Chapter 7
Vellena focused her frosty gaze dispassionately on the new arrival. She recognized him quickly as 'spoon-head' from the day before. She noted that he was taller even than most night elf males; indeed, he would probably give a draenei a run for his or her money in the height department. Or even a tauren. She would have to tilt her head up to look him in the eye, and she wasn't sure she liked that.
She did not like how he was looking at her. His demeanor carried a combination of threat and contempt.
Beside her, Grimmjow tensed ever so slightly as the other Espada walked languidly across the room, giving his long black hair a flick with a spindly hand. There was a rivalry there, she thought, and she rather suspected that she was about to become more fuel for that rivalry. If she had been anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes.
"What do you want, Nnoitra?" demanded Grimmjow. The one called Nnoitra ignored the Sexto, focusing his single eye intently on Vellena.
"What's this?" asked the lanky Espada. "Brought your little trull to the practice mat? The battlefield is no place for a woman." He sneered.
She had heard these sentiments before. However, no weakling survived the process of becoming a Death Knight, male or female. She had proven herself on the battlefield time and time again. She said nothing. It was easy enough to refuse to be baited. She knew her own prowess. No reaction flitted across her face, she maintained her unwavering, emotionless gaze.
"You don't disagree?" Nnoitra's tone was sly.
"Get to your fucking point, Nnoitra. If you have one, that is. The only point you ever seem to have is your head. Is that why you wear that ridiculous hood? It's a poor disguise." Grimmjow said in a bored, insulting tone.
"Shut up, Sexto." Nnoitra's smile vanished momentarily. "I don't recall asking for your input." The Quinto bared teeth again in what was probably supposed to be a smile. "Well if you're going to insist on walking around in weapons and armour like you know how to use them, you'd better be prepared to prove yourself, bitch." Without warning he reached to his back, swinging the huge double crescent moon axe around in an attack.
Death had in no ways dulled her reactions. She had her runeswords out of their sheaths as he was bringing his weapon up in its initial swing, and she effortlessly parried his downstroke with her crossed blades. The combatants stared at each other over their weapons, halted for the moment. Beside her, she was aware of Grimmjow with his own sword in hands, radiating anger.
"Go watch." She said quietly, frosty glowing eyes not leaving Nnoitra.
Grimmjow huffed and sheathed his weapon, the blade clicking as it slid home. He turned and walked to the bench. "Have your match then. Just make sure you're still alive so I can get my turn." He said.
"Don't worry Grimm-kitty," Nnoitra's tone was venomous, "You can have my sloppy seconds." Was he implying what she thought he was implying? She was less and less impressed with this Espada with every passing second.
"Are you going to fight, or are you going to stand there listening to the sound of your own voice all day?" the night elf grated. Nnoitra's grin widened. He pulled his huge axe back. She wasn't sure if it was comforting or not that the beings of this dimension seemed as enamoured of ridiculously large weapons as those in Azeroth were. His axe was even bigger than her oversized axe. Oh well, whatever got the job done, she supposed. She readied her swords.
Another frontal attack. She dodged easily, ducking the blade and striking out with her right in one fluid movement. He stepped aside just in time, the tip of her sword grazing his chest. Fabric parted like a sigh, but she was a little discomfited to see her blade slide off his skin without leaving a mark. As she parried his rejoinder, she wondered. She'd had no problem slicing through those 'hollows'.
"My hierro is the strongest of all the Espada," hissed Nnoitra. "You can't even cut me, bitch!" Another effortless swing of his axe came at her. Off kilter, she was unable to fully dodge this one, settling instead for deflecting it with the back of her gauntleted left forearm. Sparks flew as the edge ground down along the titansteel. I just fixed that one too, she thought a bit acidly, pushing aside her opponent's blade and stepping inside his guard. She focused her power in an icy strike, activating a frost rune on her blade while kicking out with her hobnailed sabaton. Plate met iron flesh – the strike didn't do much damage, she thought, but the frost bloom traveled all the way up to the skin of his neck. Their breath was visible in the sudden cold. Perhaps her runic abilities were the key to this.
Slowed by the frost fever she had inflicted on him, Nnoitra's counter was not quick enough. Her lips pulled in a bloodthirsty grin as she slammed her blade into his shoulder, calling upon the power of her runes. Green flashed as she hit him with the plagued blade, and blood flowed from his split skin. She backed away, deflecting his infuriated swing with her gauntlet again, grunting under the impact.
"You're bleeding," she said, grinning.
"So are you, bitch!" snarled her opponent. She glanced at her arm, somewhat surprised to notice thick black blood dripping from her upper arm. His blade had slid off her gauntlet and bracers and managed to bite into the unprotected flesh between her bracers and pauldrons. No matter, the wound was superficial, as were the wounds she had delivered to him. It was clear, however, that he was not immune to her diseases. She could see the edges of the cut she had given him bubble and fester.
She shouldn't have let him distract her into looking at her own damage. She was barely able to parry the blow that seemed to come out of nowhere, catching his blade against her right blade. She was terrifyingly strong by mortal standards, but so was he, and he had the advantage of leverage, pushing his axe down on her. With a screech, the metal slipped a few inches towards her. She rolled to the side, counting on her night elf reflexes to dodge the blow she knew would follow her retreat.
