Shikaze
May 4, 2012 13:19:28 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on May 4, 2012 13:19:28 GMT -8
Profile Information
Name: Shikaze
Alias: Sylph
Gender: Male
Age: 15
Faction: Hollow
Rank: Hollow
Reiatsu Color: Gray; on the verge of black, beyond that of white
Reiatsu Aura: A strange feeling of odd light-hearted yet empty joy; as if you are dancing along a high-wire with no net below. The strange feeling is akin to near-death experiences; being at the door of death, yet, at the same time, clinging to hope that he will not answer. This disturbing feeling as if you are going to die, and perhaps, you will not, yet it all rides on a single coin toss or roll of the dice.
Appearance: A gargoyle like skeleton but with no wings, and of great size though rather skinny and lean. His entire body seems covered in bone white skin, like a second set of bones. Each hand supports wicked claws on his fingers, and his feet are like that of a birds; three front toes, and one back talon. His mask is a wicked picture of rage with sharp fangs being bared in hatred and fury. Small little nubs are attached to his shoulders, almost like little stubs where wings might be. He also seems to have spikes going out of his rather curved back, and also his elbows with rather wicked spikes. His arms are seemingly longer than his legs, which are usually in position to push him into a leap, or allowing him to walk in a hunched over manner. Disturbingly more so, his eyes remain amethyst, but of a sickly color, and his mask appears like the face of a demonic skeleton in fury.
At his shoulders, he has wicked spikes further extending from his bone like armor. The markings of a large face are upon his armor and back, and he possess sickly silver hair, almost transparent, seeming to mold into his white skeleton armor. (Will add a picture sometime later)
Personality: Befitting a Menos, and along with his hunger, he has a desire for vengeance, knowing who he must find, but being unable to do so. However, whenever part of his mask is cracked, he experiences flash of a dark witch laughing as he is tortured, and the mask quickly reforms though not in time to quell his rage. He also desires the comfort of his caretaker, seeking protection and comfort. Aside from his vengeance, he is a strange Menos, seeking solitude, and desiring only to rip apart the face that tormented and taunted him.
Though when is provoked, he is akin to a demon, silent with a fury beyond that of a normal Menos, with a hunger that he does not curb when fighting his own kind. The flesh only of his own kind is what he seeks, the souls of those who are dark and twisted, those that have tortured others like he was tortured. More importantly though, he seems to seek something, someone, he must destroy. The best way to describe him overall is a tortured yet vengeful soul when he is not on the hunt, trying to search for the memory of something precious to him. Any information that can help him is sought with disturbing focus, and shows rage in his eyes in battle, though not in his actions.
History: Before he became the demon and monstrosity of a Hollow, Shikaze was once known as Sylph. It was this life before that of a Hollow, that his unusual bones originated from, and his hatred for a single human being was birthed. From a single tragedy, he became a demon who desires nothing more to slay the one who took his life.
Young Sylph was born to a kind family, however, life was soon twisted sickly towards the small child, upon discovery of his right arm, a cursed arm. Instead of flesh and muscle, there was only bone, lined with a strange and disgusting tissue of some sort. His mother and father stared in horror and disgust at the child that had been born, and without a word, they placed him on the bed and left the hospital. Whether it was out of shame or disgust, only the doctor knows, and the young man frowned, taking pity on the small helpless child, crying for the mother that had abandoned him.
Time slowly passed, and the young boy was kept hidden in his adopted father's house hold. It was difficult for the young boy, gifted with the ability to see the dead, the ghosts and spirits around the cemetery. The gift was also cursed, as it seemed to come at the price of his skeleton limb, and the curse of his odd features. Pale amethyst eyes, and sickly white hair, as if touched by death upon his birth. His actual gift came in a surprisingly unusual ability to weave his own spiritual energy; a gift that allowed him to weave strands around his arm in order to move it. The realization of his ability came as a child, struggling to try and move his arm when he formed a large sort of sleeve over his skeleton arm. From there, he learned how to make focused strands in order to properly and skillfully manipulate his arm.
Life for the young and innocent boy was difficult, he had to keep his arm hidden behind heavy bandages and wrappings. Even when he went to the temples for praying with his father as was his father's religion, he kept his eyes to the ground, stayed close to his caretaker and kept silent. There was no desire for him to go outside and play, the children were fearful of his bandages, his strange appearance, and of course, the rumors that he was cursed and carried death with him. Rumors that his adopted father suspected came from one of his own staff, though he did not say that it was possibly also his natural father. It was not false though as his arm was barely able to move without his own reiatsu strands to guide it. But despite the rumors of a curse and the torment, the gentle soul wished nothing more than to help those like him. And so he began to study under his father as a doctor, an apprentice, slowly learning over the years to stitch up someone, apply bandages and herbal medicine, and even treat poison.
