spira_rp | And I don’t wanna say I told you so...

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And I don’t wanna say I told you so...

Gin Ichimaru's footsteps were light on the Desert Palace's ancient stone floor. They were soft enough to barely echo off the walls except for the scuff of a toe or heel.

He liked the Palace at night. It was more peaceful, like any populated place tended to be when most of the inhabitants were in bed and, for the most part, quiet. Even the air seemed to move more quietly when the hum of conversation and the distant sparks and flares of spiritual pressure were felt from the training centre, where the wards applied didn't keep it back if the door was left open.

Peaceful as it was, he rarely slept there. He had somewhere else for that, somewhere within his jurisdiction as a Gotei captain. He retained a room though, and it was from there that he was walking, heading in the direction of the quiet kitchen, while the borrowed sky outside the window was dark and the air was cool and filled with the smells of night time.

Nobody seemed to be up. He was sure that some of the denizens would still be awake, doing whatever they felt like in their rooms, but nobody was up and about. It was too late for the night owls and too early for the morning people. He smiled to himself as he reached the top of the stairs down to the main hall, but the expression fell away abruptly when the sound of an alarm split the silence.

The noise set every nerve in Gin's teeth on edge. Halfway between a scream and a siren, it was a magically amplified and erratic, half-undulating sound that had obviously been designed not to be ignored under any of the circumstances it might be set off to. It was hideous, organic and ear-splittingly loud, akin to the sound of a thousand babies crying and just as many tomcats yowling, foxes screaming and nails being drawn down a chalk board and it rose and fell in tone enough that it was impossible to get used to. For a moment, even Gin stood frozen at the top of the stairs, eyes briefly wide, the hair on the back of his neck on end.

"That's new," he said to himself, his soft voice drowned by the screechy baying of the siren.

He headed down to the hall, feet quick on the stairs. From beyond the front door, and the hall that separated the door to the Zertinan Caverns from the palace proper, he heard a low roar, angry and bellowing, even with the siren's wail doing its best to block everything else out.

"Oh," he said. "Look's like one of Kuja's little pets has slipped its leash." He smiled to himself, directing his gaze up the stairs, anticipating appearances from other members of the Clan. "This should be fun."

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Wonderweiss looked out, past the narrow hallway and outside, to where he could see the creature moving about and, amazingly, weathering Espada-level ceros with apparent flippant disregard.

The wyrm was huge and old and strong. It had small, atrophied wings, long, dirty claws and a face as blunt as its surprisingly short, if club-like, tail. It wasn't built for striking, it was built for defence, to outlast any opponent it couldn't crush. It had plenty of attack power, that much was obvious in the fire it had sent at them, but it was clearly a tank. It was also not a Hollow, so it wouldn't find any specific weakness in Zanpakutos, Hollow or Shinigami.

He felt Forvalaka shift under him, stepping out into the growing pool of water on the soaked floor. He was nervous, Wonderweiss didn't need to be sitting atop him to know that.

Some saw Torama as the king of the beasts, due mostly to their huge size, ferocity, courage and their impressive manes, but if he was a king, this thing was a god, and what was a king to one of those?

The water hurt more than anything else had. He snarled, angrily, turning to the one responsible for that attack. His tail thrashed behind him as another one of those blasts landed. The force of it rocked him, but it couldn't pierce his armoured hide, and the blow wasn't enough to break, or topple him.

He snapped his jaws in his irritation, and raised one paw to crush the one attacking him with water.

La Gota could level buildings. It could punch holes through Hollows weaker than Tiburon, and obliterate stone.

It annoyed the wyrm.

Halibel raised her weapon and aimed another shot at the descending claws, the force enough to knock them back. She aimed another for good measure when the wyrm seemed intent on striking anyway.

She pullled back, jumping out of the way of another attack.

This was going to be a very long fight.

"Wear it down," Nel said, drawing up protect spells for everyone. "It's the only way we can."

They had hierro, and an Arrancar's hierro was nothing to sniff at, but this thing could shrug off ceros as if they were snowballs. She didn't want to find out the hard way how much someone's hierro could withstand against those claws. Even protect wouldn't withstand as much as this thing would be able to put in, but it could be the difference between Nel having to cure people, and Nel having to use reviving spells to keep people on their feet.

Even Halibel was barely denting it. They'd be fighting until morning just to tire it enough to start actually hurting it, and by then, how weak would they all be feeling?

