I am the Grim Reaper, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.
Seething, boiling-in my muscles and bones a fire fueled by the essence of blood, like gasoline. It's something internal, inherant, ingrained - I was born with it, and I passed on with it. I'll probably perish with it again-but that suits me fine. I don't mind. Born in blood, bathed in it, and I'll kick the bucket the same way too.
Blood, dripping down the sides of my enemies' heads, their skulls split open, craniums cracked and brains exposed like a crude crucible or container from which carrion feed, flocks of carnivourous birds circling bodies and bodies soon to be corpses, the crows herald the call of Death, to die- to be killed at my hands.
Blood, gushing forth from a fatal wound, the pathetically mortal cries and screams of fear as I plunge deep into them, the warmth, the heat, the softness of their insides enveloping me, till I rip my hand out again, now covered in their blood, trickling down my fingers stained a deep, dark beautiful crimson.
The final shrieks of my enemies, a sound that would sicken so many others, to me it is a sweet symphony. A chorus of chaos, the tune of their terror throbbing, humming heavily in my veins.
Did I say shrieks of my enemies? Heh, it doesn't really matter who they belong to though- foe, or…ally, I'll fight all of them. Any of them. As long as I've got an opponent, I've got a victim.
That's what I thought, for the longest time. Didn't matter who or what I was-human, soul, hollow soul, Adjuchas, Arrancar, Espada…I didn't have a murderous mood, no, it was part of my personality.
But then came along that bastard Aizen, messing up everything-putting in place his bloody, or rather non-bloody regimes and freaking rules that prevented me from picking any fights. What the hell! What the hell was the point of having so much power and then restraining yourself, not using it to beat the crap out of someone, what a waste! Did that dumbass really expect me to sit around all day drinking his damn tea (which tastes terribly bland, by the way)! I don't understand how any of the others tolerate this crap, his crap. Except Nnoitra, damn, that's one berserk bastard if ever I met one. He's the only guy who even begins to understand the 'fun' in the most fundamental of fights. Although we may share some of the same principles, that seven foot freak of a Quinta, who may supposedly outclass me- is in no way my equal.
They're all creeps, in their own way.
Especially that Ulquiorra, pah, he sickens me! What is it about all the Espada ranked 4th and lower, they're all a bunch of bums sitting around placidly till Aizen orders them to do something, particularly that coward of a Cuarta - he's not just a servant, he's a sychophant. The rest of us may be enslaved to that idiot, but it's like he enjoys running around fulfilling every ridiculous request and pandering perfectly to his master.
Disgusting, that's what it is. He is.
Don't get me wrong, Ulquiorra's in no way a pacifist. None of us are; why do you think we're Espada in the first place, for crying out loud? It's cause there's an unquenchable thirst for blood and an insatiable hunger for violence, we feed off the ferocity in our fights. A strong spiritual pressure is like the scent of an appetizing meal to me, smells that spell the delightfully delicious sense of destruction, where I can dine off the death of my opponents. We're cannibals of course, we consume each other to get more powerful, till we're consumed with the mad desire to devour everything, everyone.
It's dangerous, we can get so drunk with this desire, so intoxicated we lose our identity of individuality. Obsessively caught up in our pursuit of satisfaction, we forget who we're trying to fulfill. When your very existence is threatened, there's a beauty in the most basic of battles, the issue of the instinct to survive, simple and pure. This lure of life (or what we Arranacar can call life) is a matter that's profoundly primordial, not personal, and it's what perfected Pantera.
Come to think of it, I've never seen Ulquiorra's Resurreccion, but I bet it must be a helluva strong. Could it be that he's so powerful he sees no need to improve himself? Is that the reason for his persistently 'peaceful' disposition? The guy isn't easily provoked, but there's something uncannily potent about him and his aura- I don't understand it, but it isn't going to stop me from beating the crap out of that Cuarta. Someday. Soon.
Soon the Sexta will look upon...and look up? at his superior, transformed. What changes will be there be, what experiences to see? As emeralds gaze and sapphires glare, gripped in a vice-like view, the light glittering in them may reflect the steel of their souls, though one denies its existence, and the other disregards it.
You. Damn You. Why did it have to be you? Of all the others, why you?
You create and keep me crazy.You...you really confuse me, y'know that?
No, of course you don't.
Whatever your evil little eyes see, exists. Whatever it's blind to, is a bunch of batshit.
That's your philosophy, isn't it?
Of course you'd phrase it more elegantly- or stoically rather, without such severity. But sorry, I don't have your eloquence, or the time and patience to equip my speech with it. I'm not so passive as you. I say what I mean, as much as you mean what you say.
But I'm always at a loss for words around you, I can only curse and yell because I have no damn idea how else to communicate with you. And then you respond so coolly, callously that it drives me crazy all over again.
You really know how to rub me the right...wrong way, huh Cuatro? Even if you're not aware of it. You can't see how you're such a pest. Well, let me explain then.
I hate your touch, it exasperates me. Your monotony is maddening as well. Your reluctance for combat just aggravates things...me, more. I'm a psychopath in your presence.
But don't I like that, that chaos, that rage I've felt throughout time and age? The delicious rush of insanity evoked by your mundanity? How my blood burns with a fire, a desire sparked by my ire at you? Then it's flooded with an adrenaline, indescribable and incomparable to anything I've ever felt before. You're always so calm, so perfectly in control- but for me, I have no say in the matter, it's an almost involuntary reaction to the desire to destroy, the will to kill you.
You can't, or you can barely detect this danger because you insist that 'Seeing is believing',and for you it's impossible to view emotions. I'm not gonna question that. But answer me this: When will you acknowledge my anger and see that I despise your demeaning ways? Will you realize it when you watch me bury my blade in your breast? I'll show you my fury then, since you can't feel it.
I'll only calm down if I bring you down. Or if I am subdued by you. HAH! What are the chances of the latter happening! There's no possibility that I'll allow it!
Bloodlust, in my veins my blood howls for yours. I wish to lunge and plunge my hands deep inside your stomach, or grab your throat and make you choke, splutter and cry, so that finally something will flow down those twin teal tear tracks of yours. What is that? Terror? Trapped and crushed against a concrete column, would you beg for mercy?
Of course not, Cuatro. Your trepidation toward me is no more true than my trust in Aizen. The taste of your blood, and the fear mixed in it, is mere fantasy. Bittersweet, but mmmh, nonetheless tempting thoughts of ruthlessly tearing through your skin, savouring the rich sounds of your screams and agony, like ambrosia so exquisite on the tongue- I won't rush this meal fit for a King.
woooahh, Grimmy really needs to see a therapist. Maybe I do too, for writing him this way! ;P Was it decent enough? Good? Bad? Tell me with your reviews!
Eaaasy there, Tiger.
I'M A PANTHER! RRRRRAWWWRRR!
*Claws swipe
Yipes! Mr Therapist! Heeeelp! I've an imaginary furball of fury on my case! O
I'M NOT A FURBALL! IT'S A HIERRO, NOT HAIR, DUMBASS!