The weeks and months turned into years, and Sylph was soon a youth on the cusp of adulthood, naught but a few years from the age of a young man. He had grown slowly, but surely, and despite his curse and features, he had obtained a youthful sort of handsomeness to his face. The face of a boy, a gentle and pure twinkle in his eye, and of course, snow white hair with pale soft skin. His father of course was uneasy about his son going out into the public now, keeping a careful eye on him when he could.
Finally though, he deemed his son fit enough to defend himself with his unique gift of his combined with his skeleton arm only if necessary, and went to his office at home. Sylph quietly made his way to the square, to purchase some food for the night. The poor young soul had no idea the tragedy he was to star in, as a young, tall woman accidentally bumped into him.
Startled, Sylph dropped his bag, and scrambled to pick up the food before it got too dirty. He could not get out his apologies fast enough, and neither could the woman to his confusion and worry. It was only natural that the gentle spirit worry over another, unaware of the danger as he inquired about the woman. She quickly and painfully explained that she needed a doctor, but could not afford the money. As she explained her story to the young boy, his heart went out to the woman, and he quietly offered his services as an apprentice. To his surprise once more, she did not seem to worried in accepting his services. However, she gave him directions hoping that he would be able to lead her home.
It was a curious request, but he did not hesitate to oblige and quietly followed her instructions and directions. He was unaware of her unhealthy gaze upon him, or of the danger that he was leading himself into. All that Sylph knew was he was taking his patient to her home, unaware of her intentions as she slipped a lily bulb into his pocket.
As he lead her to her house, he began to feel something unsettling about her. Something familiar, something that he had overlook as he quietly looked out from underneath his hood and paused. Sylph looked at her and then asked to see her wound, as soon as they entered the house. The woman uneasily winced at the mention of the injury, and the boy quickly changed subjects; inquiring for something to drink. He was beginning to feel strangely weak all of a sudden, and he didn't understand why. The woman showed concern, and offered her couch for him to rest upon.
He was too weak to argue, or realize his fate was now sealed, the bulb of the lily having taken root now and sucked away at his reiatsu. Sylph's life changed that very night, awakening to find himself exposed, his skeleton curse visible with his arms chained up, and the odd grin of the kind woman, almost in a motherly way. Confusion set in as she inquired after his arm, but he adamantly refused to answer her. It was then that she suddenly screamed at him violently, and a wicked whip tore across his chest sending waves of pain sparking through his chest.
Sylph had been pushed down before and punched even, but never whipped. The pain erupted again as she continued screaming before inquiring after his arm. Once more he defied her, and the whip cut another fresh red line across his chest. The poor boy caved in after a third round of lashes, telling her that the arm was his curse. He braced himself for another round of whippings, only for a gentle hand to pat his snow white hair. Teary eyes opened up to look at the woman in confusion as she kissed his forehead just like a mother. She even caressed his cheek before walking up to her room, leaving the poor boy to sleep standing up in the cold. It was only briefly after he had fallen asleep that she had took a bit of time to bandage his wounds and clean them, pausing to lick the blood off her fingers.
The next day was no better than the last night, though far stranger, waking up to a soft cooing. He opened his eyes, only to find himself face to face with the woman who held a slight look of concern. Only after he winced and answered her question about his health did it leave, and he dared to ask her name. She gave none, but gave him one, bone-boy, and happily patted his head for behaving himself and not trying to escape. Then and only then did he notice the bandages over his chest, covering the wounds, and that they were fresh obviously.
It was only the first of many confusing days, and painful ones as well. Sylph's defiance to her questions earned him nothing but pain with disturbing motherly reproaching, and so, the shy boy became quite vocal and stopped holding back his answers. But it wasn't just when he obeyed her, no, then she would play with his wounds and "reward him" with a collar in the form of her whip, gently letting it "caress" his neck to let blood drip from numerous scratches. Yet it was painfully and bloody for the poor child, forced to endure torture regardless of his answer. All the while, her motherly concern as she patted his head and cooed wickedly as she watched him scream and cry in pain, begging for his life. She did not kill him outright, instead, stopping only just enough to let him struggle and hang onto dear life. Her eyes would light up in utter joy at the sight of the poor boy crying out for his father with blood pooling around his neck and dripping down his chest. Once the blood had dried a little, and he was nothing but a whimpering and crying child, she smiled and walked over to him.
He looked up through painful tears at her, as she smiled, only to suddenly lean over and touch his wound, digging her nail into the cuts. Sylph let out a low long whimper, before she brought the finger up to her mouth, and licked it clean of blood. His pain soon became horror as well as she began to lick and touch his wounds, playing with them, even scratching his neck just a little. She seemed to savor every last moment of pain she heard and watched, enjoying how he squirmed underneath her touch and wrath. Of course, she was sadistic, and intelligent; she made sure to wrap up his wounds after she licked them clean happily. Her little victim needed his time to heal of course, though she still visited him, if only to prod and poke just the right wounds to see if they were still healing. And in addition, to change out the bandages, and tell him to get plenty of rest so he could be ready to scream for her once more once he healed.