Gin watched, eyes narrowed.

The dragon was far more difficult than even he had anticipated. It was perfectly designed to ward off blasts and protect itself against sharp objects piercing its skin. He'd heard tales of old wyrms like this one, wandering the wilds, still with the weapons of fallen foes sticking out from their hides.

Would Shinsō do any good? Probably. Probably. The uncertainty was new and thrilling, but not entirely useful. He was sure he'd be able to appreciate it more after the fact. The wyrm wasn't a Hollow, it was a monster, and one much older and wiser than he was. He couldn't be sure that Shinsō's strike would pierce the skin and the longer it got, the more brittle it could become. He could Bankai, he could nearly guarantee taking it out if he did that, but was it worth it?

He stayed where he was, watching the monster weather the high-powered attacks of some of the other eldritch abominations in attendance, wondering if he, like Kadaj, should go and do something more useful. Aizen would be able to deal with it, without Bankai, he'd wager, and he'd look so very heroic doing it, but this was Kuja's mistake, Kuja's doing...

He cocked his head to one side, wondering how it would play out if he chose not to interfere.

Grimmjow's pointed, feline ears flattened against his head as his tail swished from side to side in a display of agitation. He gritted his teeth, refusing to accept the futility in continuing the fight.

The bastard probably outdated the building of the Desert Palace, let alone its fall beneath the ground. The fucker was old, crazy old, it had to be to be wearing that collar and Kuja, it had to have been Kuja, had bound it and pissed it off. It could have walked away after finding itself free, but no, that girly dipshit had annoyed it so much it wanted a taste of them before it disappeared into the wild.

He concentrated his chakra, the claws on his feet gripping the rock beneath them. Blaster wasn't his favourite ability, but it had the capacity to inflict status ailments, if it hit, if it could get through the thing's armour.

It was worth a shot.

While he had decided not to participate directly in the battle, (well, there were rather a lot of brawny, combat-happy lunatics in the vicinity just now) Even knew that he could be of more help than just adding his defensive capabilities when the thing decided that burning everything was the order of the day.

As such, he stepped forward, into the throat proper, and concentrated his magic. The distance made the manoeuvre difficult, but if he could pull it off, it would give the thing pause. Assuming it had a largely undefended underside, anyway. Monsters, as a general rule, had softer, squishier underbellies, though this one was old enough to have developed some defence there too, he didn't doubt.

It was worth having a go. There was really nothing to lose if it just smashed through, considered it a mild annoyance, or melted them. There was no reason not to try, he decided. The only problem was doing it without hitting the others. That could be difficult.

With the flick of a wrist, when the others were largely out of the way, defending or otherwise charging their own attacks, Even bent to press a palm to the wet floor and sent a spire of Ice up underneath the wyrm.

Marluxia raised an eyebrow at Vexen's move forwards. Walking towards the fight wasn't the behaviour of the Vexen he knew. Getting involved, and playing as a team, wasn't the behaviour of the Vexen he knew.

He watched Vexen's little display without twitching another muscle. He knew Vexen had grown friendly with Neliel on their journey to the Palace, and he'd travelled with Grimmjow's little cadre when he was collecting equipment, but he hadn't anticipated this.

He glanced in Zexion's direction, briefly, to see if he had any thoughts on the move written across his face.

Nel recognised the surge of reiatsu, and the pillar of ice that flew up under the wyrm. She gave Even a briefly appreciative smile for his trouble, and took the opportunity to cast some debuffs on the wyrm.

At this point, every little bit they could do to weaken it helped.

They were redoubling their attacks. He snarled, paw aching like a bruise where it had been hit repeatedly with water. He snaped his jaws at the culprit again, turning in a wide arc to swipe an angry rake at every single little creature that had dared venture out of their hole.

He crouched to inhale again and build up the fire once more, but then the floor exploded under his belly making him howl with pain, and surprise, and rage.

The attack that landed afterwards didn't help. A cat's ability, he knew. One that could blind, and worse, and then it was followed by more attacks that were designed to weaken, not to hurt.

He was too big and too old for them to work on him, too big, and too strong. At least for now. He snarled and attacked, pounding his claws in mighty swipes down at those responsible. The cat first.

