Disclaimer; I don't own Bleach, 'nuff said.
He liked dead things.
There was just something satisfying about watching final seconds tick away, or seeing a body laid bare, all its secrets his to see.
He hated living things.
They made noise, moved in manners he couldn't always predict, had opinions.
Now, when he defined dead and living, he didn't mean living and dead. Living, to him, referred to two states of being.
The first, obviously, alive. Humans.
He hated them, though they did make good dinner from time to time, when he needed to satisfy the urge.
But they remained, for a large part, useless. Talentless. Trash.
The second state of alive referred to the arrancar, hollows, vizard, shinigami, normal souls.
Normal souls he could take or leave. Some tasted good, others weren't worth the effort. Some had the prettiest expressions when he caught them, others just disappointed. Trash.
He hated the shinigami. They were, by definition, his enemies. Those he was meant to exterminate. A better food source. Trash.
The vizard he remained unsure of. Hatred for being bastardized hollows, to an extent, but it wasn't as if they were actively against the arrancar. Though still trash.
Hollows he hated, for they were imperfect things. Useful only for tampering with, creating better things from. Hollows lacked the intelligence arrancar had gained, the logic. Trash.
Arrancar.
That was where the line really blurred. There were those above him that he did not like but respected and those below him that he did not like and did not respect and there was his Fracción who he did like if only for the fact that he had made them.
And of course there was Aizen and Tousen and Ichimaru, not arrancar but classified as such simply because they were no longer shinigami, by occupation.
Needless to say, however, that it wasn't that he hated any of them. Just that he could do without a large number of them. As for the rest, they were easy enough to deal with as long as he didn't have to deal with them constantly.
He liked to be alone a lot.
Away from the trash.
Which was why he liked dead things.
Trash or not, once they were dead, they were dead. If they were alive, they could continue to be trash. But dead, now that he could work with.
Literally.
He liked dead things.
And Szayel-Aporro Grantz couldn't help but grin at the sight of his brothers body.
Perfection achieved at last, a beautiful moment granted to a piece of trash numero that had held no hope of ever being really useful until today.
Yes, he really did like dead things.
In fact, if it weren't for his lack of a heart, he'd almost say he loved them.