Then, once she seemed to be full off his pain, and grinned happily, she patted her bloody toy on the head, before warning him not to die on her in the night, or else she would eat his soul. The boy stared in horror before weeping long into the night, not the first or the last, of many nights he would cry himself to sleep. Each day brought new and fresh terrors, new tortures and sickening pains to him. From having his arm flayed lightly after sharp cuts, to sharper bites upon his skeleton arm, and even tearing at the odd fleshy muscle that kept it together and in place. There was no blood that flowed from him that the woman did not savor nor did she ignore. He could not have a moment of peace for too long and reprieve from the mad witch's hell between days he would be allowed rest in order to heal up just enough. It was torture and confusion for him, for her to inflict all manner of pain, from covering him in thorns to carefully binding him with wicked ivy that made him scratch until he bleed and had to be restrained. Then, to bandage his wounds with surprising skill and let him heal up, even changing his bandages after cleaning his wounds.
And worse yet, all the while, she continued her sick motherly composure as she caressed his cheek while he writhed in pain. When he asked her if she would let him go someday, she assured him that once she had enough of his cries of agony and pleadings, that she would let him go free. It was all he had that allowed him to somehow stay alive despite the hellish torture, even being caressed with her whip from his chest up to his neck, covering him in painful scratches. And a sudden protest earned him a sharp strike of her whip, and then, she would take a small knife, and peel back a small layer of skin from his chest before happily cutting it off, causing him to scream in absolute pain.
As the days formed two weeks, the torture grew wickeder and longer, until he often passed out from the loss of blood. When he awoke, she would be right in front of him, her eyes on his as she licked away at the blood and disturbingly kissed his wounds before she finished bandaging them back up. It was enough to make him stare in wide-eyed shock and horror before she smiled wickedly, and he shook like a leaf horribly. The woman had him in the palm of her hand, Sylph was nothing but a toy to her to do as she saw fit. He began to lose himself, crying out in pain when she tortured him, and crying for his father late into the night until he fell asleep in his own tears. There was of course, the rare moment she washed his wounds instead of licking them, giving him an hour to recover, before she smacked him for a single comment that angered her, and vowed to tear into his hide once he had healed.
One day, as she was playing with the newest set of wounds; a wicked drawing of a beautiful rose etched into his pale skin with her own very whip, she gave him a single order. His poor mind had only enough sense to register it and then try to make sense of it. The woman's request was that he call her mother, and he tried to make sense of what he was to do. His hesitancy did not go unnoticed, as she grabbed a chunk of his hair, and pulled his head up so his eyes were looking at hers and his hair threatened to be ripped out by the roots in a bloody mass.
Amethyst eyes full of fear, pain, and confusion, stared up into dark auburn eyes filled with demanding anger and anticipation. If he didn't answer soon, as she tugged again, demanding his answer now, she would no doubt tear the rose out of his very chest. The near-broken boy screamed in pain, his words echoing in her ears with strange satisfaction. "No more mother, please stop hurting me mother!"
With his reply in her mind, she released his head, and slowly licked only around his wound, letting the blood fill the rose wound once. Then she finished cleaning and wrapping him up and grinned slowly patting him gently while whispering how good of a job he did so far, though her eyes showed something else. He was too exhausted and weak to tell, his eyes slowly closing as she left him there to cry himself to sleep once more, barely standing in rags of his clothes.
Days slowly passed as he stood there, chained to the wall, bloody and dried bandages wrapped snuggly over his wounds. The poor young Sylph was too exhausted and weak to wonder why she had yet to continue her torture of him. His wounds were healing up, and near finished, yet, she had interacted him very little in that time beyond simply checking on his bandages and replacing them. She did lick his wounds clean yes, but he didn't notice the dull look in her eyes. The flicker of boredom, the lack of interest in how he was doing.
Finally, she opened the door, and he weakly looked up at her. He asked if she was going to let him go, assuming that she had finally satisfied her appetite. Yet, as she walked over to him, he saw no motherly smile on her face or comforting look in her eyes. Confused, he inquired if she was going to change his bandages, only for her to simply sigh and pout. And then, the dreaded words came from her lips, lips that had touched his wounds and let his blood pass across.
She bluntly informed him that she had grown bored of him, and that as far as she was concerned, he'd be far more interesting dead. At least then, she could see if he still had his skeleton arm when he was a spirit. The words shook the poor boy to his core, further shaken when she informed him that she had no intention of letting him return to his father alive. As a spirit, there was only herself that could see him, and therefore, far more enjoyable as a victim. And with a casual hum, she walked up to the poor broken boy, and slipped out a simple knife, delivering the final strike to his neck, cutting it open wide.