That was almost a mistake. She was fast, but he was faster. He vanished with a buzzing sound, and only her excellent battle senses managed to keep her head attached to her body when he suddenly attacked from behind while she was getting back up to her feet. But she managed to sense the attack before it landed and once more parried, managing to deflect the damage to her shoulder rather than her neck. Deciding that figuring out how he moved so fast could come later, she struck out in retaliation, red light streaming from the edges of her blades as she hit. He was clearly not expecting her to be in any condition to retaliate, for the hits landed squarely on his chest. Some of her wounds closed as blood sprayed out and she absorbed the health and strength she stole with her attack.
It was a good thing she had never expected this to be a friendly sparring match to begin with. What he'd just tried to pull was calculated to kill. No doubt it would have been an 'accident'. Unfortunately she didn't think she could get away with doing the same to him – Grimmjow had cautioned against lethality and he was probably right. While he attempted to comprehend her attack, she bound him with icy chains and leapt back, buying some time.
This time, Vellena didn't resist licking the blood off the edge of her blade, grinning evilly at her opponent across the room, savouring the taste of his blood. Then she lashed out with a deathly energy. And blinked, surprised, when the bleeding X on his chest closed, healing. Huh? Apparently he was just as confused, as he paused in his slowed advance to consider his own wounds before looking back at her. Death coil heals the undead… she thought. She'd never had the opportunity to use the attack yet in this world, but it appeared that Nnoitra at least, was similar enough to undead for it to heal him. Maybe she wasn't so different from these arrancar after all.
Well, she couldn't stand there gaping like a fool. So she couldn't death coil his ass, there were other things she could do.
His long pointy tongue flicked out at her, strange tattoo fully visible. Before she could wonder why he was giving her the raspberry, a golden light formed at the tip. This was an attack! It was similar to what the little green-haired girl had done, and similar to less powerful ones that had been leveled at her when she had fought the hollows. Through will alone, she called upon the shield that mitigated energy attacks, which took the brunt of the searing blast that washed over her. As the anti-magic shell dissipated, she took a few steps backwards, feeling a little unbalanced, and more than a little bit like a lobster cooking in its shell. She summoned the frost to her, relieving the terrible heat of his strange attack.
He seemed to be gearing up for another one of those golden blasts. She couldn't let that happen – another like that would probably kill her. Damn, this fucker played for keeps! Well, she would have to end this definitively, and soon, or no doubt he'd succeed sooner or later. Before that golden light could blast her again she reached out with the deathly powers inherent in her and pulled him towards her. This was unexpected enough to break his concentration, and he was still reacting when she followed through with an attack designed to funnel health from him into her, and then with a vicious strike which devoured the diseases she'd inflicted on him in order to do even greater damage.
Nnoitra reeled, and she struck again, this time attempting to disarm. His stupidly huge axe went spinning off to the side, out of his grasp. She lifted her right blade, frozen blue flame rippling along its edge, and leveled it at the hollow of his neck. Her other blade she kept ready to parry any attack.
"Yield," Vellena demanded. Nnoitra opened his mouth, pointed tongue curling. The temperature between them dropped rapidly. He apparently thought better. His mouth twisted in a snarling frown.
"Alright, alright. Next time I'll fucking kill you, bitch." He snapped, muttering the last under his breath. Vellena's long, sensitive night elf ears nevertheless caught the comment. She gave him an icy glare. Her eyes did not leave him as he retrieved his weapon. She half-expected another attack, even though he'd already capitulated, but it didn't come. She would have to watch her back whenever this one was around.
"Yare, yare, those wounds look pretty bad Nnoitra, ya should go see the medics," a light voice commented. Both Vellena and the Quinta looked up. Nnoitra was glaring at the silver-haired man who had escorted her to Aizen's throne room. Silver-hair was still grinning, eyes nearly shut. Maybe he never lost that expression – she didn't know. Certainly his tone matched the cheerful face.
She should probably death coil Nnoitra to heal some of his injuries, but really, she wasn't feeling so generously inclined right now. The man had clearly been trying to kill her. The medics could handle him now. Instead, she used the fading runic energy to death coil herself, feeling the last of the burns and scratches fade.
She had been peripherally aware that their sparring match had gathered more spectators – any good warrior had to be aware of the movement of anything that could be a threat during combat – but now she really had an opportunity to take in the crowd. In addition to the silver-haired ex-shinigami, there were several others she recognized from the throne room. The female Espada was there, lounging against the wall, with three female subordinates nearby. Ulquiorra also watched – she had little doubt that he'd recorded whatever he'd seen of the combat in his eye (which had grown back in sometime over the night). There were others she recognized, including ones who seemed to be Grimmjow's subordinates by the way they hovered near the blue-haired Espada. Grimmjow was lounging on one of the benches, hands shoved in his pockets.
"That was a refreshing fight, Vellena-chan, ya sure know how to use yer weapons," said the silver-hair, addressing her. Digging a rag from her magic bag, she cleaned her blades before sheathing them.
"No Death Knight is ignorant of battle, Sir." She said. She still hadn't managed to catch his name, but he seemed to occupy some kind of position of authority over the Espada.
"Gin, call me Gin, Vellena-chan. No need to be so formal!"
"As you wish, Sir Gin." His fox's grin widened, but he didn't dispute her use of 'Sir'.
"Enough yap," said Grimmjow, rising. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. "Since you don't look too beat up, I want a go."
