The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is pure white. Like ice, it shines and reflects, bouncing off the boundaries enclosing him over and over until it hits his retinas at a hundred times its original intensity. A white so pure it would have been visible even without light, which- as he accesses the knowledge available to him- is impossible, as all colors are a product of light.

Essentially, the entire world is an illusion, in that case. If it is simply predicated on the light that people perceive.

He feels very proud of himself for having figured this all out in the first few moments of his existence.

Then he tries to lift his head and see if there was anything keeping him company besides the whiteness, and finds he cannot move at all. There is a sensation occupying most of his nerves, rebounding within his synapses, that he can't quite recognize. A buzzing feeling or, now that he focuses on is, more intense. Like...like something cold and sharp is being thrust into every inch of his body at once. He remembers cold very well, but has no time to ponder why... Hmm, now that is an interesting feeling. Familiar as well. Very familiar. If he could just put a name to it...

Pain. That is it. How odd that he recognizes something he has never experienced.

And now that he knows what it is called, it becomes ever more acute, pulsing and increasing on the edges of his senses, like someone is tearing him open from the inside and it hurt it hurt it hurt! -why wouldn't it stop? It is burning him to dust, but that would be a relief because dust doesn't feel anything and he can't he can't! -take any more of this he doesn't want to feel anymore nothing! -nothing more no...

And then, after an uncertain length of...time?...it is all gone. It flows away, leaving him with no lingering sensation but the cold.

Never before had Zommari experienced such regret. Then again, never before had he let somebody face him and live, and there was a first time for everything.

There is also a last time for everything, he thought grimly. And I am quickly reaching that point.

For the past two days, the Octava Espada he had grudgingly spared has done absolutely nothing but whine, complain, and utter threats to Zommari's well-being at random intervals. It would get on the nerves of more patient people, of which the Septima was not one.

"Might I ask precisely what we are doing here?" asked the irritating Szayel, tapping his crossed forearms in an annoying pattern as he stood there in an infuriating manner and breathed too loudly.

"Agh!" Zommari finally screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Can you really not SHUT UP for any length of time? I ask you to be quiet for how long? Five minutes!" He waved five fingers in front of Szayel. "Count them! Five! And what do you do?! You ask me the stupidest question that comes to mind! I used to think you were some sort of genius, Granz!"

Szayel's eyes narrowed and, while he didn't draw his sword, he had to visibly restrain himself from hitting Zommari. "What. Was. That?" he hissed.

Zommari couldn't be bothered with answering, as he had turned away and was busy sensing for Shinigami.

The Octava stepped in front of him. "Please, repeat that," he said, almost pleasantly, though his countenance was colder than ever.

If Zommari had eyebrows, they would have been raised to the canopy of Las Noches. As it were, the lines tattooed where his eyebrows should have been creased oddly. "Repeat what?"

"Say that you think I'm stupid. Really. I want to see you say that to my face. Right now."

And so, with an absolute deadpan face, Zommari opened his mouth and let fall the words. "I do not merely think you are stupid, Granz. I also think you are arrogant, ill-informed, imprudent and impudent, and you have a death wish."

This made Szayel laugh. Low chuckles at first, but they steadily began growing into full-blown cackles emanated from his mouth erratically. After a minute or so, he wrapped his arms around himself and giggled to himself, looking downwards and kicking at the sand. "I...oh, hah...aha-haa...That's...I...haaa..." When he finally calmed down, he sighed and straightened a piece of his hair.

And then he slapped Zommari square in the jaw.

"Don't ever say that again." He slid his sword back and forth a few inches in and out of its scabbard, chewing hard on the side of his tongue. "Do you understand? If you even think about suggesting I am anything less than perfect I will cut your tongue out and make you sit as I destroy every single one of your organs. I will start with your spleen and end with your brain, and make sure you feel every little bit of pain in between." At some point, he bit through part of his tongue, and blood started running between his teeth.

Zommari had to admit, that had been surprising. While Szayel's blow hadn't been painful, it had actually knocked him back a step or two. And that was unacceptable. It is unfortunate. He would have been very useful. But I can no longer deal with this stupidity, and if I try, then I will end up as Granz himself. Psychopathic, and very, very dead.

He watched impassively as the Octava ranted, then stepped forward and grabbed him around the throat, lifting him a few inches off the ground. "I heard you, Granz. You don't need to tell me twice, or even three times. And, do you know what? I can hardly bring myself to care. Isn't that funny? Tell me," He raised Szayel slightly higher. "How do you intend to destroy me, when you can't even save yourself? It really is funny, though. Because now? It is your tongue on the line. I suggest you think ahead next time you decide to threaten me."