Her words had finally broken the gentle and tortured soul, and his head slump as tears began to cascade down his cheeks to mingle with his blood from his throat. All the pain he had endured, the orders he had obeyed, everything had been for naught but her amusement. She had enjoyed every moment of his pain until she grew bored of it, and decided he might as well just cross over and die. That night as she waited contently for his spirit to depart from a dead body as soon as he finished bleeding. The last words he ever heard was the whining of the woman, ordering him to get a move on and die already. Reluctantly he had no say in the matter, as his heart stopped beating unable to pump out enough blood and the last words on his lips came out. A final plea for his father to come rescue him from the woman he should have never met.
The birth of Shikaze
Sylph awoke for the first time, fully aware this time of the deep and painful tugging, as if a hole was being ripped out of his chest. He looked up, only to find the woman tugging on a long noticeable chain that stretched towards her. To his horror, she grinned rather darkly, and his eyes moved form her to his body, at which point he noticed the sudden lack of a skeleton arm, and that his fingers had been eaten off. His chain sported various forms of damage, many of the chain links appearing to have been eaten up by some corrosive chemical. It seemed that the woman was not yet done with torture the poor innocent soul as she jerked and tugged with all her might. His depression was heavy, as well as his anger and despair, having thought that in death he could have escaped her.
He immediately shouted and protested, only for the woman to give a sharp tug on his chain, eliciting a sharp scream to rip out of his throat. The pain in his chest where the chain was connected to him was beginning to grow as she swiftly pulled him closer to her, link by link, until she was looking down at him. Was it not enough that she had tortured him to no end except to heal and recover while he was living? It seemed not as she grinned and continued munching, before turning and grinning madly at him. Sylph's chest felt heavy as she placed her foot upon his spirit, and before he could push her away in vain she viciously tugged and pulled on the chain while pushing him down. The sharp pain quickly increased as she continued to jerk and tug, cursing as he tried to push her off, only assisting her in her endeavor. As she continued to tug and pull with all her might and push him down as he tried to push her off, the pain began to grow until he started to scream, unable to handle it and push back at the same time.
Suddenly though, as the pain fried his senses, the sounds of loud shouts could heard heavily outside, and the woman hissed sharply. Everything became a blur as she departed quickly and released his chain, angry that she could not finish her meal and that she had been found. As for Sylph, his chain seemed to work while the woman was going, pulling and tugging away at his chest as if to rip a chunk out of it. He screamed and yelled in pain all the while the chain continued the woman's job; pulling a hole out of his chest faster. The woman quickly returned, grinning as the shouts diminished a little, and went back to her work of trying to rip off poor Sylph's chain. She even used her whip to wrap around the chain to help pull it off and also tear it up in the process. The aggravation to his hole and chain was already accelerating the process he was going through; hollowification.
The shouts grew louder and the tugging grew sharper, until he felt his chest give way to the chain and the continued pull, and he heard a rather sickening rip. It felt as if every fiber of his body was filled with explosives, and then, suddenly, the woman appeared briefly, to glance at the pain dancing across his face and the chunk of flesh ripped out of his chest to form a hole. Once again, her words were the last thing the human once known as Sylph heard before his being seemed to explode as the torn and battered chain faded away. The words would continue to echo in his ears as she left the room and out the back door, giggling madly.
"See you around Hollow-chan!"
There was nothing as his being exploded, and he knew nothing. And then, there was another explosion, as a new being slammed into the earth forming a creator, right where he first had met the woman who led to his death. A dark being; a demon with a white liquid escaping his mouth and turning into a mask over his face and covered in a bone like extensions over his entire body, like a second skin. Briefly, one could make out a glimpse of the amethyst eyes of the gentle and unfortunate son who was adopted by a doctor. Only briefly, before they were replaced by a sudden darker version full of rage and anger. The woman would pay, thought the being that was once called Sylph, and he would ensure she would die for what she had done. With a loud roar, like the moan of a man from beyond the grave, the tall figure rose up and glared off into the distance, spotting another demon like himself, but with large fangs and wicked claws.
The poor Hollow was doomed to have tried to think that this new Hollow born of a innocent soul would be an easy meal. It would regret the decision to try and pounce, only for a single fist to be pulled back, and slammed into it's face. That night on the wind, a new life, a dark life was born with the blood of a fallen Menos. A being that would seek vengeance on the one who had caused him so much pain in his past life, that had killed him. Sylph had died, and Shikaze was born in his place, to seek vengeance on the red haired woman.
Days passed shortly after his death as a human and rebirth as a Hollow, during which he discovered rather odd and unique powers he had. It was clear that his spiritual awareness as a child and a human had given birth to new powers as a Hollow. Over the span of weeks turning into months, he learned of the three powers he had obtained. And with the three powers, Shikaze began his hunt for further power, power that he needed in order to destroy the woman who had taken him from all that he knew and taken his life.
Present
After winding up in the world of Hollows, Hueco Mundo, Shikaze has found himself in need of a journey. His encounters with fellow Hollows and now Arrancar and a Ninfa have revealed a dire problem with his plan to obtain power; his memories. In his mind, to bring back that which he lost, that which is fractured and missing, Shikaze aims to isolate himself from his fellow Hollows, and piece together his memories.
