Post by Seimenk on Aug 31, 2009 21:04:11 GMT -5
*Theme Plays*
[ www.youtube.com/watch?v=WvfqAUDInP8 ]
"...Desolation.", Nobufusa remarked again. It was the one word that came out of his mouth when one of his squadmates asked if he was aware of recent events. The return of a traitor who should have been dead, the return of Yamamoto who should have also been dead, and the fates of what was surely several hundred million of Rukongai residents. The word said it all, it described perfectly the state of affairs. The fire blast had destroyed all of the outer districts, even reaching some of the middle districts. It was as though a great fiery flood swept over a field , or better yet, that the Seiretei was but a boulder in a deep river and the Rukongai residences but insignificant little stones to be washed away. It says a lot about the power of a river when even the boulder that resists it is worn away. The expanding air and vast reiatsu had blown down the supposedly impregnable Seiretei gates and set fires to the interior.
It was the dark night of the new moon, smoke and cloud covering the stars for the second day in a row. There was no want of light however, there was plenty from the fires that still burned even more than a day later. He breathed deep, and was pleased to smell only smoke and none of that foul fragrance, the stench of burning flesh. The destruction had been complete. As he passed walked over the doors and around the ruins of the archway, he witnessed crying children, wailing women, and moaning men. They were the walking wounded of all ages, the scattered souls that had escaped the hellzone. Even as he watched, some collapsed right in front of him, becoming bodies wasted on the shores of the Seiretei. So many had perished, and yet there were still too many of them for 4th Division to treat them all. All were ashen, gray ghosts and sooty specters. The remains of their homes, their friends, and their families, all was affixed to their skin. Nobufusa was sure it burned, as much inside as without. If his life had gone a little bit differently, he would have been amongst them. Or maybe he wouldn't have made it out at all.
As of late there was endless speculation. 'If he could bring back Yamamoto, why not others?'; 'Was that his bankai or only his shikai'?, 'Couldn't he have finished us of?' For Nobufusa, all of these speculations were utterly irrelevant. They concerned only the past, and not the future, they were all the wrong questions. This kind of mass destruction was what the human world feared most. What had come to pass was an atrocity, a veritable genocide of souls. But even then, dwelling on this event would not raise the fallen.
[glow=red,2,300]"Child...who has done this thing?"[/glow], a disembodied voice said, not in his ears but his mind. A ghostly spirit mask manifested itself before them, though only he could see. Unpainted except for its nose and one eye, it took the form of a bear with an elderly woman's head fused with its other eye socket. The white hair of the doll like head floated as if in a constant breeze, or as if it were alive itself. The lips did not move when it spoke, but the eyes and empty space of the mouth did flicker as if there were candles behind them. [glow=red,2,300]"I feel the absence of so many children."[/glow]
"...Sosuke Aizen.", he answered. Once, the name had very different connotations. Now, it felt like a curse or some foul turn of phrase. He never personally knew him, but he had been in the man's caligraphy class and even now was still a member of his squad. He did not seem like an evil, or twisted man. "...Cruel deciever." He started to wonder if things would be different had someone killed the man, anyone, for any reason. But before he could go any further down that road, he quickly banished the thoughts from his mind.
Although he did not turn his head, his eyes moved from left right taking in the peoples faces. He and the other Shinigami were watched, by all that could raise their gaze from the ground, or lift their heads from the shoulders of those nearest them. Right now, the people were looking to them for strength. In the midst of such disorder, the Shinigami were symbols of law and order. They were the only reminders that such a concept even existed. One did not need to brave dangers, fell dozens of foes, or wield frightening power to seem heroic. If there was ever a time the people needed heroes, that time was now.
What more could he do than offer his prescence? There was nothing to salvage, nothing to preserve. There were people to heal, and those with such skill already did so for as many they could. Even now, they separated those whom could be saved from those who could not, scrutinizing the masses with a trained eye. For the time being he was under no orders, and had no missions to attend to. In truth he could just remain deep within the Seiretei, far from The Three Sights of the crippled, the sick, and the dead. But he could not be content to sleep, to drink, or shop- the latter most of which leaders always urged people to do in times of crisis to maintain economic stability. Instead, he felt a duty to be among those who were The Fourth Sight, those visibly at peace for those who could not be at peace.
