada desert, creating a crater no doubt big enough to level a city block. But Yaksha wasn't yet content, as he opened up his mouth, an enormous, swirling red vortex of energy forming there. It was a slow, tedious process, made all the harder by the rapid energies employed. At this moment, the two of them would both land at speeds impressive enough to shatter steel.

But once Yaksha's cero was launched, forcing Rodolfo directly into the ground, there would be ample time to Sonido to safety. And in the event he couldn't...well, taking down a threat such as this was a worthy enough way to die, Yaksha supposed.

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Subject Post 13PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Sun Feb 05, 2017 10:12 pm


La Dolorosa Herida,


early, weakly, deadly, and furious




Fall with- ah. Rodolfo realized again, too late, that he was being slow again. He hissed at Yaksha, and even through his mask, it was obvious that he was furious- furious, and vaguely impressed. But there were two that could play at that game, and he still had his blade with him. And with that, there was everything.

A mile down would be... even with the cero, fast enough. He opened his mouth, and growled out the words as she was quick to slam his blade into the sheathe, still fresh with his blood. Yaksha didn't realize what he had allowed, by letting Rodolfo still have his blade with him.

"Olvídame, La Dolorosa Herida!"

And with that roar, Rodolfo forced himself into a resurrection that was weaker than normal, but still horrifically strong. A blackness bled from his blade and coated his body, forcing Yaksha off him as his bottom half melted into fluidity, and his top half grew with fur and horns. Bony plates coated his elongated torso, and a long tail made of deep, crimson blood curled behind him. Rodolfo's mask, now his face, had warped into a monstrous gaze. He had four limbs, each ending in massive, terrible claws.

They fell together, and just as the cero struck him into the ground, a cloud of terrible fog struck the space around them, faster than Yaksha could sonido out of. Rodolfo's Biological Warfare had taken full effect now, and they were both on timers- timers that Yaksha could not hope to continue if he remained within the cloud. Already the man could likely feel it, beginning to dig into his lungs, nose, ears and eyes. Being, even in this weakened state, that Yaksha was still at least a full tier weaker, it would advance much faster onto him than it would Rodolfo.

To top it off, Rodolfo's tail worked to shield his fall. As he fell into the earth at terminal velocity, his tail was scattered along with the sand, and now perhaps even worse for Yaksha, was that this scattered Rodolfo's weapon far around them- leaving the hollow no escape. Rodolfo's tail seemed to be an endless river of his own blood, which refilled itself as soon as it was destroyed.

Rodolfo climbed to an upright position atop his tail of blood, disoriented from both the fall and his recent transformation. In the fall, he had broken all two of his arms on his side in his attempt to prevent any further damage, but these limbs were already beginning to show signs of patching back together.

The pain was agonizing, but his rage sustained him. He let out an agonized, hollow-like roar into the sky, sending intimidating chills through the bones of anyone unfortunate to be within earshot. "If you are unwilling to fight me directly, I will make sure you have no other choice! Enough with your trickery, Yaksha! I will make sure he will never be troubled by you ever again!"

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Subject Post 14PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Mon Feb 06, 2017 12:32 pm


Yaksha, The Anthropophagus





Yaksha had heard the incantation in a dim, faraway manner, but he was far too busy focusing on channeling his cero to really do anything about it; all he knew was that Rodolfo had finally managed to find his stride, and the pace of this battle was about to change entirely. If Yaksha knew anything, it was his own limitations, and he was quickly reaching them. He had managed to mostly avoid getting damaged up to now, but Rodolfo was still an enemy that outclassed him quite severely. He launched off his cero, hoping desperately that the release of energies wouldn't be sufficient to disperse his attack. If Rodolfo landed well, he'd likely have to surrender now.

Rodolfo did not land well. He smashed into the ground and skidded as if he had just fallen out of a car, using his own tail to stop the momentum. And as he did, Yaksha could see thick, pregnant droplets of blood land all around them. He stared for just a moment or two, breathing shallowly. Even getting this far showed that Rodolfo had gone into this encounter deaf and blind, and if there was one thing Yaksha was confident in, it was his ability to punish those who underestimated him severely.

"Look at you, Rodolfo. You're spectacular. You just took a fall that should've liquefied every bone in your body, and you're hardly even breathing heavily. I'm begging you, here. Let this end. Rudi is free to go, and I have no intention of troubling him any further. I'll get on my knees and burst into tears if it help, Rodolfo."

