-Bleach: The Sanguine Espada, Revised-
Chapter 4: A King and His Subjects
Scarlet sand shifted beneath Grimmjow's paws, the ever so pleasant taste of his prey running in time with the power it was injecting into him. With every snap of his jaws, he felt his drained and sore muscles resurge with new life.
With a hefty tug, he tore the Adjuchas in two, dragging his portion a distance away. Releasing his grip, he turned to glace at his newfound subject.
"Oi!" He barked, the one in question looking down from above. He nodded towards Sangre's share, before returning to his own meal.
As much as it pained Grimmjow to admit, the... whatever Sangre was, had proven his usefulness time and again. Scouting the entire horizon from above, in this cutthroat environment, was both the perfect defense, as well as the ideal method of identifying potential prey.
If not for him, they likely would have starved to the point of simply devouring each other.
Nah, he's too fuckin' soft for that.
And yet he still wasn't certain which of them was stronger. He'd asserted dominance, sure, but it was hardly a landslide victory. That, and Sangre hadn't seemed care about authority in the first damn place.
"I choose life... over death. Is that so weak?"
Yes. But... no, all the same. It defied the very foundational logic of this world. It was pathetic. It was soft. It was everything Grimmjow had ever hated.
So why is he so strong?
The meek were prey for the ruthless. That's how it was supposed to be. To have mercy was to be trampled underfoot. To be considerate was to invite your own demise.
So why!?
A growl escaped his maw as he chewed.
...
Sangre leapt up and over as Grimmjow shot at him fang-first, managing to lash out with his claws and open up two wide gashes in his companion's back. As he fell back to the sand, he shifted his body in the air so that Grimmjow never left his sight.
The miniature Adjuchas snapped around on a dime, bolting back towards him with an even greater ferocity. Sangre responded in kind, blasting forward and slamming into his foe. The result shockwave sent the both of them hurdling backward, Grimmjow bouncing roughly off of the ground while Sangre merely used the momentum to take himself into the air.
If he could fly, this would be a much more one-sided engagement.
Words came so naturally to him now, it was almost bizarre. When had he learned the term 'engagement'? He supposed it didn't matter.
When Grimmjow came rocketing back in his direction, a crackly aura of azure heat trailing behind him, Sangre knew what was coming next. So, in kind, he began to manifest a whining, crimson light upon his blade-like claws.
Wait...
Now he could see the billowing wake of sand that the feline was leaving behind, an indication of the closing gap between them.
Wait...
In preparation, he suddenly shot higher into the sky, steepening the angle that their exchange would have to cross. Now, a similar light began to sizzle between his teeth.
Wait...
Now!
It was in the same moment that Grimmjow skidded to a halt and unleashed his immense was of thunderous energy, that Sangre similarly released his own building flash of destruction to greet it. The two met in a cataclysmic display of clashing color, and instantly he could feel the pressure of Grimmjow's pushing him further skyward.
So he simply rolled off to the side, both rays blazing past him with an indescribable heat. Not wasting a moment, Sangre launched himself down along the length of their attacks, feeling his Hierro singe and sizzle from the proximity. A low buzz followed as he felt himself randomly launch forward at a surprising speed, suddenly just a few dozen meters away from his target.
All at once, he spread his wings wide and forced himself to a complete stop, timed just so that he was now hunched next to Grimmjow, still armed and glowing claws already rearing back to unleash a decisive blow.
But then, an almighty, desperate roar buffeted the landscape as the mad beast of a Hollow suddenly shifted his weight, throwing himself out and around while never letting go of his beam. The light bent and warped with the movement, thrashing at the ground like a slinging whip before whirling tightly around to face back at Sangre.
He defended as best he could, but the sheer unexpectedness had left him slow to react, only managed to get up a single hand to cut against the encroaching wave of heat and death.
For a time, all he saw was blue.
When next he came to, he was laid out flat against the sand.
"That was a gnarly move, you bastard." Grimmjow growled, looking down at him as he lay there. "Almost cut my ass in two."
"You... y-you're not that... w-weak." The look on the proud victor's face soured ever so slightly.
"Fuck your praise. We ain't that far apart, but I'm still King." He snapped, "That's why I win. Now hurry the hell up and regenerate, we've got hunting to do." Sangre managed a nod in reply, and Grimmjow briskly turned and began to pace ahead.
