History: She laid in the middle of the street, wondering why no cars have come by and hit her yet. Her face was filled with sweat, dust and bits of caked on blood. Her chest moved up and down rapidly, as her diaphragm contracted and relaxed at a lightning quick pace, trying to increase the oxygen levels in her blood. Her arms were sore, and she could hardly form a fist — she tried. Her thighs contracted, and as she rapidly relaxed them, her body lifted up from the pavement, and sprung up to an almost standing position. However, before she was even a quarter of the way up, a leather shoe came down on her stomach, pushing her back down to the ground with a loud thump, forcing what little air was left inside her lungs out. She let out a series of rather painful sounding coughs as she saw his face above hers. “Is that it?” The man wearing purple smirked at her. “Thought you were a feisty one...” He brought his leg up, ready to hand her well deserved coup de grace.
Existence
During a time of civil unrest and breakouts of war, there was nothing more important than strength. At the time, strength meant both numbers and influential power. If that was the case, then there is no better marriage than the one being held on the day of August the first: a union between the “Fan Te Xi” (Fantasy) gang — originating from china — and the Morimoto clan, who’ve deemed themselves “Fantomu” (Phantom). For years, the Morimoto clan had been gathering influence and land: they were in position to eventually rule over Japan. However, recently there had been an uprising and a rather unknown name seemed to have erupted overnight. “Oda Nobunaga”. The name enraged the leader of Phantom. He’d been working his entire life for a chance to sit at the throne of what was supposed to be
his country, and some
dude was going to pop up all of a sudden and snatch that away from him? Who did he think he was?! It didn’t matter though, with the solidification of his position through the gained support of Fantasy, there was nothing that could stop his ambition.
The bride’s side stood to benefit too from this union. Fantasy has always been interested expanding their territory, and having forces overseas could was a strategic move for them. Yes, they would be losing their name, as they are offering the bride and not the groom, but it is a small price to pay for a large piece of territory. On the day of the wedding, everyone was ecstatic.... Everyone except the groom, despite his displeasure, however, he acted his part as half of the newlywed couple. He smiles and laughs with the rest of his clan, as they tell jokes and share in the joyous union of the two families.
A year passes, and the bride finally passed away. The diagnosis was that she died of natural causes, but unfortunately, a broken heart isn’t exactly a medical condition —although, to say that she died of a broken heart would be a bit of a stretch too. The “happiness” of their union ended about as soon as they stepped off the altar. The male never wanted the marriage to happen anyways. Yes, his bride was an attractive young woman, but that wasn’t what was nipping at his insides. What was tugging at his pride was the fact that she wasn’t a Nihonjin —Japanese. He believed that the ascension of the Morimoto clan shouldn’t need the help of outsiders. This foolish pride of his kept him from opening his heart, and a year after their marriage, he was finally able to get rid of the impurities which lie within the walls of his home. Of course, the woman didn’t die without leaving a legacy: Moeka Morimoto.
Ascension
To say she had a close relationship with her father was like saying the sky is purple. The one who had raised her since she could remember was her grandfather: Hasabe Morimoto. To have ambition was good, but it was useless without power. Fortunately, Hasabe had both. In order to remain as head of the clan, there was no room for him to show weakness, and even at the age of sixty, he was as good a warrior as any of the younger soldiers at his disposal. He had always believed that there is nothing more important to a person’s character than to be self reliant, able to withstand the toughest situations without crying to others for help. Moeka could remember the first time she had cried to him about her doll being broken. Her cheek was met swiftly with his open hand. The next day, she started training with her grandfather. They would train tirelessly from morning till sunset, and with each passing day, she got closer and closer to her grandfather. Though the girl enjoyed every moment she spent with her grandfather, her father seemed to disapprove.
“Papa, come spar with me.” It was the first and last time she would ask him this. The man looked up from his desk and chuckled.
“Sure.”
Perhaps she was expecting more resistance from him, but the man lifted his sleeve as he put down his pen and walked over to the door and headed to the training room, his daughter followed excitedly. In the middle of the quiet room, the two stood facing one another. The girl held her bamboo weapon with both hands and a proper stance, looking intent to beat her old man. He, however only smiled, as he didn’t even bother to raise the weapon in a readied position, instead he was leaning on it, “Whenever you’re ready.”
The girl pouted, she had hoped he would take her seriously. No matter, she would show him that he should be taking her seriously. She lunged forward and swung laterally, directing her weapon toward his side. She was surprised when she didn’t feel her weapon connect: instead she was greeted with the tip of his sword on her chest. A flick of his wrist sent the girl tumbling back, falling onto one hand before regaining her balance. She looked at him, a slight bit confused, then charged at him again. This time her weapon did connect, but it was the sound of bamboo hitting bamboo. Her strike was met half way by his and before she was given time to retract, she was met with his relentless assault. Strike after strike after strike, she was forced to move her own weapon faster than she was physically capable, and before she had realized, she would have lost track of where his weapon is, and soon enough she felt the sting of his weapon making contact with her bare skin — it hurt. Finally, after being pushed against the wall, she collapsed to the ground, staring at the tip of his bamboo blade. “You need to stop wasting your time. Understand your purpose.” He brought the sword back, winding up his arm for a final blow, but before the bamboo struck her, he was stopped by his father.
