I don't know if espada's zanpakuto spirits can manifest in the same way that shinigamis' can, but lets just assume that they can. Just a drabble/random thoughts. If you can recommend some sort of therapy that will get me over my Nnoitra obsession, please do ;)
"DAMN IT!", Nnoitra yelled as Nel parried yet another of his attacks, sending him flying back several metres into the wall of rock behind him. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, gasping with pain and bloodloss from the deep wound she had made across his chest. "Why?", he growled, between gasps.
"Why?", the impassive turquoise goddess responded, "because you are weaker than I am." She turned her back on him and walked away. Uninjured, unscathed from their bout. No joy was in her eyes from having defeated him, just disgust. Disgust and pity. Pity. The one emotion Nnoitra couldn't stand. It made him feel sick to his stomach to know that the tercera espada looked down on him, and even felt sorry for him. He didn't need anyone's pity. Least of all hers. Didn't she understand how it hurt him? It hurt far worse than the gaping wound in his chest.
He could still fight... he could still get back up and fight... prove to her that he was superior. Shaking violently and struggling for breath, Nnoitra staggered to his feet, raising his weapon once again.
"Don't do this, Nnoitra", Nel said softly, a sadness in her voice. "I'm not going to kill you."
"As if", Nnoitra hissed. "Ever the superior, self satisfied bitch, aren't you?"
"Don't make me do this".
Nnoitra's face contorted with anger and he charged towards her, Santa Teresa poised to attack. A simple flick of her zanpakuto was all it took, and Nnoitra found himself on the floor, crouching on all fours, coughing up blood. "Fuck...you...", he gasped, blood trickling from his lips, seeping from the deep slash she had made all the way across his body.
Neliel looked down at the injured octava for a moment, before walking away, her eyes shining with silent tears.
Nnoitra gave a strangled moan of pain, before collapsing on his front, his blood mingling with the dry sand around him, his vision blurring and fading. Every inch of him ached and burned with pain and humiliation. He felt his eye closing. Damn...it...
"Don't close your eyes, Nnoitra Jiruga". The voice broke into Nnoitra's dazed thoughts, smooth, cold and simple. Nnoitra raised his head a little from the floor and looked up at the woman kneeling beside him on the sand. She would probably have terrified anyone else. Pure white skin, snow white hair cascading down her back, white lashes, white lips... and deep, bottomless, ebony black eyes. Extremely thin, dressed in a long white dress, but barefoot.
"Eh", Nnoitra muttered. "You. Wha... what are y-you...?"
"Shut your mouth, espada".
Nnoitra groaned and tried to sit back up, but failed miserably, slumping back down on the ground, his face in the sand.
"Looks like you lost again", her voice was cold and unsympathetic.
"So, you've... just... come to... cr-criticise me... h-have... you?", he managed to ask.
She sat down on the floor beside him, cross legged, and stroked the espada's hair, making him shiver. "You still think you're better than her, don't you"
Nnoitra's face twisted with anger again, "how... d-dare y-you? I'da thought y-you at least would s-supp-ort me". The espada struggled to get enough air into his damaged lungs to argue back.
The zanpakuto spirit smiled, an eerie but beautiful smile. "My dear Nnoitra. My Nnoitra. We will have that bitch one way or another. We will carve our way through that smug, perfect face of hers."
Nnoitra's eyes flashed, dangerously.
"Get up, Jiruga"
"Love to", Nnoitra hissed, sarcastically. He struggled to lift himself a little way off the ground and gestured at the enormous pool of blood around him. "Sorta... not got mucha this stuff left", he gasped.
She ran her fingers over his wounds, making him gasp and wince. "You'll live, espada".
Nnoitra groaned. Santa Teresa shifted closer to him, stretching out her long, pale legs, allowing the injured octava to lay his head in her lap, his blood staining and soaking her white dress. Her slim white hands stroked his hair and face, ran gently down his back and caressed his shoulders. Nnoitra allowed himself to let out a quiet moan of pain, frustration, despair. An eerie, smile ghosted across the spirit's lips. "We'll get her, Nnoitra. No matter how, we'll get her".
From then on, every time Nnoitra lifted his zanpakuto, Santa Teresa's words echoed through his mind and across his lips. "We'll get her."
I am happy with my Nnoitra drabbles. Let me know if you have any thoughts or comments, I would love it!