Ulquiorra watched their enemy grow enraged, and swipe at Grimmjow. Those claws were dangerous. Even his ow hierro would be no match for it, and while Ulquiorra sacrificed raw strength for regenerative ability, he'd prefer not to rely upon it.

This was a war of attrition. Each was trying to wear the other down, but by their nature, he and the other Arrancar were more fragile than their enemy.

He drew his sword. If it attacked with its current ferocity, he risked being injured if he relied upon his hierro alone to hold off the damage.

That was an uncomfortable realisation.

Halibel glanced towards Nel, and the Ryoka that had chosen to join the fight. She knew Nel approved of him already, and she could see why.

The wyrm was attacking in anger, its attacks more powerful as a result, but also less considered. Did she have the space to use Cascada without enveloping one of the other Arrancar in the wave? Perhaps. If she adjusted the angle of her attack.

The Ryoka had provided her with enough water to do exactly that.

She pointed her weapon at the ice that crumbled and splintered and glittered, and took control of it, melting it into water, and gathering it around herself.

Ienzo's surprise was rather more obvious than Marluxia's.

Even was a coward. He was fully able to win a fight when it came to combative magic, but he was a coward and, for as long as he'd known him, he seldom put himself in a position where he fought if he didn't have to. Did he have to? Could they win without him?

His analysis of the battle said no. He was concerned about their ability to win even with him. Not all of the Arrancar had taken advantage of their powered up forms, so they had that to fall back on, and Lumi and Marluxia were both obscenely powerful, if he reckoned correctly. Gin also hadn't lifted a finger.

They could win, they could probably win, but they would have to wear the monster down, and how long could that take?

Forvalaka paced, tail lashing as Grimmjow's had done. He sensed the Coeurl outside, though he knew it to be a Hollow in the form of one. Or, more correctly, a hume using the power of a Hollow in the form of one.

The licensed species considered animal-form fiends to be the collected souls of the anguished dead, coagulated into one being in the form of an animal. Wonderweiss had told him that. He had told Wonderweiss that the animals had a different story, one of possession. They had their own tales of horror where the souls of the dead were concerned.

He growled low, but his annoyance eased somewhat when Wonderweiss stroked his fur.

"Can they win?" He asked, frowning.

Forvalaka could feel his eyes on the back of his head. His ears twitched, turning to the sound of his master's voice. He thought about it, about what their opponent was and what they were. It was difficult to say, even when he looked at it with all of his senses and his wisdom. Fiends, old and vicious, versus an ancient, intensely powerful animal. Under ordinary circumstances, he knew who he would back, who he would want to win, but these circumstances were far from ordinary, and his wants didn't come into it. The Arrancar were powerful, but they were limited by human forms. The dragon was limited by nothing but its vast, vast reserves of Chakra.

Possibly, he replied, stopping in front of the doorway and peering through with bright, burning eyes. It depends how the Wyrm uses his power.

Edited 2016-07-04 00:56 (UTC)

Lumi looked on, senses tuned to the fight that he could barely see beyond the hallway. He didn't need to see it, not really. The scents and sounds and Chakra was enough, even without the visuals.

They were struggling. They were unleashing attacks that would have seriously injured another monster of similar size and Chakra levels and it was shrugging them off because of its defences, only going more powerful and more angry with every strike it weathered.

"They won't win," he said, voice soft, and low, and only for Marluxia's ears.

Grimmjow leapt the attack, shooting upwards and backwards, using his Chakra to gain height.

The Wyrm was getting pissed off and if that thing hit him, he was fucked. He stayed back, on his toes, preparing to move to avoid another attack if it came his way.

Blaster had done little to hurt it, if anything.

Stark surveyed the fight. The blasts, the ceros, the Ryoka ... he was surprised at the magnitude of his attack. He had expected them to be powerful, but that went beyond his expectations, especially because he'd heard he was the nerdy one, or something. He also doubted, for some odd reason, that it as all he was capable of.

He shrugged, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

This wasn't going well.

The Wyrm was brushing too much off, gaining too much ground. Even Grimmjow was playing the avoidance game rather than enjoying the fight. Nnoitra, he saw, had gone on the defensive. He had been concerned that he'd wade in, like a total idiot, and try smacking it. Apparently not.

If this carried on, even he was going to have to release. That wouldn't be fun for the rest of them, not when half of the ones in the palace hall were gasping from the dragon's reiatsu.

Damn it.