“Enough!” The older man erupted, gripping her father’s arm quite harshly. There was no more dialogue exchanged between the two, and after quite some time, her father took his leave. Before he disappeared completely, he turned back to give the grandfather-granddaughter pair a long, cold glance. It would be the last time she sees her father for several years.
She could still remember the day when they sparred. The man who had been absent her entire life seems to have forced his way back — quite literally. The guards were unable to stop the man. In his tracks were left the bodies of those who dared stand in his way. In his hand was a single katana stained with the blood of many, and this night, it was going to get a taste of the blood it so longed for.
Hasabe Morimoto, though fully aware of the situation, sat calmly in his study, awaiting the expected guest. The door was busted open by the bodies of the two guards who were supposed to stop him from getting in. The man in his mid sixties stood up to greet the intruder. Though the dimly lit candle was unable to illuminate his face, Hasabe knew exactly who it was. “I have no son.” He calmly said, reaching for his weapon, sheathed in its scabbard only a few feet away from his current location. “So when I kill you, there will be neither sorrow nor remorse.” He reached for the blade, but was stopped swiftly by the intruder’s foot. The elderly man looked up with hollow eyes, devoid of any emotion.
“I’ve always known you were unfit to become the leader of this country. You’re too weak.” His katana was driven through the older of the two’s hand, the same one that was reaching for the katana. Though he was in a great deal of pain, the man had the composure to not let out any noise. “Allying yourself with foreign scum, even allowing them into our family?! Morimoto.... We were supposed to bring forth a pure and unified Japan. How are we to do that with all that foreign garbage?!” The intruder reached for the sheathed weapon the old man was going for and placed it in the moonlight, watching carefully for the glisten. “You don’t deserve this masamune.” He drew the weapon, and the metal made a distinctive ring as it left the scabbard. He raised the blade above his head, and swung downwards. To his disbelief, it didn’t slice through the old man like a hot knife through butter. Instead, it was met with another piece of metal. They didn’t exchange words, but he knew it was his daughter. “I thought I told you to stop wasting time.” He took no time in switching his focus on the girl. Their weapons clashed a couple of times, but it was obvious who had the better blade. At the end of their battle, her blade was so damaged, it was rendered useless. The masamune however, was unscathed, shining as if nothing had happened. She was once again faced with the tip of his blade. He was about to land the finishing blow when movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He swiftly shifted his feet to face the source of the movement, and in a fluid motion drove the weapon through the approaching man.
“Go...” Her grandfather could barely speak with that piece of metal stuck through his abdomen. Moeka stared, eyes as wide as they could be. She held back the tears, not wanting her grandfather’s last sight to be of her crying, but they flowed regardless of her efforts. “GO!” He used the last of his strength to push the intruder as far away from her as possible before collapsing. Her father was caught off guard by the older man’s force and tumbled back. When he got up, the old man’s servant had already taken his daughter away. He kicked the dead man’s corpse off of him, and wiped off the blade on the robe of the fallen man.
“I don’t need any of that filth on my blade.” He placed the weapon back into its housing and disappeared into the night.
Knockin` on Heaven’s Door
By the time she had reached China, seasons had already changed. The cold, bone chilling wind of interior China was foreign to the young woman having come from the temperate coast. Her grandfather’s servant was only able to see Moeka to the boat which was to take her to her new home, there was nothing there for someone of his stature. When she arrived it became immediately apparent that despite having such similar physical characteristics, they were completely different people. She was able to read and write enough to get by, but the spoken language presented more than just a mere hurdle, it was a full-fledged barrier, preventing any form of comunication. Luckily, she wasn’t far from her destination, and after a few days trekking through the snow covered forest, she had made it into the town where her grandfather resides.
By the time she had arrived, the sun had long set. The streets were dimly lit; only by the flames of the candles shining through the paper windows of nearby houses. Unwilling to spend another night in the freezing cold, she decided to take refuge in a local inn. The manager immediately sprang up out of her chair when Moeka stepped through the door. She was saying something to her, but the girl standing in the door could not understand at all. The manager’s voice grew louder as she made her way toward the door — she didn’t need to understand the language to know that she wasn’t welcomed. The moment she turned to leave, the yelling stopped. Letting out a rather long sigh, she took a step forward.
There must be more than one inn around, if she doesn’t want my business, I’m sure someone else will surely accept. She took another step before noticing her surroundings.
A group of rather scarcely clothed men and women had the entrance of the inn surrounded. It took only a second to figure out what they were after, seeing as how each and every one of them had some kind of weapon in their hand. Perhaps this was what the innkeeper was yelling about? There was silence, as the gang eyed the lone woman — the owner had taken the time Moeka had bought her and fled the scene. They yelled something at Moeka, but she didn’t, or rather
couldn’t answer. Her grip tightened around her katana, as she felt the tension between them had gotten to a tipping point. With no warning, a man to her immediate left charged at her with a weapon foreign to her — she had only ever seen or used a katana. Instinctively, she drew her own weapon from its sheath and intercepted his strike. This provoked the rest of the gang into charging in, but before they were able to lay a finger on Moeka, the first man yelled something back to them, making them reclaim their position, giving the two some more breathing room.
