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My breathing became agony. That damn agony separated my body from my brain, making it impossible for me to move. The rain pushed me harder to the ground falling to my bare bloody opened flesh in my stomach when I realized it was over.
I couldn't do anything. Just watch how that man with his hair raised up in a spike gave his last glance at me, spitting to the ground before turning around. It was odd, seeing you insulting yourself like that. Like the taste of your own damn medicine. Worst of all, he stole my rightful place. It should have been me the one how looked down to a soon-be-dead-body on the ground. Me the one who scoffed disappointed in that guy's low potential. I, Kenpachi Zaraki, of all the Captains the strongest, how could I let this happen?
Nevertheless, he was stronger.
I never though that I would die to the likes of myself.
The intensity of me wanting to move my fingers and grab my Zanpak-to increase like the rain that kept me attached to the ground. My
Beautiful and SolitaryBeautiful and Solitary
Chapter One: The truth
The Council of the Captains was aligned just for me that morning. I had to present my report in front of them all, all covered up in wounds because there was no time for treatment. The Old Man was desperate to hear what I was about to say about the mission. So I knelt in front of him with my Haori touching the wooden floor with some of my blood. The thing was I heard an anonymous hiss beside me, as if the absent agony that should been in me had moved on to another person. I didn't have to look to know that it was the Captain of that Healing Squad, she always stood there. Besides she always smelled like Herbs and Incense, and so it has been since the first time I saw her since I first joined the Squads.
She was all so different. I've heard that she's the strongest of all the Captains right after the Old Man, so she had this privilege to questionize the Old Man's orders every now and then. She always talked about the innocent and our priority
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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