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Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

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Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Non-Player Character on Sun Apr 08, 2018 9:27 pm

The battle cries rang out and screams filled the air. The war had begun almost out of nowhere, some saying arrows had rain from the sky first, others claiming it had been a mighty Cero that tore a rift between the three primary worlds. Others, still, swore they heard a unified cry of Zanpakuto releases before the first bodies fell.

The three way battle was instant and savage, spilling between the World of the Living, Soul Society, and Hueco Mundo. Forty days had passed since the initial battle and it had been nonstop struggling to survive on everyone's part. Humans and Fullbringers weren't even safe as Hollows savaged them to replenish their strength and ranks.

But, somewhere amid this chaotic battle, a group of seven Quincy linked hands and channeled all of the energy they could must into a single spell to end the fighting. The spell took the form of a white light that expanded until it engulfed everything, in every world.

And when it did, their final spell activated, to rewrite history.

After


The sun shone over Seireitei. Peace was maintained and the leaders of Soul Society were pleased. The truce with the Quincy, enacted years ago, was still shaky at times but stable, ever since the Princesses overthrew the previous leader. It made more sense, after all, four the Six Princesses to rule over the Humans and other Zanpakuto of Seireitei. They were the strongest and most powerful of their respectful elements, and the greatest fighters in maintaining the balance of souls and combating Hollows.

Though tensions were still high. Recently, one of the Princes of Hueco Mundo had taken residence in Seireitei. He claimed that the spell the Hollows had placed on him millennia ago had transformed him into a Zanpakuto rather than a true Hollow, and as far as the Princesses could tell, he was not lying.

As the sun rose, bringing with it a new day, the thirteen Captains went about their day in their own ways, and the Zanpakuto race began another day of maintaining balance between Soul Society and the World of the Living. Because, after all, if the Zanpakuto didn't, who would?

(In this thread, Damnation's history is the same, however no Shinigami exist. Instead, their Zanpakuto lived their lives and perform their duties by themselves, still possessing all of their abilities. In this thread, the God of Shinigami was never born, and consequently never taught humans Kido. Zanpakuto were born from humans stumbling upon the magic themselves and being transformed into Zanpakuto Spirits)
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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Keiichi Moriya on Mon Apr 09, 2018 1:27 am

Another quiet, cold day on the plane of the humans. In Karakura town, it was uncharacteristically misty in the morning as Mokuteki hung around outside of her apartment smoking silently. The taste was uncharacteristically angering her, something about the cancer stick that she usually used to cope that wasn't working on that morning. She glanced back at the door to the apartment, then figured that it was probably a bad idea to be out there now anyway. She'd been out there for a good bit, and Hanran was probably awake or wakening.

As quietly as she could, she reentered the apartment and squashed her cigarette into an ashtray before heading into the tiny corner that she considered a kitchen and beginning breakfast. As spirited as Hanran was, he was just as awful at doing anything that could be compared to housework. So, in that way, Mokuteki was the acting serf. Cooking meals and such. As she was caught up in that train of thought, the stove had almost caught fire. Perhaps she wasn't as good at it as she'd thought herself.

After almost destroying everything she considered home and setting out a small meal for her and her acquaintance, she seated herself daintily and got his attention in the most lady-like way she could. ...throwing a sandal at him.

"Breakfast is ready, rise."
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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Kotori Arakaki on Mon Apr 09, 2018 4:05 am

Hanran was draped across the couch on his stomach, still asleep. Asleep, that is, until a sandal hit him in the head. He wasn't too keen on the way Moku treated him, but to be fair, she had at least always been there for him. Even after... that. He groaned as he sat up, covering his eyes from the light.

"Moku... You really gotta be more gentle..." Hanran complained, stumbling his way over to the table to sit with the woman. She was never a great cook, but at least she tried. In the end, she put food in his stomach.

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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Va'tet on Mon Apr 09, 2018 8:56 pm

Muerte grimaced at the rising sun. This world was so needlessly bright. It almost physically pained him to walk under such a bright sky. Thousands of years in darkness had made him unused to the sun and even after coming to Soul Society he didn't feel entirely comfortable.