The man had a smirk on his face and muttered something to her before he took another swing. The sound of metal clashing resonated through the foyer, one after another. Before she knew it, they were engaged in a full on brawl. Vases and porcelain was falling left to right, shattering into thousands of pieces as they contact the ground. The man fought with an odd style, something she had never seen. Up to this point, she had only learned how samurai fight — something like following a formula. Every strike, every swing, every block was to be performed in its exact way, the distance between the blade and the target, the distance between the end of the hilt and her own body, all well defined and formulated; this man fought differently. No, there was no set position, there was no overlaying skeleton that dictated his movements, they were free, despite how little he seemed to have planned his movement, they were like water: constantly flowing. When met with an obstacle, instead of taking it head on, he seemed to be able to bend around it, and pass reforming after the conformation. Soon she was overpowered, and found the man positioned on top of her, his left hand held both her hands above her head, while his knees were placed firmly on her thighs, keeping her body on the ground. His right hand was free and was wandering all over her body. Her breathing became heavy as his fingers made their way up her waist. It was then she saw it: on his chest was a tattoo of a pair of wings. It wasn’t the first time she had seen that symbol, and definitely not her last.
“Stop!” she screamed as loud as possible, stunning the man on top enough to get one of her hands free. Reaching around her neck, she pulled out the one piece of evidence she had that her mother ever existed — a golden necklace. Hanging from the chain was the same pair of wings as the man had tattooed on his body. For a moment he sat atop of her, then suddenly, as if her body had just heated up to a thousand degrees and burnt him, he leaped up and off of her. Seconds later, he along with what seemed to be his followers knelt in front of her. Confused, she stood at the center of it all, it was as if she was a goddess and them her followers; it was a little creepy. It was something she vaguely remembered from her childhood, her grandpa Hasabe may have mentioned it in passing a couple of times. “F...fan...ta...sy?” Needless to say, her Chinese wasn’t very great, but it seemed as if they understood her as they all bowed in unison. The man, whose name she would later learn was “Li”, stood up, and took her hand, leading her out of the building.
She presumed they had arrived, when he stopped in front of a rather lavish building on the outskirts of town. A long and curvy path lead to the entrance of the building, inside are a myriad of rooms. Li lead her to the door at the end of the hall: it was the only room sealed with jewel inlayed double doors, all the others were plain. He knocked exactly three times, and knelt in front of it, waiting for them to open. A few moments later, the doors swung out, narrowly missing the kneeling man as they became fully ajar. A rather old man being held up by a single wooden cane stood in the doorframe. Li swiftly got up to his level when prompted, and spoke some quiet words in his ear.
“Moeka?”
She instantly looked at the elderly man, recognizing a familiar, soft tone to his voice when he spoke her name. “Grandpa?” She said tentatively, not knowing whether to be thankful or cautious.
“Silly girl, what are you doing here?” His impeccable Japanese instantly lowered her guard as she ran toward the old man, embracing him. Yes, the tears finally flowed freely this time. She was expecting the usual speech about being self sufficient, but was only greeted with the man’s rather large arms squeezing her tightly. “I’m sure Morimoto would be scolding you if he saw you like this…” He let out a sigh, as if he already knew the situation. The mention of the guardian she had just lost brought on more tears. She buried her face in his rather soft robe, and cried until her salty tears soaked its fine fabric. The following days were filled food, catching up, and more food. She spent hours talking about her childhood, about Hasabe, just about everything she had done up until that point. In return for her information, her grandfather — or as his students called him “Meng shifu” — introduced her to his “family”.
“I founded Fantasy when I was a little boy.” He smiled as he spoke to her from across their private dining table. “Back then, it was simply to survive. Work was hard to find, and food even tougher. We figured the easiest way to survive is to have each other’s backs. That’s what Fantasy is about.” He took a sip of his tea and continued, “As we grew, we learned that fear was something we could use to our advantage. People might not have respected
us, but they respected our power. When you’re crowned the title of the most notorious gang, you know you’ve done something right. Back then, we thought the way to approach an obstacle was to go head on, topple it, break it, overpower it.” He tightened his grip on his porcelain cup until it crumbled under pressure. Opening his hand, he showed Moeka his bloody palm, the sharp corners of the broken cup piercing into his thick skin. “But you see, when you use force, you end up not only hurting others, but yourself.” He motioned for a new cup. The servant bolted to the kitchen and came back in a flash, placing a brand new cup in front of Meng. He picked up the teapot with one hand and a chopstick with the other and began to pour. As the hot liquid flowed from the spout, he placed the chopstick in the path of the liquid. “Instead, we must strive to be like water. Do not be restricted or bound to one form. Always move —
flow.” He stopped pouring before overfilling the cup. “Do you understand?”
She looked at him with curious eyes. “I think so.” She didn’t understand at all at the time, but eventually figured it out.
“Good, then tomorrow, you will officially be a part of the family!” He laughed, motioning the server to come. The young man rushed to his side and after listening with the utmost attention, left the room.
The next morning, she was awoken early by the sound her door being open. A rather dark man with markings all over his body entered. Within his hands was a case full of foreign tools and inks. She stared at him, not knowing what to expect. The man didn’t try to communicate, he merely removed his shirt, revealing a pair of wings tattooed on his chest and pointed to it with his finger. He motioned toward the bed and Moeka laid down, knowing exactly what he was going to do. She stared at his eyes as he removed her clothing enough to reveal the needed amount of skin. The first time the needle pierced her skin she could hardly feel, but as he moved, she began to feel the burning, stinging sensation moving across her chest, forcing her to gasp. The woman bit her bottom lip as he continued for what seemed to be an eternity. When he was finally done, the sun was already directly above them. She made her way out of her room with nothing but the bandages the artist had applied covering her upper body. To her surprise the entire Fantasy gang was waiting outside her room, ready to welcome her. Li was up in front, when his eyes met hers, he quickly glanced away, “We…welcome to our family.” He said — in the days with her grandpa, she had picked up enough Chinese to understand his greeting.