The hollow did just that, though it was hard to see in the miasma of disease and sand that had been formed all around them; a roughly humanoid-shaped blob shot to the ground, head pressing against the ground, voice thick, ragged with grief.

"Don't make me snuff out such a brilliant star, Rodolfo. I'll surrender, if it'll make this simpler. You've gotten what you want. Now I am begging you to act like a civilized man and take your victory. Rub it in if it'll make you feel better. But if you so much as attempt to strike down a defenseless opponent, I'll strike you down faster than you can possibly imagine."

He inhaled, once more, and let out a heavy, pained cough. As he had imagined, this miasma was already degrading his body, somehow. But that was fine. All he needed was a little longer.

"Don't make me destroy one of the few hollows that I could go so far as to say I respect, Rodolfo. You're not an animal, so...act like a man, and take your win."


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Subject Post 15PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Mon Feb 06, 2017 1:40 pm


La Dolorosa Herida,


early, weakly, deadly, and furious




Rodolfo's gaze was blurry with pain. He faded in and out of conscious, half-aware of his surroundings, so in agony he was in. Not only was he pushing himself beyond his limits, this form was excuciating. A lesser man would go mad from the pain. Every part of his body was crying for a mercy he could not give, would not give.

He watched Yaksha slump to the dusty ground, pleading for mercy. He was always a coward- Rodolfo knew he had always been a coward. One part of his mind wanted just as badly as the hollow for this fighting to end. He didn't want a fight. It was too agonizing for him to continue his existence- all he wanted was relief. And yet he wouldn't provide it to himself- he did not deserve mercy. Neither of them did.

Rodolfo's blood congealed around Yaksha's kneeling form, forming sticky ropes around the man's arms and legs, forcing him into his assumed position, so he would not easily run or escape from his terrible, poisonous fog. The arrancar felt almost beyond speaking, so in agony he was. He rasped at every breath, and it felt as if he was inhaling glass and exhaling lava. Yaksha couldn't be in better straits than he.

And yet the arrancar didn't move to attack. Instead, he seemed confident that he would just watch Yaksha die, slowly, like this He was content with that. He growled softly, in the back of his mouth, a predatory and beastly noise of a confident man who believed in his own victory, here, like this.

"Don't make me destroy one of the few hollows that I could go so far as to say I respect, Rodolfo. You're not an animal, so...act like a man, and take your win."

Yaksha's voice rang through to him, a light of reason in his fog of anger and agony. His growl ceased and he seemed to pause, scratching at his skull's snout as if in thought, a familiar habit he first developed when he became an arrancar. Thinking. "I am no man, Yaksha. Neither of us are. We are monsters- we have only ever been monsters. I am content to watch you die as you have lived- weak, and pathetic, and incapable of more."

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Subject Post 16PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Mon Feb 06, 2017 1:48 pm


Yaksha, The Anthropophagus




"You never understood, Rodolfo."

Yaksha's hands slowly, gently rise towards the hollow across from him; the motion was slow, careful, and only barely tugged against the congealed strands of blood holding him in place. His ploy for time hadn't done him too much good, but he had hoped in this confined area, with his mind as ablaze as it was, he wouldn't have noticed as Yaksha went about the arduous task of forming a negacion large enough to hold the two of them. He lifted his finger, and as he did thick red streamers of reaitsu could be seen building on it. This cero was at least twice as big as his previous one.

Unlike the previous one however, every second it grew, the air around Yaksha seemed to turn into an oven; the grains of sand gently floating through the air, now rebounding with no hope of escape, brushed against his cero, igniting almost immediately. The negacion hadn't been huge, but Yaksha hadn't needed it to; it was big enough to encompass himself, Rodolfo, and just a few feet of the surrounding sand. Visibility was near zero, and Yaksha knew Rodolfo was expecting him to lie here and die peacefully. Or perhaps to curse his opponent as his life ran to an end. But he planned to do neither.

His finger launched off the cero, surrounding them both with incredible, intense flames; the sand in the air was almost immediately melted into glass, the silicates within melting and running freely. The heat in the air was so intense, there was no possible way that the blood of Rodolfo could remain intact...and there was likely little to no chance the parasites leaking from his body could survive this level of heat, either.

