Remembrance [INV/ND/NM]

"Hardly so, though I shall oblige you one last time for the night. You will get to write out your report with pleasant findings, and I will be freed from your obligations to write a report of my own." Theocelese said these words with a smile as sly as a fox could give, again in truth, and as to what he meant Mihri could only internally speculate. The moon fell and the run rose a great deal of times since he wrote down anything close to a report on another spiritual being. She was...different, as he was to her. Though her decision to draw blade against him, had he been found out, would happen instantly to be sure, he knew there was more than just a jaded soldier choosing to keep an eye on him. Theocelese did not guess, or assume this. Mihri's description of what felt like a first hand account with the Quincy assured him, and the words spoken sunk deeper into Okto's form. The faux-human's stature shifted drastically. No more did he walk with a proud stride befitting an officer with great military might. His reflections on this were internal, and he chose not to speak of them, but it was the same. Aizen abandoned Las Noches, leaving thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Arrancar and Hollow of all form behind. Theocelese, his former Fraccion, and the scores of more who took to his litanies of freedom made the decision to take the former kingdom of Barragan back. At first, the former Espada acted as an emissary, attempting to reason with the other beings he called 'kin'. He spoke to them, explaining they were no longer forced to a man who forced servitude upon them, and they did not listen. They sent Theocelese away, but again he returned, bringing visions of some semblance of peace they could have if they only united. No more rulers, no more kings, every man and woman could have a voice in any major decision that could possibly ever be made. They hissed at him, accused him of heretical beliefs in not eagerly waiting for the "Master" to return to take the reigns of their leashes once more.

Then and only then, in a different time and world when diplomacy failed yet again, Theocelese cursed Aizen for the decision he was forced to make. These loyalist beings were given one final chance to keep their lives, and an ultimatum was given: Leave, or die. Many abandoned Las Noches, these ones knew what the Grecian was capable of, and heard hushed stories of the thing he once was. Those that stayed were the most defiant, they did not care what the 8th Espada told them. Their loyalty died with them. The slaughter which commenced was one unlike any that had ever come to pass in Hueco Mundo. While Theocelese came out with enough injuries deep enough to leave scars, he lost many good friends and family, brothers and sisters. Las Noches lost every warrior who valued servitude over freedom and from both sides, Theocelese held those of every form, man, woman or child. The lattermost cut into his psyche, leaving permanent scars invisible to all those around him. This act was the single most difficult one to ever be made, and while it was something that needed to be done, these memories were hidden in the bottoms of bottles, in the filter of every cigarette, and across every inch of scarring the front of his torso adorned. Mihri's bringing up of how...similar experiences they shared was the sole reason for almost a complete change in behavior. From his easy going nature to speak openly, as openly as he could that is, he simply let the silence between the two remain.

Lightning streamed across the sky, thunder echoed from this direction and that, and once more the storm came to life. The rain would fall again soon, and the memories of past deeds drowned Theocelese enough that he hadn't realized a cigarette was pursed between his lips and lit. Even when the phone of the Shinigami came to life, the man surprisingly did not react to it as she did. He was several steps ahead of Mihri before stopping, and by then, the cigarette was already half-way gone. Reality came crashing against his foremost thoughts, just in time for him to hear and perceive the woman's words. As Mihri's eyes did so not too long ago, Okto's golden iris' deadened. "I'm afraid, my dear, it is far too late for that." The man spoken in almost a whisper, as if fearing the repercussions of bringing up such a topic, even though there was no time for him to do so.

He knew the Hollow was there, and closing in to their location with haste. Theocelese followed Mihri, trailing behind her until she came to a stop once more. It became aware of them, its masked form was monstrously beautiful, even the screech warping inside his ears became the sharp, striking notes of a hundred violins. In an almost reluctant fashion, the man slowly drew the three-foot blade, revealing it to be almost...bland. Its date of origin looked to be centuries old, and by the looks alone would could assume it was forged from bronze. The weapon, simplistic, but none the less held the visage of something crafted only by masterful hands. "I will do this for you, Miss Ikeda...but I, in turn, would like to hear you sing a song for me the next time we cross paths. Whether it is in this realm, and I'm still among the living, or a soul in the afterlife. Please consider it a...last request from a dying man."