Her next years would be spent with the gang, going where they went, doing what they did. Meng shifu had a strict policy of continuously training, and always striving to best oneself. As such, he insisted Moeka practice his style of combat. “That Morimoto is too strict, it shows in his swordplay. Come at me and I’ll show you.”
The man was unarmed, and asking her to come at him with her katana? He must have been crazy. Her first swing was cautious, not knowing what to expect, but before she could even begin her swing, the man swiftly closed the distance between them and eliminated any space for a swing to occur. “Don’t tell me that’s Morimoto’s best.” He scoffed, backing up and motioning for her to try again. Now that she knew what to expect, the woman unleashed her full force, but the same resulted. She would go on to try several more times, all with the same result. “If I came at you head on, I would probably have been sliced in two. Remember, water.” This training continued until she was finally able to make him wield a weapon — it took months. “He’s also too stubborn. Water can change form, and take on the shape of its container, it’s very adaptive.” He went on to spar with each weapon on his rack of weapons, each bout ending the same way, with her defeat. “Water, my dear.”
Summer finally came, Moeka had integrated into Fantasy fantastically, she had even learned to speak their language. There was, however, one thing she hadn’t done yet. After a long night at the bar, she waited for Li, “Hey, you, boy.” She knew he hated when people called him that. “Yeah, Li, you.” She picked up one of the cups filled with alcohol and hurled it at the back of his head. “Got your attention yet?”
He turned around and charged at the seated woman, but before he could get near her, his abdomen was greeted by a swift kick made by Moeka as she got up off her seat. “We never settled the score.” She lunged toward the man fist first. Punches and kicks were being given out as if they were free, with each connecting hit sending bodies back into walls, tables, chairs, you name it. After a good thirty minutes, she had finally gained the position she was seeking — on top. She had his hands pinned above his head, and her knees were pressed firmly on his thighs, preventing limiting his movement. “Now, if I recall correctly…” Her fingers danced across his abdomen, and slowly made their way up to his chest, sending shivers down his spine. She lowered her face to his, staring into his deep green eyes.
“Shifu’s arriving!” A loud voice from the background interrupted her.
Meng arrived on the scene to see his entire following kneeling in front of him, including Moeka and Li. “I’m glad you’ve all enjoyed yourselves.” He said, looking around at what was once the interior of a bar, “But we have a pressing matter at hand.” With the flick of his wrist, the entire gang moved in unison, following his lead back to headquarters. A sudden realization of what the words “pressing matter at hand” meant was had when they arrived at the gates. The lifeless corpse of the shifu’s servant was nailed up. His entire body was naked, revealing the large cut across his chest, severing the tattooed wings. They pushed through the gruesome body and moved forward long the curvy path; with every step they took the ground was covered with more and more blood, until they finally arrived at the doorstep: it was completely drenched in blood. Pushing the doors open, Moeka’s eyes grew wide, as if she had seen a ghost. The man who stood in front of them was none other than the current leader of the Morimoto clan: Hasabe’s son.
“Nice to see you, sweetie.” His voice was colder than ice.
“Mo…” her grandfather cautioned, but her emotions were no longer under anyone’s control. She charged forward, ignoring all those who tried to stop her until finally she was standing toe to toe with her father. The man gave a nonchalant wave of his hand, and the door closed behind him, simultaneously revealing hidden ambush troops hiding on the rooftop.
“So, we’re finally going to get some father daughter time, huh?”
Moeka’s blade came out of its scabbard faster than lightning, before a blink of an eye, she had moved within striking distance. She wasn’t going to make him suffer, she was going to kill him as quickly as possible — the world didn’t need scum like him. She felt the blade dig into something, but before she was able to push it through farther, a cold sting shot through her heart. She took her eyes off of the wound she had inflicted on him to notice his blade slide all the way through her body. If not for the guard, his clenched fist would be inside her thoracic cavity. She tried to take a deep breath, but the piece of metal piercing her lung didn’t allow it. The cold sting soon turned to a warm, burning sensation as he drew the blade out. A second pass of the cold steel would sever several arteries and veins in her neck. Her vision soon became clouded with blackness; she could hardly hear his favourite words to her, “Stop wasting time.” The last thing she had on her mind was power. She wished for one thing: the complete annihilation of her father. She couldn’t come at him head on, she had to
flow.
The Descent
She rose up, gasping for breath, cold sweat dripping all over her forehead, her hair a complete mess. Her hands raced up to her chest, moving around, feeling for a large gash — though, for those who didn’t know it would have appeared as though she was groping herself. Her breathing caught up, as she looked around for her surroundings. She was greeted by the familiar face of Li. “Where’s grandfather?” She grabbed him by the collar, demanding the information.
“Dead.”
“
I’m dead.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
She was confused, unable to comprehend what exactly was going on. He brought her a glass of water, as he sat down beside her bed and began to explain. Soul Society, Gotei, and Shinigami. It would seem that despite her early death, she remained attached to the material world longer than anyone else in her time. Perhaps it was caused by unfinished business she had, but several hundred years had passed since her death. In the time, all of her companions in Fantasy had made it into Soul Society, as Li was explaining the role of the Shinigami, she was anxious to find out more, perhaps this path would provide her with the power she needs to finally eliminate
that man form existence.