Now, however, he rose from his temporary home to walk across the Seireitei. He needed to go to the First Division, to speak with the Princesses. He was a Zanpakuto, origins be damned. He deserved to be given assignments, to fight. He was just as strong as any of those stuck up Princesses.
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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Shiroki on Wed Apr 11, 2018 5:01 am

Dark. Cold. Damp.

--Just the way she wanted it.

To call the Nest a prison was really a charitable exaggeration, when in reality it existed as a hole in the ground. From an overhead perspective one might even mistake it for a gravel pit or stone quarry; the way graded tiers had been hewn into its edges and caverns hollowed out from these steps. The excavations went deep; so deep that the absolute bottom yawned like a Hollow's throat, cloaked in darkness even at the apex of day.

Correction: near-darkness. Faint glimmers of firelight remained visible peering downward into the pit: Flames that scorched rather than comforted, light that only served to emphasize the surrounding gloom instead of chasing it away. At the right distance, from the right angle; the Hollow's Mouth comparison would be strangely apt--with the sporadic flickers of torchlight from the depths mimicking the onset of a charged Cero ready to fire.

The deeper the transgression; the deeper one went. Or so went the rumor. Visitors foolhardy or desperate enough to venture up to the Nest would find desk jockeys and officers on duty roaming the upper tiers nearest the surface, where the screams and howls were faintest. Proceeding downward, one would light upon the cells: temporary installations cut out of the very rock and sealed with sturdy bars. Primitive, crude things with no aesthetic value but built solely for one function--to keep the criminal element away from innocent, exploitable members of society.

Hastily built and structurally unsound for the most part, some would question their effectiveness at impounding even the most hopeless of criminals. This is true. Some of the stronger, or more determined clientele; prove perfectly able at digging their way out or breaking through the bars. Temporary accommodation was all it had been intended to offer at best. The Nest was never designed with permanency in mind.

After all, a petty criminal in the upper tiers; arrested for misdemeanors like brawling or being a public nuisance rarely got extended sentences. They would stay a week or two at the most, before being dismissed to resume being a plague on society. And as for the others--cutthroats, thieves, traitors--their stay would be temporary too...but in a different context entirely.

The deeper one went, the worse the dregs of society they would encounter: from unlucky debtors imprisoned for being unable to pay off their loans at the very top, to silver tongued con artists and coldblooded murderers occupying the lower circles. The unsettling noises would grow in volume as one descends ever lower, with thugs and sociopaths adding their own crazed yelling to the general cacophony. The deeper one went, the more sturdy the cells became as well--all the better to keep rabble such as these from blighting civilized society.

And at the very bottom; below even madmen and serial killers and genocidal maniacs, lurked the very worst of them all--

The Warden.

No name. No actual designation. Though official records would refer to her as Captain of the Second Squad, it was a title she neither denied or acknowledged. She did not wear any trappings of rank or badge as was usually the case with captains; her only uniform being the implements of  pain disfiguring her person and the faintly glowing blood oozing from various wounds.

The lowest Circle was her domain; this creature who was both jailer and prisoner in its own prison. Here she ruled over her subjects, either from an uncomfortable throne cobbled together from knives and torture wheels, or else in her more monstrous Aspect: a gaunt white hound hobbled by ties and pierced through by multiple harpoons. In that form, she easily filled the entire space from end to end.

For now, the Warden assumed her humanoid form as she waited, looking up into the crazed eyes of a burly hostage easily twice her size. Even standing from her throne did not put them on equal ground. They made a curious pair: a brutish hulk glowering incredulously at the scrawny naked child before him, absently lapping canine-fashion at one of the many cuts decorating her forearms.

"Hidetsugu Hitoshi," when she spoke, her voice was as raspy and painful as her outer appearance suggested, yet amplified by the pit's acoustics to be heard clearly. "You stand before this court to answer a charge of illegal moneylending and murder of a debtor; of which you have been found guilty. Now receive your sentence--"

A low, ominous drumming slowly became audible, torchlit figures of Zanpakuto agents flash-stepping into attendance all around them to bear witness.