Yaksha, meanwhile, had simply contented himself with slipping down through the cracks of the sand, burrowing downwards as quickly as his hands could take him. Heat rose, naturally, but there was only so much room for it to rise inside of the negacion. And he'd have to dig quite deep to be cold and sheltered, from the hideous firestorm he had just launched up above. Even now, he could feel the grains of sand beneath his claws running into tiny rivulets, leaving the area looking less like a crater, and more like a glass bowl.

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Subject Post 17PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Mon Feb 06, 2017 9:19 pm


La Dolorosa Herida,


anguished, pained, enflamed




Rodolfo understood he had been deceived the moment he saw the negacion surround the two of them. But he did not know of grain silos. He did not know of what would happen if dust and flame touched in a confined space. But he knew something was strange, and he had enough time to deduce that it meant he had to be trapped for it to be effective.

And then the world burned.

There were few things Rodolfo understood--and hated-- more than fire. Of course, any intense change in temperature would denature his blood, but fire... fire burned, and while his fur protected him against the frost it did nothing against the flames. As the negacion contained the conflagration and began to glass the sand beneath, Rodolfo was caught completely within the fire.

It took just a moment for him to realize the consequences, and in that moment, he reached out- through the fire- toward Yaksha's digging form. Grabbed a shoulder, blindly, with a Sonido, and pulled him up from the ground. If he would burn, he would make sure that the bastard would suffer just as much as he did.

And the sight was terrible. The fire, hungry, laced up and down Rodolfo's furred body. His white bones charred black from the temperature. The fire ate away at his fur, then his skin, and with it came a sick sizzling as he was cooked from the outside in. His claws were eaten to their bones, even as they gripped the hollow with ferocity, until he had no tendons to maintain the grip.

His great head turned to the sky, and his mighty jaws opened as if to crush Yaksha's head in them. And he let noise that would likely haunt Yaksha's memory for decades, if not centuries to come. It was too accidental to be a howl, too beastly to be a shout, and too angry to be a wail. It was agony, it was pain, and it was a deep-set despair. This was the sound of a man burning alive, with no hope of death to relief him.

The fire, as great and as strong as it was, lasted in the air but a few seconds. And on Rodolfo himself, perhaps only a few minutes more. But the sound he produced from his throat echoed the glass around them, bounced, and remained for several minutes. Rodolfo was a charred skeleton of black bones, exposed muscles, organs cooked to firmness. He looked like he should've died.

But he bled, and he bled out, slowly, then faster at once. A new tail, which writhed, formed and dissipated and formed again as he struggled to control himself in his agony. The rest of him would regenerate far slower, but he was still alive, if still, nonbreathing, and a horrible sight to see. Tendons and sinew began to spread over his skeleton like white slime mold, and from it began to grow twitching, red muscle.

A red mist began slowly to dissipate from him even now, after the flames. Instead of spreading virulently as before, it settled over and around him like a poisonous, concentrated cloud, yet not itself atop him. But Rodolfo himself didn't move from his position, laying down on his side, with the echo of his anguish still audible over the both of them.

His eyes were closed, the sockets black and hollow. There was a brief stuttering as his diaphragm struggled, twitched, strained to breathe.

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Subject Post 18PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Tue Feb 07, 2017 12:00 am


Yaksha, The Anthropophagus





Fire. Yaksha was on fire. His entire body was on fire, his mind was on fire, his very soul burned and ached and was torn apart, alchemized into something else by the scourgifying flame. He hadn't expected to be exposed to it this long, hadn't been anywhere near in the right mindset to endure damage on this level. He was still able to appreciate the irony of the situation, however; only a few hours ago he'd made such a point of digging his own claws into Rudi's neck, to drive him just how much of an advantage he was at. And now he was slowly dying, in Rodolfo's hand.

His own breathing was far less ragged, his wounds more superficial; even with Rodolfo holding him up, Yaksha had been able to slough off his outer flesh and regrow it enough times to keep his internal organs alive. But he suffered an entirely different threat, at this moment. The dreadful shock of this damage tore through Yaksha, leaving each breath painful. They came easily, without any damage, but shallowly, infrequently, as Yaksha tried his best to assess the source of the hideous, mind-searing pain. It wasn't something from his nerve endings, or even his mind. It felt as if his very soul was being eaten away by some caustic substance, as he lay there.