“Well, I suppose it could give you extraordinary powers.” Li looked at her with worried eyes
“Yeah, so what’s the bad part?”
“I just don’t feel you ought to be doing it just for revenge.” The tone of voice he used was something Moeka had never heard from him before. “Regardless, one of the captains is supposed to be coming through town today, maybe you can ask him to tell you more about it.” The continuation of their conversation was interrupted by a young child’s voice.
“They’re here!”
They both looked out and saw the sea of people moving toward the main streets. Li rushed out to see if all the commotion was about the captains arriving, but Moeka didn’t have the patience. Pushing the man out of her way, she rushed after the child who had yelled, and soon she was amongst the sea of people, cheering as a party of about five or six people dressed in black walked through the streets. Crowds on each side waved, and yelled compliments to them as they passed. A few steps behind, a man dressed in a white robe strolled leisurely through, a few steps behind him was another party of three, again dressed in black. She can only assume the middle one was the captain. The wall of people directly in front of her was preventing her from seeing his face, but when she heard his voice, “Thank you everyone, I shall eliminate all threat to Soul Society for your benefit!” She began to tremble. It was the same piercing cold voice as the man who was at fault for her being here. She pushed through the crowd, moving as forward as possible to try and see for herself. When she got to the front, all she could see was his back. The man glanced back for just as second, and it was long enough for her to see his face. It had the same cold look to it the day he killed his father, a sly smirk screaming “I’m untouchable.”
Blood rushed through her entire body, carrying with it a huge dose of adrenaline. She leaped forward, but before moving, a strong pair of hands forced her to remain stationary. Any attempt at movement was merely met by more force, and before she could do much of anything, the strong hands pulled her from within the crowd. “Let go, I have to...” her sentence was interrupted by the sight of his face. “Shifu?” Her eyes widened. Then she noticed the garb he was wearing: black kosode, black hakama, and a katana at his side. “What are you?” She already knew the answer.
“I was chosen for my abilities to join the gotei and strengthen them.” He lifted her up off the ground. Lieutenant of the second division of Gotei thirteen. “Unfortunately,
he was too. I suppose background checks are not exactly standard practice.” They walked back into the house before he continued. “I realize you possess strong resentment toward him, but you must realize child, that at his current position, he’s virtually untouchable. Not even
I, a member of the gotei am able to do much about it. I must advise that you seek other ways to lead your life, rather than throwing it away for petty revenge.” He knew his words would not get through. “If you do intend on seeking revenge, you will need power,” He motioned to his attire. “it must be obtained from within.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, and closed his eyes. At first she didn’t understand, but soon, she could feel the air around them changing, it felt as their very presence was being channelled through the elderly man then pushed forced into her. A few moments pass, and it finally stopped. She looked at him confused and a little uneasy. “I shall come for you tomorrow, and you will begin as a student in the academy.” With that, her grandfather disappeared faster than her optic nerves could process.
The next morning, her grandfather came as promised. "I am only able to get you in, the rest is up to you" he gave her one last look. "It would be wise to keep your presence unknown to him." For the next three seasons, she put into practice everything she had been taught, both by her guardians and the instructors at the academy. With each passing day, she felt it — she felt
something. It wasn’t until a year had passed since it finally happened.
She could still remember the night. Her dreams were clouded with images of a busy city. Cars and people filled the streets to a point where the pavement could no longer be seen. She had never seen quite a scene like this, the thought never occurred to her where exactly
she was if she was seeing this sight, but it didn’t feel awkward, it felt as if she had always known the place; as if it wasn’t her first time there.
Moeka pushed her way through the crowd, unlike them, she had no purpose, or destination. She was aimlessly walking amongst the crowd, each passing face she saw foreign, but somehow familiar: as if she had know them her entire life. There was a strong feeling of belonging as she wandered the streets of the brightly lit city. A sudden speck of colour caught he corner of her eye. She turned immediately to its direction, but before she could get a good glimpse, it disappeared. She looked all around for it; then ran in the direction she thought it went. The flash of purple kept appearing and disappearing, leading the girl through the city. Finally, it stopped moving in front of a large, dimly lit building. She took a moment to notice her surroundings, and to her surprise, there were no skyscrapers, nor busy roads. She was standing on a street whose roads are far too small for even one way traffic. There were no busy pedestrians moving all in unison creating a stream of people. Those who were in this little alley were few, but they seemed much calmer, their pace wasn’t rushed, nor did they seem like they had a destination.
“You gonna stand there, or what?” She turned to the voice to be greeted by a man wearing purple. His appearance was wild and unruly, but she somehow felt safe in his presence. They entered the doors of the establishment in front of which they stood. Inside was a rather calm place. Music was smooth, and tasteful. The entire place was empty save one lone, round bar table in the center, surrounded by two wooden bar chairs. He pulled her seat out, and waited for her to be seated before taking his own. “Welcome.”She was far less surprised than she should have been.
“Where... are we?” She already knew.
“You already know.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, this is you. In a way,
I’m you.” He eyed her from top to bottom then up again. “Damn, I’m smokin’.” His chuckling made her wonder if that was supposed to be her inner self. “You bet.”