"Death." stated the foremost, extinguishing their torch.

"Death." A second followed in unison.

"Death." Then a third.

"Death," And a fourth.

Lights extinguished one by one, plunging them all into complete darkness broken only by the Warden's glowing eyes. She bared her fangs in a smile, one containing an unsettling array of pointed teeth.

Silence. And then a shriek, followed by another--each one adding to the harmony of screams already issuing from the upper levels, accompanied by the grisly sounds of a carcass being slowly torn apart. When it was over, the Warden lazily arose, stretched and sauntered back to her chair heedless of the spikes once again puncturing flesh as she sat.

"Next, please."
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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Azalea on Mon Apr 16, 2018 11:41 pm

Whereas the rest of Seireitei was quiet and peaceful, the Eleventh was as rowdy as ever. It was, truly, a Division that never rested, with drills being conducted twenty-four seven, with four rotations of Zanpakuto working twelve hour shifts. And at the heart of the Eleventh was the feared Kenpachi, Saishū-tekina Puraido, commonly referred to either as Kenpachi Saishū-tekina, or General Pride. Some, however, called the massive feline-like Zanpakuto General Arrogance due to his incredibly swollen ego.

The Training Yard was currently watching the seventy five members of the first rotation going through battle drills. Behind them, the third rotation was working on strength building routines, and beyond them was the Kenpachi.

Standing at almost sixteen and a half feet, or 497.84 centimeters, with broad shoulders and a thick mane of hair covering his neck and the crown of his head, Kenpachi Saishū-tekina's fur was black and his glowing yellow-and-red eyes glowered at his men and women. Roaring a command to fight harder, to be stronger, the Kenpachi returned his attention to the ten Zanpakuto arranged around him.

"If any of you pathetic shits aren't willing to die, then get the hell out of my Division. Seireitei doesn't need weaklings defending it, and I certainly don't want to see any of you shit-stains besmirching my Division with your presence. So leave while I'm giving you the chance." Initiation to the Eleventh was always handled by a talk with the Captain, with similar golden nuggets of wisdom.

For a moment, the ten recruits thought it over before one turned to leave, heading for the First Division. But as they did, the Kenpachi's clawed hand flashed forward, blowing a hole through the man's torso. General Pride's fist shattered bones and pulverized flesh, going completely through the Zanpakuto's chest with ease.

"I never said you were able to leave alive. As for the rest of you, get the hell out of my sight before I kill you too," The nine ran off and the Kenpachi released a resounding roar from his maw. "Somebody clean this fucking piece of shit excuse for a Zanpakuto up!"

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Re: Zanpakuto Tales (A Damnation without Shinigami)

Post by Keiichi Moriya on Tue Apr 17, 2018 9:49 pm

"I'll be as gentle as I please. Boy." She, despite her supposed manners, began eating almost as soon as she noticed that the smaller Zanpakuto was aroused from his slumber. It took a bit into a slight period of silence for Moku to begin to seemingly take offense to his speech and the way he spoke to her. It was petty, but she had to reclaim what little respect she felt she deserved at any given moment.

At first, there was a subtle glare thrown Hanran's way. Then, when he didn't notice, it turned into a full on stink eye. But that didn't last long before she slammed down her bowl and stopped eating, just long enough to spew out the words festering in her lungs.

"You know, you ought to be more receptive to me. After all, I'm one of the few reasons you're alive right now. I'm also the only person taking care of you right now. You could starve, y'know."

She left it at that and continued to voraciously eat, before ceasing consumption. Mokuteki raised from her seat at the table and set her bowl into the tiny sink that accompanied the equally tiny kitchen. It was at that moment she realized it was probably a good idea to begin dressing herself for day to day affairs. She might not have to answer to anyone as she did in the past, but the attire she had on at the moment was absolutely not appropriate for the day she had prepared for herself.

"Get dressed, child. We're going out today. Yes, we. No, non-negotiable. Understood?"
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