[ www.youtube.com/watch?v=WvfqAUDInP8 ]
"...Desolation.", Nobufusa remarked again. It was the one word that came out of his mouth when one of his squadmates asked if he was aware of recent events. The return of a traitor who should have been dead, the return of Yamamoto who should have also been dead, and the fates of what was surely several hundred million of Rukongai residents. The word said it all, it described perfectly the state of affairs. The fire blast had destroyed all of the outer districts, even reaching some of the middle districts. It was as though a great fiery flood swept over a field , or better yet, that the Seiretei was but a boulder in a deep river and the Rukongai residences but insignificant little stones to be washed away. It says a lot about the power of a river when even the boulder that resists it is worn away. The expanding air and vast reiatsu had blown down the supposedly impregnable Seiretei gates and set fires to the interior.
It was the dark night of the new moon, smoke and cloud covering the stars for the second day in a row. There was no want of light however, there was plenty from the fires that still burned even more than a day later. He breathed deep, and was pleased to smell only smoke and none of that foul fragrance, the stench of burning flesh. The destruction had been complete. As he passed walked over the doors and around the ruins of the archway, he witnessed crying children, wailing women, and moaning men. They were the walking wounded of all ages, the scattered souls that had escaped the hellzone. Even as he watched, some collapsed right in front of him, becoming bodies wasted on the shores of the Seiretei. So many had perished, and yet there were still too many of them for 4th Division to treat them all. All were ashen, gray ghosts and sooty specters. The remains of their homes, their friends, and their families, all was affixed to their skin. Nobufusa was sure it burned, as much inside as without. If his life had gone a little bit differently, he would have been amongst them. Or maybe he wouldn't have made it out at all.
As of late there was endless speculation. 'If he could bring back Yamamoto, why not others?'; 'Was that his bankai or only his shikai'?, 'Couldn't he have finished us of?' For Nobufusa, all of these speculations were utterly irrelevant. They concerned only the past, and not the future, they were all the wrong questions. This kind of mass destruction was what the human world feared most. What had come to pass was an atrocity, a veritable genocide of souls. But even then, dwelling on this event would not raise the fallen.
[glow=red,2,300]"Child...who has done this thing?"[/glow], a disembodied voice said, not in his ears but his mind. A ghostly spirit mask manifested itself before them, though only he could see. Unpainted except for its nose and one eye, it took the form of a bear with an elderly woman's head fused with its other eye socket. The white hair of the doll like head floated as if in a constant breeze, or as if it were alive itself. The lips did not move when it spoke, but the eyes and empty space of the mouth did flicker as if there were candles behind them. [glow=red,2,300]"I feel the absence of so many children."[/glow]
"...Sosuke Aizen.", he answered. Once, the name had very different connotations. Now, it felt like a curse or some foul turn of phrase. He never personally knew him, but he had been in the man's caligraphy class and even now was still a member of his squad. He did not seem like an evil, or twisted man. "...Cruel deciever." He started to wonder if things would be different had someone killed the man, anyone, for any reason. But before he could go any further down that road, he quickly banished the thoughts from his mind.
Although he did not turn his head, his eyes moved from left right taking in the peoples faces. He and the other Shinigami were watched, by all that could raise their gaze from the ground, or lift their heads from the shoulders of those nearest them. Right now, the people were looking to them for strength. In the midst of such disorder, the Shinigami were symbols of law and order. They were the only reminders that such a concept even existed. One did not need to brave dangers, fell dozens of foes, or wield frightening power to seem heroic. If there was ever a time the people needed heroes, that time was now.
What more could he do than offer his prescence? There was nothing to salvage, nothing to preserve. There were people to heal, and those with such skill already did so for as many they could. Even now, they separated those whom could be saved from those who could not, scrutinizing the masses with a trained eye. For the time being he was under no orders, and had no missions to attend to. In truth he could just remain deep within the Seiretei, far from The Three Sights of the crippled, the sick, and the dead. But he could not be content to sleep, to drink, or shop- the latter most of which leaders always urged people to do in times of crisis to maintain economic stability. Instead, he felt a duty to be among those who were The Fourth Sight, those visibly at peace for those who could not be at peace.