He held out a hand and fired a small volley of Ceros, aiming to hold it back while Halibel charged her attack. No point standing idle, much as he'd like to.

Yylfordt looked worried, openly worried, as he stood slightly in front of Apache and Tayuya with wide eyes and his teeth bared with his frown.

"Vilg, drao'na clnafat," he muttered. Ulquiorra had drawn his sword, Grimmjow was playing dodgems, even Stark was getting actively involved. Halibel was hitting the thing with some of her best moves, and all it seemed to be achieving was pissing it off. "Drao ghuf drao'na clnafat."

He felt like he was having to watch his friends fight for their lives, and slowly lose, which was fairly apt. He looked around. Kadaj had done one, and Yylfordt didn't know where, but it was probably a good thing or he'd be flipping his lid any minute and running out there to help.

That was the worst thing. They couldn't help. He could release to his full power, and he'd still have to crawl out of the door.

They wouldn't beat him. They couldn't. Strong as these little creatures were, they were still little creatures, and while there was something of the dead about them, it wasn't enough. Oh, some of the vengeful spirits in them were old, yes, and mean, but they were not a match to his strength, and his endurance.

They couldn't endure. Not as long as he could.

He bellowed, and swiped with his claws, snapping his jaws at the one that jumped out of the way, swiping viciously at the others that stood around. He turned and thrashed his tail at them, the weight of it able to deliver a more powerful blow than even his claws.

Ulquiorra defended against a strike with his sword and his arm, his feet sliding on the ground with the power the wyrm put into the attack. They were not equal to this, not in their current state.

Halibel wasn't equal to this in her current state, which meant that Ulquiorra's Resurrección would fare no better. Winged as it was, it would provide no advantage against an enemy of this strength, and this degree of defence.

Segunda Etapa?

He could not trust the Hollow with that ability, and he did not trust those present with knowledge of it. He had not yet explained its existence to Aizen-sama, and his use of it was not at his own behest.

Do you wish to use it? A sibilant voice in his head asked, as he deflected the force from the wyrm's attack at last and moved clear. The Hollow listened, inevitably, and saw an opportunity.

I do not trust you, he answered, in the confines of his own head, the sound of lapping waves against an invisible shore echoing in his ears, although that sound came from the same place as the hissing voice.

His answer was a laugh, and nothing more.

The water Halibel had gathered surged up around her, threatening to break like a tidal wave. The others were clear, and should not be hit.

"Cascada!" She cried, throwing her power into the water and sending it forwards, crashing into, and under, and over, and around the wyrm.

It dragged it back with the force of the attack, and for a moment the wyrm seemed stunned.

The echoes of Halibel's attack died away, and Szayel stared at the doorway.

"They can't win," he said, declaring it matter of factly, but with a hint of dull surprise in his voice. "They're going to run out of chakra before they put a dent in that wyrm's armour."

He pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers and pursed his lips. "Even Stark," he said, "his release will incapacitate half the Arrancar fighting, but he'll still wear out faster than it will. Pity," he added, "I'd have liked a sample from it."

Ienzo heard Szayel's voice, even over the roaring and crashing and sounds of battle from outside the doors. He stiffened where he stood, goosebumps breaking out across his arms.

"So what happens?" He asked, voice less calm than he would have liked. "What do they do now?"

Ulquiorra was out there. He and others, some stronger than him, some less, Even and Nel included. Ulquiorra was Elementally superior to it, but that didn't matter much. Not when it could outlast and crush things smaller than itself with a whole array of well-armoured body parts.

Gin looked to Szayel, surprised to see such a blunt admission of their impending failure. His eyes, pale blue, even opened for the occasion.

He looked around at the others, watching for their reactions. Apache didn't move, but he was relatively sure she couldn't. It was taking every ounce of her resolve not to sink to her knees under the pressure of the wyrm's considerable reiatsu.

Nnoitra watched Halibel's attack hit, his teeth gritted.

This thing was harder than he was and for him, somebody who prided himself above all else in his defensive capabilities, that was something he didn't admit often. He narrowed his eye, gripping his scythe-spears tightly enough to hurt even his hands, and looked to Stark.

"This thing ain't going down," he said, when the roar of water from Halibel's Cascada softened to a hiss.

The Wyrm had it all. Strength, endurance, size, vast reserves of chakra and experience. It was the kind of monster that had tales written about its ancient strength, the sort with daring heroes and tragic endings.

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