“You’ve always known this place, that’s why it wasn’t unfamiliar to you. I’m the guardian of the place I suppose, and this is
my world. I’ve seen and been through all the things you have; yes,
all the things.” He snapped his fingers and a bottle of champagne within an ice bucket and a single champagne flute appeared on the table between them. He poured the bubbly liquid into the glass and placed it before her. “So, I know exactly what you’re searching for. And guess what...” He picked up the flute in front of her and took a long sip, leaving less than half the glass. “I can give it to you.” He reached across the table and brushed a stray strand of hair to the side and allowed his fingers to glide down the side of her cheek to her chin. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Wanna see it?”
Her mind wandered a little,
”see it? “Get your head out of your ass.” He laughed, pulling back quickly, before finishing the rest of the champagne. It had been apparent to him that drinking for a tiny flute like that was a futile effort; as such he decided to go for the entire bottle. “I meant that.” He said, putting the lip of the bottle to his mouth and pointing toward the back wall.
She felt flushed suddenly, and quickly looked away from him and toward the direction he was pointing at. At first, she was unsure of what they were looking at, but after taking a moment for her eyes to refocus, she saw it: a brilliantly designed, elegant, white scabbard housing what she assumed to be a equally beautiful katana. Around the stand which the katana stood, there were several more weapons, all hung up neatly on the wall, but they didn’t catch her attention, it was that white scabbard. “It can’t be...”
“Oh, but it is.” He motioned toward the weapon, and some invisible force brought it to his hand. “Masamune himself crafted this, you know.” Another sip, and three quarters of the bottle was empty. “Can I
really trust you with it?” He put the weapon in front of her.
The girl went to grab it, but before her digits had a chance to wrap themselves around it, he took it back.
“Don’t get so grabby.” He finally finished the bottle of alcohol. “You can take this, but prove to me you deserve it.” With that his figure dissolved in front of her very eyes. Soon, her world began to fade and before she could even open her mouth to release one of the thousands of questions she still had, her eyes opened. She was about to prop herself out of bed when she felt something cold touching her chest. Her hand quickly moved to the foreign object and was greeted with the cold lacquered wood and fleeting words: “Prove to me you deserve it.”
Spring had finally come, and her training had produced results: her movement was faster and sharper, her swings had more power and energy; she’d even developed a
flow. When training at the academy was finished, she practiced more at home. Every night, she would be completely drained, her eyes shut as soon as her head hit the pillow
There was usually nobody around whilst she practiced, but this time, after finishing her routine, there was clapping — her very own cheering section. First, she noticed something: she was no longer in the back of her home. No, she was in the middle of a busy street, the cars around her zipped by as if she wasn't there, but miraculously, none hit her. She turned her attention to the direction of the clapping, but there was nobody. She turned back around.
“I guess you’ve proved it.” It was the man in purple. “Yeah, I never did introduce myself to you, but that’s cause I needed to know you’re worth it.” He smiled and clapped more. “Call me Akuma.” He placed his covered hand on the bare metal of her weapon and ripped it out of her hands. “You’ve had enough practice with your zanpakuto in this state, let me show you what it’s capable of.” As soon as he placed his hand on the handle of the blade, it was engulfed in a light. In the time it took her to blink, the slender katana morphed into a rather large, heavy looking blade. “This is what it
should look like.” He turned the blade so that its pointed to the ground and drove it downward. “Now, watch carefully.” His movements were unhindered despite the size of the blade, it moved like an extension of his body.
He turned the blade upside down and dug it deep into the pavement. "Take it." She quickly ran up and gave it her all. The blade wouldn't move. "Come back when you can take this from me." It would be several more decades before she could remove the weapon from its resting place. By then, she had already ascended the ranks of mere academy student. She would have been a highly seated officer had she chosen to to pursue that path, but she knew ascending in ranks would set off alarms. She needed to keep a low profile after all she had no such ambition, she only wanted a single thing:to obliterate
that man. Despite her lowly rank, her training never ceased. During the days, her grandfather would take the time away from his own duties to accompany her growth. At night, she would slip into the world of he mind, accessing the vast amount of knowledge Akuma had to share.
“Alright, it works something like this:” He was speaking as he struck Moeka blow after blow, forcing her to try and use that absurdly large blade. “After learning the name of your zanpakuto, you’ll be given some of its power: that’s why I’m here right now: good job!” He said this as he drove his elbow into her chest. “When you’ve reached a level that matches my abilities, I’ll give you even more power than this.” They continued to brawl, though it was obviously one sided. “Now, not all of us do the same thing. My old lady, for example, is a fiery one. I don’t really care for those tricks though... nope, I get by with just these.” He bumped his fists together.
you’re married?! she tried to imagine what kind of woman could tame him — scary.
“Don’t take your mind off of what you’re doing.” He came at her with a high kick. To both their astonishment, it was met with the side of her zanpakuto. “Good!” He took no time to shift his weight and bring his other foot around to hit her unguarded side. Their training continued through the day. However, it didn’t just end there. As she slept, she was transported into his world: there they would continue from where they left off. Years turned to decades, and almost a century later, they were
still at it. Moeka was wielding the large blade as if it was as light as a feather. “You’ve certainly progressed.” He was breathing rather harshly, while Moeka leaned on her weapon; her breathing was hardly accelerated.
“You’re having a bit of trouble I see.”
“You sure talk big, using a sword like that on an
unarmed man!”
