When had it all become so boring? Barragan mused, sat upon his throne. His army milled about below him as he started out on the reward for his perseverance. The culmination of thousands of years and even more souls that fell to his might. The pale and polished stone throne that he had envisioned was beneath him, and from his seat he could see to the ends of the world. All of Hueco Mundo was his.
He had achieved his dream. With but a wave of his skeletal hand he could both raise and crush armies. The last of those foolish enough to challenge his reign had been decades ago, and the very notion that he was defeat-able was now scoffed at.
But he was bored. He missed the challenge. He missed the thrill of the conquest. He missed the days where he viewed the ants as a equals. Something to be crushed, to be devoured, something, anything other than the boring and predictable insects that they were.
More sand. Barragan could only snort at that. It was foolish of him to expect anything else in his kingdom. That's what the sand was, an expanse of grey dunes and dusky stones, that all belonged to him. The endless wasteland was the floor of his palace, and it's eternal knight sky the ceiling.
He dug one hoof into the sand in impatience. He had the scent of his prey, now he needed only the direction.
A few short moments of contemplation, marked by the small dunes made by his hoof, and Barragan was off like a shot, dust clouds kicking up behind him. He'd found prey, and as he grew closer, he could sense their strength. His prey was strong, and more importantly, they were numerous. That would make his victory all the more satisfying.
He knew how he looked. The Adjuchas who wished to leave the world with what they believed to be one small victory were more than fond of insulting his appearance before they became another corpse among the sands.
A sickly looking horse. One of the least threatening looking animals in creation, and that was the body given to him for his grand conquest. They ignored the pale mask, riddled with scars to show his centuries of endurance. The dusky gold collar around gaunt neck, the color contrasting against his pale grey pelt. It marked him as special among the bland insects.
Instead the focused on his ribs, long left exposed and bare to the elements. On his skeletal legs, thin and fragile-looking as he raced across the land of the Hollows, or his tattered mane that looked to shed hairs at the slightest of breezes.
They failed to notice the shadows that hung over him, draping his form like an ever present cloak as he charged into their midst. How each impact of his hoof on flesh was met with the snapping of bones turned brittle. How for all his supposed frailty, the claws and teeth of his enemies did nothing more than bounce off his hide.
Barragan could only snort in amusement as the last of his prey begged for their life. The sheer foolishness of the act, a meal begging to be wasted, an almost humorous prospect. One that was met with a chuckle and teeth to the coward's neck. The first bite of today's meal. Hopefully tomorrow would offer prey worthy of his attention.
AN: Just a little drabble I've been kicking around. For those who care, this was mostly inspired by Arrancarfighter on deviantart with his picture "Future King of Nothingness" which is an imaging of Barragan as his Adjunchas form, and is overall amazing. Mostly did this cause I want to write some more Barragan stories, and I just can't seem to decide. So I'm leaving up to the few of you that read these~ Poll is up, and opinions on reviews are always welcome on if you want Starkk and Barragan to have a chat or if you want more Harribel and Barragan fluff. Anyways, hope you enjoyed and have a good day~ :)