A cold wind blew that day. A silent wind though it was, it chilled every soul with a strange coldness. It wasn't necessarily the temperature that made this wind so terrible - it was the darkness it carried. Everyone felt unease that night, down to the smallest dead child in one of the worst districts. This wind brought with it foreshadowing - foreshadowing of the darkness to come. It brought darkness, unease, and a chill unable to be shaken off.

The cause of this disturbance was coming from the empty remains of Central 46. A small ripple appeared on the ground, as if the floor was just an image hovering on an expanse of water. The floor slowly began to darken, becoming black in the center, where the ripples were coming from, before fanning out, like a drop of ink, ever-growing, on a pond. As it reached it's darkest point, the most blackest of blacks, it suddenly stopped rippling. All was still for a moment. Then a hand, paler than death itself, shot out from the darkness. It gripped onto the edge of the ground, powerful fingers digging into the stone elbow showed up, and then another hand, as pale as the priviest, followed by its own arm. Something green soon appeared from the blackness - hair - followed by a head and neck, then shoulders.

A naked torso, also deathly pale, was soon to appear. The man rose out of the darkness, pulling himself up until he stood. After he was out, the ground slowly returned to normal. His head was down, hair covering his face, all but a strange bone-like protrusion coming from his right cheek - three plates, spikes with rounded tips, came out from his hair, going all the way back to the middle of the back of his head.

Then he lifted his head up. The bone-like thing was revealed to be a mask, going partially over his face. Blue-green hair fell lightly over the pale face, as piercing yellow eyes stared out at the world for the first time in century's.

For a moment, the man looked confused. It had been so long...Where am I...? He thought, staring around with wide eyes. Who am I...? He thought again, closing his eyes and just letting himself feel.

Feeling the world again, he suddenly felt very happy. The cold night air against his naked skin, the brush of a plant against his foot, the light of the moon dancing of his hair...He was in bliss, If only for a moment.

But then all he felt was cold.

Memories, thing he'd rather not remember, came rushing back. All the terrible things. Every pained moment, every torcherous betrayal. And then the anger came. Anger, stronger than anything he had ever felt, filled every pore of his body.

I am Arturo Plateado, self-named, first arrancar of the world. I was betrayed and imprisoned by the Soul Society. My sole purpose is for revenge... His though process continued on, growing darker and darker as he formed himself clothes, anger building inside his empty chest.

He walked off, leaving Central 46 and walking out into the night. A chill greeted his skin, a small smiled coming to his lips. It's been so long... He thought, but his moment of happiness was cut short by a voice behind him. "Hey! You! What are you doing here? I've never seen you before." A dark look entered his face, a wicked smirk coming to his features. It was time for the real fun the start...

As everyone was already on edge, it only took the one scream to send all of the soul reapers in ear shot running. They ran straight for the place of the scream - the entrance to Central 46. They got there quickly, but it was already to late. The first thing they noticed was the puddle of blood, formed and still growing beneath the body laying there on the cold stone floor. Matted brown hair stuck to a pale face, held in place by the blood which also resided there. The face was feminine and small, revealing the dead body to be a female. The eye's were wide open, the mouth slightly ajar in one final expression of fear. A hole, nearly the size of her whole rib-cage, resided in her chest - most of the ribs were gone, along with all of her heart, lungs, and breasts. "MOMO!"

The puddle of blood in which she lay rippled at the force of the shout. All of the gathered soul reapers, each one dumbstruck by the sheer speed the lieutenant had been killed, parted to make room for the horror-struck captain that pushed his way through them, running towards the body without a thought towards whether the killer was still around. The white haired boy, much shorter than the girl which he knelt before, let out another shout as tears began to fall, breaking his ice-cold demeanor. "Toshiro! Get back. What if whoever did this is still here?" Byakuya said, stepping forward.

But he needn't have bothered. Arturo had made a swift, but painful kill, and then left. He had much to do, and so much time to do it. He had plenty of time for more killing. For now, he'd make plans, bide his time. He'd watch them squirm, and kill them off slowly...Like they deserved.