Only the creator of existence knows if he will succeed, or die trying.
Name: Shikaze
Alias: Sylph
Gender: Male
Age: 15
Faction: Hollow
Rank: Hollow
Reiatsu Color: Gray; on the verge of black, beyond that of white
Reiatsu Aura: A strange feeling of odd light-hearted yet empty joy; as if you are dancing along a high-wire with no net below. The strange feeling is akin to near-death experiences; being at the door of death, yet, at the same time, clinging to hope that he will not answer. This disturbing feeling as if you are going to die, and perhaps, you will not, yet it all rides on a single coin toss or roll of the dice.
Appearance: A gargoyle like skeleton but with no wings, and of great size though rather skinny and lean. His entire body seems covered in bone white skin, like a second set of bones. Each hand supports wicked claws on his fingers, and his feet are like that of a birds; three front toes, and one back talon. His mask is a wicked picture of rage with sharp fangs being bared in hatred and fury. Small little nubs are attached to his shoulders, almost like little stubs where wings might be. He also seems to have spikes going out of his rather curved back, and also his elbows with rather wicked spikes. His arms are seemingly longer than his legs, which are usually in position to push him into a leap, or allowing him to walk in a hunched over manner. Disturbingly more so, his eyes remain amethyst, but of a sickly color, and his mask appears like the face of a demonic skeleton in fury.
At his shoulders, he has wicked spikes further extending from his bone like armor. The markings of a large face are upon his armor and back, and he possess sickly silver hair, almost transparent, seeming to mold into his white skeleton armor. (Will add a picture sometime later)
Personality: Befitting a Menos, and along with his hunger, he has a desire for vengeance, knowing who he must find, but being unable to do so. However, whenever part of his mask is cracked, he experiences flash of a dark witch laughing as he is tortured, and the mask quickly reforms though not in time to quell his rage. He also desires the comfort of his caretaker, seeking protection and comfort. Aside from his vengeance, he is a strange Menos, seeking solitude, and desiring only to rip apart the face that tormented and taunted him.
Though when is provoked, he is akin to a demon, silent with a fury beyond that of a normal Menos, with a hunger that he does not curb when fighting his own kind. The flesh only of his own kind is what he seeks, the souls of those who are dark and twisted, those that have tortured others like he was tortured. More importantly though, he seems to seek something, someone, he must destroy. The best way to describe him overall is a tortured yet vengeful soul when he is not on the hunt, trying to search for the memory of something precious to him. Any information that can help him is sought with disturbing focus, and shows rage in his eyes in battle, though not in his actions.
History: Before he became the demon and monstrosity of a Hollow, Shikaze was once known as Sylph. It was this life before that of a Hollow, that his unusual bones originated from, and his hatred for a single human being was birthed. From a single tragedy, he became a demon who desires nothing more to slay the one who took his life.
Young Sylph was born to a kind family, however, life was soon twisted sickly towards the small child, upon discovery of his right arm, a cursed arm. Instead of flesh and muscle, there was only bone, lined with a strange and disgusting tissue of some sort. His mother and father stared in horror and disgust at the child that had been born, and without a word, they placed him on the bed and left the hospital. Whether it was out of shame or disgust, only the doctor knows, and the young man frowned, taking pity on the small helpless child, crying for the mother that had abandoned him.
Time slowly passed, and the young boy was kept hidden in his adopted father's house hold. It was difficult for the young boy, gifted with the ability to see the dead, the ghosts and spirits around the cemetery. The gift was also cursed, as it seemed to come at the price of his skeleton limb, and the curse of his odd features. Pale amethyst eyes, and sickly white hair, as if touched by death upon his birth. His actual gift came in a surprisingly unusual ability to weave his own spiritual energy; a gift that allowed him to weave strands around his arm in order to move it. The realization of his ability came as a child, struggling to try and move his arm when he formed a large sort of sleeve over his skeleton arm. From there, he learned how to make focused strands in order to properly and skillfully manipulate his arm.
Life for the young and innocent boy was difficult, he had to keep his arm hidden behind heavy bandages and wrappings. Even when he went to the temples for praying with his father as was his father's religion, he kept his eyes to the ground, stayed close to his caretaker and kept silent. There was no desire for him to go outside and play, the children were fearful of his bandages, his strange appearance, and of course, the rumors that he was cursed and carried death with him. Rumors that his adopted father suspected came from one of his own staff, though he did not say that it was possibly also his natural father. It was not false though as his arm was barely able to move without his own reiatsu strands to guide it. But despite the rumors of a curse and the torment, the gentle soul wished nothing more than to help those like him. And so he began to study under his father as a doctor, an apprentice, slowly learning over the years to stitch up someone, apply bandages and herbal medicine, and even treat poison.
The weeks and months turned into years, and Sylph was soon a youth on the cusp of adulthood, naught but a few years from the age of a young man. He had grown slowly, but surely, and despite his curse and features, he had obtained a youthful sort of handsomeness to his face. The face of a boy, a gentle and pure twinkle in his eye, and of course, snow white hair with pale soft skin. His father of course was uneasy about his son going out into the public now, keeping a careful eye on him when he could.