By the time he'd picked himself up, most of the more severe burns had lessened to simple scars. Once he'd caught up, they were gone entirely. Unfortunately, that left him feeling doubly sore and spent.
Better that than being functionally impaired.
Again, where had these terms come from? He didn't recall ever saying them before now.
He promptly decided to drop it in favor of taking himself skyward. With the weight off of his body, he suddenly felt much better given that he'd just barely used his wings during the battle. Thinking back to that moment, rushing Grimmjow from above, it struck him that it hadn't been the first time something inexplicable had occurred when he fought. Neither of them seemed to be doing it on command, but there had been several moments where they would suddenly blur from view, the sheer speed of their movements causing a disruptive buzz in the air.
How curious.
Without warning, a small, concentrated ray of thrumming light shot a clean hole through his wing. Knocked into a freefall, all he could make out was a number of shapes on the ground, all moving to surround Grimmjow.
His impact was a harsh one, but it was shaken off quickly in the heat of his need to survive. He leapt to his feet just in time for the horns of a bull-faced Hollow to slam into him, luckily grazing off of his Hierro. In response, he grabbed the now stumbling creature by a horn, then mightily threw it upward. But, before he could loose an arc of crimson light to end the thing, something massive smashed into him from his blind-spot, launching him into a nearby dune like a speeding bullet.
A ringing settled in his ears as he pulled himself out of the sand. Now that he had distance, he counted five aggressors in total. While three were busy attempting to even touch Grimmjow, the bull and an impossibly tall, black being were quickly closing in on him. Surprisingly, this ominously large figure didn't seem to be emitting any kind of pressure that Sangre could feel.
That one's the weak link.
He shot forward at a blistering speed, his body firing on all cylinders now that there were no more surprises to be had. An instant later, he was right in the front of the tall one, tearing his claws up from below to loose three arcs of light which cleaved the Hollow into pieces. Knowing its companion would move to avenge it, Sangre turned on the spot and impaled the rushing bull on his tightly clustered claws. Blood ran in streams down his arm before he roughly slung the beast from his arm.
Glancing over, he was eased to witness Grimmjow in the midst of tearing one of the Hollow's arms from the socket. The other two were in better shape, but in comparison, Grimmjow was spotless.
I suppose we're both fairly small.
Seeing that difference in play against more average-sized Hollows, it was hardly fair. The feline was so slippery yet devastatingly powerful that they'd never even stood a chance.
They were strong. Fellow conquerors of their voices.
But we were stronger. And now, their strength shall become our own.
Only then, a familiar sensation sent his body crumpling into the sand. A weight unlike any he'd ever felt was driving him helplessly deeper, until his body was half imprinted into the ground.
"Wonderful. So many powerful subjects, all in one place. We couldn't have asked for better."
"Well, there's always finding another Vasto Lorde, y'know."
"True, true, but I've found beings of that caliber to leave something to be desired in terms of drive. Adjuchas, on the other hand, are still quite hungry."
The sound of footsteps came to a stop near him as he lay there, struggling to even breathe.
"Just look at this one, Gin. So desperate to survive, so ready to fight back. To be frank, it's rather inspiring."
"Yer inspired by a mutated bat, Aizen-sama?"
"Is it not wise, to draw insight from the most unexpected of places?"
"Eh, whatever ya say, boss. If ya ask me, its kinda creepy."
Suddenly, the weight which kept him pinned in place released itself, but only enough for him to lift his head.
Crouched in front of him was a... thing, small and tan, with a patch of brown atop its head. It met his widened, panicked eyes with a look of absolute serenity. Its voice, somber and smooth as glass, posed a simple question.
"Do you wish to be cured of your fear?"
-End of Prologue-
Aaand here we are. This part of the story was a blast to write, but I decided to close it out early for the sake of keeping it from overstaying its welcome. As much as the ground-level Hollow experience entertains my imagination, I think its more than accomplished its purpose of introducing just who Sangre is as a character. I may write another story in future, focused entirely on that concept, but its high time we moved on to the real meat and potatoes of Sanguine Espada.
There will be several changes from the original in terms of how events will play out, but the basic bullet points will stay the same. Mainly, I'm going to spend a bit more time in Las Noches with the other Espada, as I think it's important to fill in the dynamics Sangre has with them. Otherwise having him fight them in future might ring a little hollow.
Anyway, that's all for now. Buh-Bye!