The look he gave Mihri altered from the sullen and melancholic gaze he kept focused on the saturated pavement. This one held a bit of a look of defiance, as with eyes alone he was telling Mihri there was always the option for him to let the Shinigami do her job, that there was nothing she could do to stop him. The man only known as 'Okto' was free, comitted no crimes against the spiritual realm thus far, and though Mihri found a reason to continue prying at the knowledge he coveted, she ultimately could do nothing to him. Not lift her blade, nor forcefully make him go into this fight. Had the Shinigami offered payment, be it a bit of silver from her home, or even knowledge on her behalf, the situation would have been different. Now, Okto put the price for his services on the table, and the onus would be on Mihri, as to whether she would do what was asked of her. Yet, when the hard stare softened ever so slightly, it became clear he would be doing what was asked of him for the sake of his last spoken words.

The sound of thunder cracked as the man lifted himself into the air, his form quickly going straight for the Hollow. Okto did not stop and engage, but rather, flew past the beast. Like a cat to a toy, it turned and with another screech, flapped its wings and pursued. The being Mihri was so keen on observing knew better than to fight in such a populated area, and his intentions were to lead the Hollow away. Once in a sufficiently high location, Theocelese stared down the Hollow as it was nearly upon him in its pursuit. The man took stance to defend, though there was a missing element to complete the way he stood and angled his blade. It looked almost as if the man was used to holding a shield on his left arm, but that, in time, would not impact his martial prowess. Theocelese wanted this to be done with sooner, rather than later. The draconic Hollow lashed out with its natural weapons, claws and teeth and tail. Okto was quick in his combat responses, blocking and dodging. The deflecting of the Hollow's blows was done in a manner which caused hideous lacerations. He was intentionally bleeding the creature, weakening it for the final blow. Each movement taken allowed the man to get in a little bit closer than the last, and once within the right distance, a brilliant blue light spawned from Okto's hand.

The Hollow reared back, its maws opening and a light of its own formed. It drew power from the raging storm, creating a pulsating ball of energy that surged in a line from its throat. Just then, as the beam fired, the blue energy formed into a spear, clutched tightly in Okto's hand. With a roar powerful enough to rival the thunder in the heavens, the man drove the spear upwards, impaling the beast underneath its jaw. With pure strength alone, Okto pierced the outer portion of its upper jaw, pinning the monster's mouth shut. Electrical currents exploded this way and that as the Hollow's power backfired, internally shocked by its own attack. The man used this moment to twist his form, spinning a complete three-sixty to strike with his sword. The thick hide of the Hollow tore open, and a torrent of blood began to cascade in tandem with the rain falling below. With the creature's fast-thrumming heart exposed, Theocelese grabbed hold of the spear shaft again, pulling down and with one hideous motion, his impromptu weapon was now freed, and thusly, thrust into the Hollow's heart. Immediately, it stopped moving and for just a few seconds longer, it lived its final life as this breath-taking daemon. As the Hollow dissipated, so would his spear. True to his word, the soul of the Hollow had not been obliterated as it would, had he been of the descent of a wretched Quincy.
The Hollow, now dispatched with the expert precision of the seasoned fighter Okto claimed to be, left the rolling drums of the clouds to continue their din. The man sheathed his blade, face, clothes and hair covered in blood that was already diluting from the water crashing against him.

"This task you ask of me, is now done." Theocelese spoke, his body descending rapidly to the streets below. No doubt Mihri stayed within a reasonable, but safe distance to watch and observe during the short sortie. With the woman now nearby, and no threats abound, Okto made eye contact once more. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and against the darkness of the night, he almost glowed from the paleness of his skin. The man's breathing looked almost strained, and he held a look which showed me was fighting a coughing fit. Theocelese suffered this affliction before, knew how to replicate the effects of it. More memories of pain, this one physical rather than psychological.

"Kousta." The single word spoken came out slightly raspy, and weathered, but despite all that looked to hinder him now, the man stood with the pride and clout Mihri had only ever seen until they took to the streets again prior to this encounter. The man removed the bloodied glove of his right hand and rose it to shake. "This is my name I was given as an infant." Mihri deserved at least one, complete truth. Not half of one, or one smothered in lies. Though it was shorter for a much longer name, this one he was most used to being called, and like so recently, it was just another tick in his mind that caused a grief he would swallow and kept hidden. With his gesture in wait, and his mortal name finally revealed, all it seemed that remained was for...pleasant departures.