Finally though, he deemed his son fit enough to defend himself with his unique gift of his combined with his skeleton arm only if necessary, and went to his office at home. Sylph quietly made his way to the square, to purchase some food for the night. The poor young soul had no idea the tragedy he was to star in, as a young, tall woman accidentally bumped into him.
Startled, Sylph dropped his bag, and scrambled to pick up the food before it got too dirty. He could not get out his apologies fast enough, and neither could the woman to his confusion and worry. It was only natural that the gentle spirit worry over another, unaware of the danger as he inquired about the woman. She quickly and painfully explained that she needed a doctor, but could not afford the money. As she explained her story to the young boy, his heart went out to the woman, and he quietly offered his services as an apprentice. To his surprise once more, she did not seem to worried in accepting his services. However, she gave him directions hoping that he would be able to lead her home.
It was a curious request, but he did not hesitate to oblige and quietly followed her instructions and directions. He was unaware of her unhealthy gaze upon him, or of the danger that he was leading himself into. All that Sylph knew was he was taking his patient to her home, unaware of her intentions as she slipped a lily bulb into his pocket.
As he lead her to her house, he began to feel something unsettling about her. Something familiar, something that he had overlook as he quietly looked out from underneath his hood and paused. Sylph looked at her and then asked to see her wound, as soon as they entered the house. The woman uneasily winced at the mention of the injury, and the boy quickly changed subjects; inquiring for something to drink. He was beginning to feel strangely weak all of a sudden, and he didn't understand why. The woman showed concern, and offered her couch for him to rest upon.
He was too weak to argue, or realize his fate was now sealed, the bulb of the lily having taken root now and sucked away at his reiatsu. Sylph's life changed that very night, awakening to find himself exposed, his skeleton curse visible with his arms chained up, and the odd grin of the kind woman, almost in a motherly way. Confusion set in as she inquired after his arm, but he adamantly refused to answer her. It was then that she suddenly screamed at him violently, and a wicked whip tore across his chest sending waves of pain sparking through his chest.
Sylph had been pushed down before and punched even, but never whipped. The pain erupted again as she continued screaming before inquiring after his arm. Once more he defied her, and the whip cut another fresh red line across his chest. The poor boy caved in after a third round of lashes, telling her that the arm was his curse. He braced himself for another round of whippings, only for a gentle hand to pat his snow white hair. Teary eyes opened up to look at the woman in confusion as she kissed his forehead just like a mother. She even caressed his cheek before walking up to her room, leaving the poor boy to sleep standing up in the cold. It was only briefly after he had fallen asleep that she had took a bit of time to bandage his wounds and clean them, pausing to lick the blood off her fingers.
The next day was no better than the last night, though far stranger, waking up to a soft cooing. He opened his eyes, only to find himself face to face with the woman who held a slight look of concern. Only after he winced and answered her question about his health did it leave, and he dared to ask her name. She gave none, but gave him one, bone-boy, and happily patted his head for behaving himself and not trying to escape. Then and only then did he notice the bandages over his chest, covering the wounds, and that they were fresh obviously.
It was only the first of many confusing days, and painful ones as well. Sylph's defiance to her questions earned him nothing but pain with disturbing motherly reproaching, and so, the shy boy became quite vocal and stopped holding back his answers. But it wasn't just when he obeyed her, no, then she would play with his wounds and "reward him" with a collar in the form of her whip, gently letting it "caress" his neck to let blood drip from numerous scratches. Yet it was painfully and bloody for the poor child, forced to endure torture regardless of his answer. All the while, her motherly concern as she patted his head and cooed wickedly as she watched him scream and cry in pain, begging for his life. She did not kill him outright, instead, stopping only just enough to let him struggle and hang onto dear life. Her eyes would light up in utter joy at the sight of the poor boy crying out for his father with blood pooling around his neck and dripping down his chest. Once the blood had dried a little, and he was nothing but a whimpering and crying child, she smiled and walked over to him.
He looked up through painful tears at her, as she smiled, only to suddenly lean over and touch his wound, digging her nail into the cuts. Sylph let out a low long whimper, before she brought the finger up to her mouth, and licked it clean of blood. His pain soon became horror as well as she began to lick and touch his wounds, playing with them, even scratching his neck just a little. She seemed to savor every last moment of pain she heard and watched, enjoying how he squirmed underneath her touch and wrath. Of course, she was sadistic, and intelligent; she made sure to wrap up his wounds after she licked them clean happily. Her little victim needed his time to heal of course, though she still visited him, if only to prod and poke just the right wounds to see if they were still healing. And in addition, to change out the bandages, and tell him to get plenty of rest so he could be ready to scream for her once more once he healed.