“Fine, have it your way.” She gave a gentle push, and drove her blade into the ground. Using the planted weapon, she pushed off, rushing toward him with nothing but her bare fists. This wasn’t training in her eyes: it was more like two old friends seeing each other for the first time after being apart for centuries, catching up on old times — self rediscovery. Countless years pass, and finally, it was her time.
Curtain Call
The two sat in the same place they first met. “So you’re really going to go?” There was no champagne this time, just the two of them in an empty room. The girl nodded. “Is it too late to say that you’re an idiot?” His question was answered with a smile and a nod. Akuma gave a long sigh.
She came back to reality, sitting face to face to her wasn't the man in purple. No, this man was much older and dressed like one of them. “Listen well Moeka, I shall reveal to you how you will enter the gotei. The rest I am afraid is up to you.” She nods. “There is no way into the gotei without causing a scene. The chances of your survival are zero if you were to force your way in.”
"It'd be a shame to see that pretty little body of yours get hurt." The voice was only heard in her head.
You’re married the voice insider her went silent.
“You are an outsider. The only way to ensure you two meet is to challenge him for his title.” She listened intently. “In order to obtain the rank of captain, you must either pass the test, have a personal recommendation, or...”
“I don’t want to be captain. I just want to kill him.”
He looked at her with grim eyes. “The third way is to defeat the previous captain with two hundred witnesses from his own division. The shinigami have too much pride to disallow this fight, and the same could be said about him. I urge you though, to stop this now.
She said nothing.
He sat patiently in the center of the room as his entire division gathered around him to witness the challenge. Stray chatter came from all around him: speculations of the outcome. However, he already knew the outcome. He had already bested her several times, and this time would be no different, she
was his daughter after all.
He watched as the girl entered the halls. It was over before it started, this was
his domain. “You can still go home if you’d like, nobody will laugh.” His words didn’t seem to even enter her ears as she continued onto the stadium. “I thought I told you to stop wasting your time.” He laughed as he watched his daughter position herself in front of him. “If you die here, your existence will be erased.” He lowered his voice so that only they could hear.
“Same goes for you. Why do you think I went through all the trouble to come here?” She didn’t try as hard to keep her voice down.
It didn’t take any invitation for him to open up: the distinctive ring of his katana leaving its scabbard resonated through the room. She wasn’t going to let that catch her, no — she knew him far too well to be fooled by something as simple as that. Before his blade could be fully drawn, she quickly placed her hand in the path of the pommel, with a stern shove she moved the blade back into its sheath. His eyes widened, as he felt the force preventing him from drawing his weapon, the next thing he would feel is the cold steel of her katana cutting through his flesh. Fortunately, he was given enough time to evade, leaving his left sleeve in place of his arm. She smiled at his expression, “Your welcome.” He and her both knew she could have taken it off if she had wanted to.
“Not bad,” he placed both hands on his zanpakuto and with a large release of reiatsu, the metal of his blade began to glow white, taking several seconds before returning to normal. She didn’t understand what was happening, but it was best not to leave things to chance. With a flick of her wrist, her own slender katana took the shape of a blade larger than her. It looked near impossible to wield, yet her movements were unchanged from before. With each swing of the large blade it felt like she was going to destroy the entire building. “Is that all it does? Grow a little bigger?” he effortlessly fended off her attacks, and soon began to push back. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt something was off. From behind her, his zanpakuto appeared. She was barely able to see it, and only narrowly avoided serious injury. She took a step to gather herself once more, but when she tried to move her leg, a burning sensation shot through the limb. She looked down to see a circular shaped scar developing on her thigh. She wasn’t given enough time to figure out what it was when he began his assault once more. Moeka was forced on the defence, slowly backing up toward the wall. Her body acted on its own, as her vision began to blur slightly.
What’s going on...“Tch. An eleventh division captain who uses these kinds of tricks?!” She heard Akuma’s voice.
wh...what? A fist came from nowhere, hitting her from behind, making her stumble forwards to try and regain balance.
“His zanpakuto is doing this, there is absolutely nothing I can do.” His fist came from in front this time, like a brick being thrown at her chest. The girl was at a complete loss as a series of punches came her way.
She laid in the middle of the street, wondering why no cars have come by and hit her yet. Her face was filled with sweat, dust and bits of caked on blood. Her chest moved up and down rapidly, as her diaphragm contracted and relaxed at a lightning quick pace, trying to increase the oxygen levels in her blood. Her arms were sore, and she could hardly form a fist — she tried. Her thighs contracted, and as she rapidly relaxed them, her body lifted up from the pavement, and sprung up to an almost standing position. However, before she was even a quarter of the way up, a leather shoe came down on her stomach, pushing her back down to the ground with a loud thump, forcing what little air was left inside her lungs out. She let out a series of rather painful sounding coughs as she saw his face above hers. “Is that it?” The man wearing purple smirked at her. “Thought you were a feisty one...” He brought his leg up, ready to hand her well deserved coup de grace.
She saw the soles of his shoe come at her. Before it could crush her, a force from inside welled up, and willed her body to finally move. With only her right hand, she caught his foot, and in one fluid motion, her digits wrapped around his ankle, gripping hard, the man’s bones and flesh morphed into wood, his pants into the silk cloth covering the handle of her blade. His body became the blade itself, all six feet of it. With a deep breath, she moved her blade forward.