It was unnerving, ever so slightly, how the Octava continued to smile at him, with that arrogant look in his eyes, and blood trickling over his jaw. He didn't even try to escape Zommari's crushing hold, instead smiling slowly and coldly. As the blood came closer to dripping off his face, he wiped it off, fixed his hair with the same hand, then twisted one of Zommari's fingers upwards with a violent jerk, causing Zommari to drop him in surprise. When Szayel's feet hit the ground, he yanked his sword out of his scabbard and, in the same motion, rammed it down his throat, speaking his release command along with a few choice curses.

And, now...Does he really have to get so worked up, so easily? Unbelievable. As Szayel transformed, his wing-like appendage darted towards Zommari, almost as fast as the Septima flashed behind him.

Zommari brought his sword down towards the Octava's spine, changed his mind, and redirected it the swing towards the odd wings that were once again snapping towards him. He kicked heavily at Szayel's back, sending the other Espada stumbling and flinging out an arm for balance.

By the time Szayel had whipped around, Zommari had appeared on his other side once more. "You idiot," he snapped. "Do you realize how many Shinigami are going to come running after that massive release of reiatsu from your Resurrección? Not to mention other Hollows!"

Szayel merely grinned at the prospect. "Excellent. And, while I'm not much of a confrontational spirit, I find myself quite looking forward to it. Because by then," He pointed a long purple fingernail at Zommari, "I will be long gone and- you? Well, I think you'll enjoy the company. After all, you are lonely a lot of the time, aren't you?" He tilted his head. "Oh, correction! All the time. You, my friend, lead a sad, meaningless existence. You should be glad it'll all be over soon." That. Is. It. Zommari seethed, preparing to enter his own Ressurección. Who cares anyways? The Shinigami will come regardless.

Distracted as he was, he didn't realize until too late that Szayel's wing had already encased him.

Dangit.

A small replica of Zommari smiled back at him from where it sat on Szayel's palm.
"Look at it! Isn't it adorable?" The Octava chuckled. "Actually, no. I'm sure you don't mind me saying you are ugly as sin. Those spikes? Gaudy. The necklace of teeth? Passé. And such a distasteful expression all the time." He shuddered theatrically. "I cannot begin to think how you must feel with such an unpleasant face all the time. Even I can see no salvation for your appearance."

The real Zommari sighed. "Talk, talk, talk, Szayel. And you wonder why I look so displeased."

Szayel lifted a finger and tutted at him lightly. "Ah, but I do wonder. Anyways, you know the rules. I destroy any organs that I please, and you sit back and scream. We're clear? Good. But don't worry. I'll leave the important bits." He frowned sadly. "I couldn't bear to have murder on my conscience." As he spoke, he popped the head off the doll and began sifting through the brightly colored replicas of organs. "Ah, just like candy," he chuckled to himself.

Aw, screw your game, Szayel.

"Suppress, Brujería," he muttered, allowing the unpleasant feeling of the transformation to wash over him. Of all things…..Why am I a pumpkin? This was hardly the first time he had wondered this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Still, the form had its uses…

"Of course," Szayel swore so violently that Zommari could practically see the word burn acidly in his mouth. "Well now you don't have an Achilles' tendon. I suppose I can't do that then. On to the spleen then. Oooh, no, the appendix! So even if you do live, you'll get sepsis or something. Unless your regeneration takes care of it before then….Dang. Well, it'll hurt plenty in the meantime. And, now, there is only one way to find out." He crushed the tiny corresponding replica with his fingernails.

The sharp pain exploded through Zommari's lower right abdomen, just as he spoke. "Amor!" he managed, his voice cracking and petering out towards the end of the word.

Szayel jerked his head up in surprise, just having time for his eyes to widen before the Brujería mark appeared on his arm.

Missed. Ugh...

The doll fell to the ground as Zommari commanded Szayel's arm.

And, you cannot cut it off, as you have no sword. Not that you would, anyways, Zommari thought, right before the Octava appeared directly in front of him.

"Hard to move in that form?" he asked mockingly, drawing back his fist.

He's….not going to punch me, is he? He said it himself- he's not a combat type. And he lacks the proper upper-body strength for a blow like that to have any effect. He knows it, too. How irregular. The thoughts flashed through his mind as he stepped with Sonido, to appear behind Szayel once more. What a tired trick. The Amor command was once again shouted, and he soon had the pink-haired Espada wrapped within his own wing in a matter of seconds.

Now, let's see what I can do…..