Then, once she seemed to be full off his pain, and grinned happily, she patted her bloody toy on the head, before warning him not to die on her in the night, or else she would eat his soul. The boy stared in horror before weeping long into the night, not the first or the last, of many nights he would cry himself to sleep. Each day brought new and fresh terrors, new tortures and sickening pains to him. From having his arm flayed lightly after sharp cuts, to sharper bites upon his skeleton arm, and even tearing at the odd fleshy muscle that kept it together and in place. There was no blood that flowed from him that the woman did not savor nor did she ignore. He could not have a moment of peace for too long and reprieve from the mad witch's hell between days he would be allowed rest in order to heal up just enough. It was torture and confusion for him, for her to inflict all manner of pain, from covering him in thorns to carefully binding him with wicked ivy that made him scratch until he bleed and had to be restrained. Then, to bandage his wounds with surprising skill and let him heal up, even changing his bandages after cleaning his wounds.
And worse yet, all the while, she continued her sick motherly composure as she caressed his cheek while he writhed in pain. When he asked her if she would let him go someday, she assured him that once she had enough of his cries of agony and pleadings, that she would let him go free. It was all he had that allowed him to somehow stay alive despite the hellish torture, even being caressed with her whip from his chest up to his neck, covering him in painful scratches. And a sudden protest earned him a sharp strike of her whip, and then, she would take a small knife, and peel back a small layer of skin from his chest before happily cutting it off, causing him to scream in absolute pain.
As the days formed two weeks, the torture grew wickeder and longer, until he often passed out from the loss of blood. When he awoke, she would be right in front of him, her eyes on his as she licked away at the blood and disturbingly kissed his wounds before she finished bandaging them back up. It was enough to make him stare in wide-eyed shock and horror before she smiled wickedly, and he shook like a leaf horribly. The woman had him in the palm of her hand, Sylph was nothing but a toy to her to do as she saw fit. He began to lose himself, crying out in pain when she tortured him, and crying for his father late into the night until he fell asleep in his own tears. There was of course, the rare moment she washed his wounds instead of licking them, giving him an hour to recover, before she smacked him for a single comment that angered her, and vowed to tear into his hide once he had healed.
One day, as she was playing with the newest set of wounds; a wicked drawing of a beautiful rose etched into his pale skin with her own very whip, she gave him a single order. His poor mind had only enough sense to register it and then try to make sense of it. The woman's request was that he call her mother, and he tried to make sense of what he was to do. His hesitancy did not go unnoticed, as she grabbed a chunk of his hair, and pulled his head up so his eyes were looking at hers and his hair threatened to be ripped out by the roots in a bloody mass.
Amethyst eyes full of fear, pain, and confusion, stared up into dark auburn eyes filled with demanding anger and anticipation. If he didn't answer soon, as she tugged again, demanding his answer now, she would no doubt tear the rose out of his very chest. The near-broken boy screamed in pain, his words echoing in her ears with strange satisfaction. "No more mother, please stop hurting me mother!"
With his reply in her mind, she released his head, and slowly licked only around his wound, letting the blood fill the rose wound once. Then she finished cleaning and wrapping him up and grinned slowly patting him gently while whispering how good of a job he did so far, though her eyes showed something else. He was too exhausted and weak to tell, his eyes slowly closing as she left him there to cry himself to sleep once more, barely standing in rags of his clothes.
Days slowly passed as he stood there, chained to the wall, bloody and dried bandages wrapped snuggly over his wounds. The poor young Sylph was too exhausted and weak to wonder why she had yet to continue her torture of him. His wounds were healing up, and near finished, yet, she had interacted him very little in that time beyond simply checking on his bandages and replacing them. She did lick his wounds clean yes, but he didn't notice the dull look in her eyes. The flicker of boredom, the lack of interest in how he was doing.
Finally, she opened the door, and he weakly looked up at her. He asked if she was going to let him go, assuming that she had finally satisfied her appetite. Yet, as she walked over to him, he saw no motherly smile on her face or comforting look in her eyes. Confused, he inquired if she was going to change his bandages, only for her to simply sigh and pout. And then, the dreaded words came from her lips, lips that had touched his wounds and let his blood pass across.
She bluntly informed him that she had grown bored of him, and that as far as she was concerned, he'd be far more interesting dead. At least then, she could see if he still had his skeleton arm when he was a spirit. The words shook the poor boy to his core, further shaken when she informed him that she had no intention of letting him return to his father alive. As a spirit, there was only herself that could see him, and therefore, far more enjoyable as a victim. And with a casual hum, she walked up to the poor broken boy, and slipped out a simple knife, delivering the final strike to his neck, cutting it open wide.
Her words had finally broken the gentle and tortured soul, and his head slump as tears began to cascade down his cheeks to mingle with his blood from his throat. All the pain he had endured, the orders he had obeyed, everything had been for naught but her amusement. She had enjoyed every moment of his pain until she grew bored of it, and decided he might as well just cross over and die. That night as she waited contently for his spirit to depart from a dead body as soon as he finished bleeding. The last words he ever heard was the whining of the woman, ordering him to get a move on and die already. Reluctantly he had no say in the matter, as his heart stopped beating unable to pump out enough blood and the last words on his lips came out. A final plea for his father to come rescue him from the woman he should have never met.