His mind reeled, tried its very hardest to make sense of what he was feeling. But all he could keep going back to was fire. That burning, horrible, hideous flame, that burning sensation that had sank so deep into him that it was still burning, still ripping him apart, making him into something else. He closed his eyes, trying his very best to regulate his breathing, to compartmentalize away the pain. But it was refusing to abate, was resisting his every practiced attempt to stifle it. It was almost as if the pain was-

Intelligent.

Heat could be a catalyst for a lot of things. And right now Yaksha felt very damn much like he was being eaten alive, from the inside out. Perhaps by a very persistent, patient parasite? One he'd picked up not that long ago? It was worth looking into. And if nothing else, it could get him away from this horrible pain.

The light in Yaksha's eyes went out, an ever-so-faint stirring beginning inside of him. His mind once more reeled, though this time far less so. It began to narrow and funnel downwards, trying to turn inwards, towards introspection. Yaksha's mind was a rather dangerous place to trek, even more so in a moment like this. But it may well have been the best chance he had to figure out what was going on, and make it away from this alive. And so Yaksha continued to let his consciousness dwindle down and compress, collapsing in on itself piece by piece, crumpling like a piece of paper, increasing its surface area with each new second...and fitting more and more himself into a tighter and tighter area. His body went into something very akin to stasis, dropping down to the bare necessities for survival, as he dipped into his own mind, prepared to cut a bloody swathe through all newcomers until he found the source of this disturbance and throttled it into silence.

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Subject Post 19PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Tue Feb 07, 2017 8:47 am


La Dolorosa Herida,


ANGUISHED, PAINED, ENFLAMED




A boy threw a stick of flame into the darkness of the forest around him, using his own burned hands to drag sticks and logs from the flame and throwing them into the infinite blackness that surrounded him. He was shouting.

"Mister! Up! Up!!"

Rodolfo's red eyes blinked awake again. His body was screaming at him, that he needed to stop, he needed to come out of his release. But he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings quite yet, and this was the safest form for him to be in, given his incredible regeneration abilities and his powers. The world was black, then blurry, then black and white and his eyeballs formed back into themselves. His limbs twitched, still forming, but they could begin to creak and twitch, pulling his skeleton so that he could move.

He could see Yaksha's body, less damaged than he was, but not moving. He couldn't be dead- he could still sense him. But he wasn't... angry. No, he could think. Think easier- at least. Something had been... something had been... he had been more aggressive than he usually was, too eager for a fight. His claws scrabbled against the glass, seeking purchase where there was none.

"Mister! Go help him! Go!!"

Rodolfo curled around the darkness of the forest, his entire mind his domain, save for the little campfire he had left for Rudi. And Rudi was actively trying to bring attention to himself by throwing flames into his domain, lighting the secrets within- memories, griefs, sorrows. The adult man hissed out at the light of the flame within him.

You're mistaken. He'll betray you. He'll hurt you. All his promises are as empty as-

"I don't care! Go help him! Everyone deserves help!"

He strained to lift his own weight, his body straining under its own regenerating abilities. He was struggling to move towards Yakha's body. Even if he was terribly toxic right now, it wouldn't be enough to kill the bastard immediately. They were both relatively tough. He growled, soft, pressed his charred bone forehead against Yaksha's, and closed his eyes again.

Within his mind's eye, he felt the corpses of the juin, their twitching and dying bodies, lead him towards a path into Yaksha's mind. He, deceitful, posed in Rudi's small body as he wandered into Yaksha's mind... to help him. Against all his intuitive demands.


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Subject Post 20PostSubject: Re: The Me Of The Past Hates You Of The Present   Tue Feb 07, 2017 12:27 pm


Yaksha, The Anthropophagus




The inner world of one Yaksha Dokuja was an odd thing to behold, at first. Everything looked...normal, at a glance. The world was simply one of sunlight streaming through clouds, which drifted ever so gently through the sky. There was the far-off sound of conversations, too muffled and distorted to really comprehend, no matter how hard one tried. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and there was nothing to be afraid of.

All the same, being here for Yaksha was always an unsettling, disturbing deed. He had spent long enough here to notice the indiscrepancies; the sunlight trickling through was ever so faintly the wrong shade of yellow, the grass beneath his feet had an almost synthetic feel to it, and if one chased the voices, they would quickly find things best not committed to memories. Like a stained glass mirror, Yaksha had managed to nab bits and pieces of the world around him, slotting them all into place, creating an image that was beautiful on the surface.