“Masamune?!” She couldn’t see his face, but she already knew. His eyes widened as the legendary katana moved through his own zanpakuto and subsequently his body. Her vision was restored just in time to see the remainder of her father’s corpse decompose into thousands of black butterflies. Her attention was turned quickly to the room of spectators. They started at her for the longest time before coming to realization all in unison.
“Orders, Captain?”
RP Sample: The two o’clock in the morning sky was lit up unusually bright by the almost full moon covered by nothing but a thin layer of motionless clouds. The willows beside the small slow flowing river stood firmly, its branches and leaves shifted ever so slightly as the gentlest of breezes blew through. Cicadas played their tune in the back drop as the summer air begins to heat up again in preparation for the morning. A group of ducklings and their guardian appeared in the middle of the calm stream and dipped their heads underwater all in unison — an early breakfast, or late dinner? Of course, our main character is oblivious to the serenity of this summer morning.
Just steps away from the ducklings and willow trees a rather undecorated building stood, it had hardly any windows, nor much colour to its walls — almost identical to the rest of the buildings in the area. The only thing that prevented people from accidentally walking into the establishment is the rather large plaque hanging above the door frame: “Paul’s”. Who exactly “Paul” was, nobody knew; whether he even existed is a question up for debate. One thing is for sure though, two o’clock was last call.
“Alright boys, you know what time it is.” The barkeep spoke to what’s left of the patrons scattered around the establishment — and of course, his best customer seated directly in front of him. Porcelain bottles were scattered in a pile in front of her as she raises a cup of the liquid to her lips. With the lip of the cup securely pressed against her own, she tilted the cup. Her head and body followed suit to accommodate the full range of motion as she emptied the cup. The slight burning sensation only served to warm her insides: neither the taste nor the feeling of light headedness fazed he, it was actually a welcomed feeling. She goes through the entire day comforted by the knowledge that this is what awaits her at the end.
“I’ll have one of these!” A rather large man walked up to the seat beside the woman’s and picked up one of her bottles. She didn’t look, but he had a rather drunk looking smile as he picked up the bottle and eyed the woman from head to toe.
The bartender disappeared into the back and came back with two bottles, one placed in front of the man, the other placed next to the other bottles on the table in front of the brunette. “Here ya go...” He crossed his arms and stood in front of the man as if waiting for something. The drunk looked at the cup that came along with his bottle of booze and raised an eyebrow.
“The hell... is this?!” He held the cup between his index finger and thumb and moved it around in front of his eyes as he squinted to try and stop the room from moving so much. “Water dish for mice?” He turned around to his companions and shared a laugh. The brunette had a slight smirk on her lips as she poured herself another cupful of liquid from the bottle. The rather drunk man, now spurred on by his buddies, tossed the cup over his shoulders and picked up the bottle by its neck. “T...is how you drink, girl.” He opened his mouth and poured the contents of the bottle down his throat. As soon as the last drop left the bottle, his attitude suddenly changed. Almost immediately the liquid filled his cheeks and was expelled from his mouth faster than it went in. The table at which his friends were sitting now erupted in laughter, but this time they were direct
at him.
The woman smiled and got up from her seat. She picked up the cup she had poured and slid it down the table in front of the man as she wrapped her fingers around the bottle. Placing her lips on the opening of the bottle, she tipped it back and in one fluid motion, she emptied the bottle. “Thanks for the lesson.” She chuckled and walked past the man, heading towards the door. The bar filled with cheers, laughter and all sorts of odd noises. Just as she reached for the door handle, a cup (with liquid still in it) collided with the wall beside her. It narrowly missed her head, but as it exploded against the wall, the liquid splashed onto her shoulders and hair. The porcelain pieces fell to the ground. The bar fell silent as all eyes were on her.
Her outstretched hand fell back to her side as she turned around and stared at the man who had thrown the cup. He had taken what seems to be a fighter’s stance, fists up bouncing back and forth on his feet, waving either due to his state of inebriation, or because he seriously thought it’d help him? She ignored is little dance and walked up to him, toe to toe. This spurred an attack from him: he shifted the right side of his body back, and with a quick tug from his left side, he swung his fist toward the woman’s face.
Though he may have thought his actions were rapid, to her it might as well have been a snail. She shifted her feet to move her body so that it was perpendicular to his, and as his arm swung forward, her fist launched toward his outstretched arm. A swift shot to the bicep kept him from trying something as silly as hitting her; a spin introducing the back of her fist to his face kept him from trying much of anything else. The force produced by the impact was enough to send the man tumbling through several support beams. A table finally stopped his momentum — unfortunately it wasn’t able to survive the impact. “Crap...” she muttered, know that this was going to come out of
her pocket. She quickly returned to where she was previously and snatched her zanpakuto housed in its white scabbard, then quickly ran out, not wanting to be lectured by the bartender. “He’ll pay for my tab!”
Final Acceptance: Read the rules!!!! You have one more step to complete before you are able to post on the site
PS: Blehh~ apparently MS Word does not format very well when copied here.
PPS: I will try and get an RP sample up tomorrow. History is probably gonna take me a while though. 8<
PPPS: Err... sorry, apparently app exceeded max characters allowed. >_>
PPPPS: OHEMGEE! I'm DONE!! Admins please move this to the open application section!
*tears of joy*
*tears of joy*
if that makes any sense. So really, being able to change forms is its true form. ![Darake Kitoushi [Old] Avatar](http://209.85.12.234/15039/29/upload/av-1.jpg)
*hugs*