The birth of Shikaze
Sylph awoke for the first time, fully aware this time of the deep and painful tugging, as if a hole was being ripped out of his chest. He looked up, only to find the woman tugging on a long noticeable chain that stretched towards her. To his horror, she grinned rather darkly, and his eyes moved form her to his body, at which point he noticed the sudden lack of a skeleton arm, and that his fingers had been eaten off. His chain sported various forms of damage, many of the chain links appearing to have been eaten up by some corrosive chemical. It seemed that the woman was not yet done with torture the poor innocent soul as she jerked and tugged with all her might. His depression was heavy, as well as his anger and despair, having thought that in death he could have escaped her.
He immediately shouted and protested, only for the woman to give a sharp tug on his chain, eliciting a sharp scream to rip out of his throat. The pain in his chest where the chain was connected to him was beginning to grow as she swiftly pulled him closer to her, link by link, until she was looking down at him. Was it not enough that she had tortured him to no end except to heal and recover while he was living? It seemed not as she grinned and continued munching, before turning and grinning madly at him. Sylph's chest felt heavy as she placed her foot upon his spirit, and before he could push her away in vain she viciously tugged and pulled on the chain while pushing him down. The sharp pain quickly increased as she continued to jerk and tug, cursing as he tried to push her off, only assisting her in her endeavor. As she continued to tug and pull with all her might and push him down as he tried to push her off, the pain began to grow until he started to scream, unable to handle it and push back at the same time.
Suddenly though, as the pain fried his senses, the sounds of loud shouts could heard heavily outside, and the woman hissed sharply. Everything became a blur as she departed quickly and released his chain, angry that she could not finish her meal and that she had been found. As for Sylph, his chain seemed to work while the woman was going, pulling and tugging away at his chest as if to rip a chunk out of it. He screamed and yelled in pain all the while the chain continued the woman's job; pulling a hole out of his chest faster. The woman quickly returned, grinning as the shouts diminished a little, and went back to her work of trying to rip off poor Sylph's chain. She even used her whip to wrap around the chain to help pull it off and also tear it up in the process. The aggravation to his hole and chain was already accelerating the process he was going through; hollowification.
The shouts grew louder and the tugging grew sharper, until he felt his chest give way to the chain and the continued pull, and he heard a rather sickening rip. It felt as if every fiber of his body was filled with explosives, and then, suddenly, the woman appeared briefly, to glance at the pain dancing across his face and the chunk of flesh ripped out of his chest to form a hole. Once again, her words were the last thing the human once known as Sylph heard before his being seemed to explode as the torn and battered chain faded away. The words would continue to echo in his ears as she left the room and out the back door, giggling madly.
"See you around Hollow-chan!"
There was nothing as his being exploded, and he knew nothing. And then, there was another explosion, as a new being slammed into the earth forming a creator, right where he first had met the woman who led to his death. A dark being; a demon with a white liquid escaping his mouth and turning into a mask over his face and covered in a bone like extensions over his entire body, like a second skin. Briefly, one could make out a glimpse of the amethyst eyes of the gentle and unfortunate son who was adopted by a doctor. Only briefly, before they were replaced by a sudden darker version full of rage and anger. The woman would pay, thought the being that was once called Sylph, and he would ensure she would die for what she had done. With a loud roar, like the moan of a man from beyond the grave, the tall figure rose up and glared off into the distance, spotting another demon like himself, but with large fangs and wicked claws.
The poor Hollow was doomed to have tried to think that this new Hollow born of a innocent soul would be an easy meal. It would regret the decision to try and pounce, only for a single fist to be pulled back, and slammed into it's face. That night on the wind, a new life, a dark life was born with the blood of a fallen Menos. A being that would seek vengeance on the one who had caused him so much pain in his past life, that had killed him. Sylph had died, and Shikaze was born in his place, to seek vengeance on the red haired woman.
Days passed shortly after his death as a human and rebirth as a Hollow, during which he discovered rather odd and unique powers he had. It was clear that his spiritual awareness as a child and a human had given birth to new powers as a Hollow. Over the span of weeks turning into months, he learned of the three powers he had obtained. And with the three powers, Shikaze began his hunt for further power, power that he needed in order to destroy the woman who had taken him from all that he knew and taken his life.
Present
After winding up in the world of Hollows, Hueco Mundo, Shikaze has found himself in need of a journey. His encounters with fellow Hollows and now Arrancar and a Ninfa have revealed a dire problem with his plan to obtain power; his memories. In his mind, to bring back that which he lost, that which is fractured and missing, Shikaze aims to isolate himself from his fellow Hollows, and piece together his memories.
Only the creator of existence knows if he will succeed, or die trying.