But stained glass was a delicate process, and to a hollow delicacy could mean only one thing. He had been forced to shave and pare down every memory he had, every thought he'd ever run across, had been force to snip off slivers here and there to finally make things fit. Yaksha's inner world was in fact two worlds. The surface world, of beauty and delight and normalcy. A world that he may one day strive to take his rightful place as a part of, once more. A world where he could perhaps make things go right this time around.

And the world of all the leftover bits, of everything that didn't quite fit in. It was a hideous eyesore of a world, something that seemed to shift and writhe as one watched it, moving with an oddly organic feel to it. It was a world of puzzle pieces, all left over and poorly maintained, striving to fit together into something sensible. Yaksha Dokuja had managed to take a handful of delusion, a smidge of narcissism, a dollop of sociopathy, and any other number of mad things...and he had carefully, cooly, with a mind that ticked away with a dreadful cold sanity so intense that it couldn't rightfully be called sanity anymore, mixed them all together in a bowl until he'd made something that resembled sanity, in every possible way.

But in the same manner that one could add acids and bases to the same container in the same ratios to create water, there was always substrate. Not even Yaksha could filly destroy madness, not on his own. And so he had simply settled for a bowl full of all the best things he could remember from the human world, with a toxic sludge of foul things lingering just at the bottom.

And now something was stirring it up. Yaksha stared up at the sky once more, inhaling slowly. Before his very eyes the sunlight seemed to darken and thicken, as if by a solar eclipse. But it was not darkness that poured down from above, but something else. It was a thing of asymmetry and horrible beauty and even staring at it made Yaksha's teeth vibrate and made him want to move forward to embrace it to hold it close to let it become a part of him.

But it had always been a part of him, and Yaksha could no more embrace it into himself than one could invite a man who has already made his way into your domicile to come inside. He knew what this thing was, whatever other names it preferred to go by. He knew that his mind would never be able to fully comprehend it, to understand the foul indescribable abominations he'd left behind as a result of becoming what he was.

He leaned towards the ground, pulling away at the grass near himself, his mind working fervently, capturing the image of a trapdoor even as he worked to unearth it. This was his inner world after all, and lucid dreaming was a talent that anyone could learn given enough time. It took him perhaps a minute of digging before he managed to strike it however, and he tugged up on the faint ring connecting it.

Only to peer down into a hungry, gaping maw. He had forgotten the damned steps! And now the Juin, this damnable parasite, this stupid inconsequential braindead thing was throwing up roadblocks to him! Yaksha wasn't sure if this could really be called a battle of wills, not when the juin were simply opportunistically pushing every button they could find, trying to rewrite his mind. No, this was a battle of man against nature. And that meant Yaksha could take nothing for granted.

He shoved his hand into the maw, and as soon as it clamped down, intent to suck him inside to be digested in whatever horrid stomach it had formed, he reversed his grip, yanking it back through the stone teeth. And with it he brought something only he could've thought up. The juin was competent, but mere competence couldn't beat canniness. Yaksha held aloft the key he had snatched out; the beast had no duodenum that he'd been able to see, so he'd simply made one. And this time as he closed the trapdoor, leaving that hungry mouth dissatisfied, he shoved the oddly-shaped organ into an even-more oddly shaped keyhole, one that had simply appeared on the ground. He twisted it, gently and with great focus, until he heard the faintest clicking sound. And this time, he envisioned the stairs. Heavy marble stairs, the sort of stairs that could stand for millenia, glowing from within with some sort of bioluminescence. He hopped into the hole, shutting the trapdoor behind himself, and then shoving the key back through the hole.

Let some random passing spectre try and figure that puzzle out. Yaksha had needed a solid few minutes of exerting his will upon a place where he had already claimed dominion just to get down here. There was no way an intruder in his realm could follow that easily. Content in his isolation now, Yaksha began the long, distasteful trek downwards, into the primordial soup of the soul. To once more bask in a place where time held no meaning, where physics were a mere signpost on an infinitely long pole, denoting dozens of alternative theories.

Into our realm, Dear Reader.


Coding Altered From: [The Frost]
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