Starrk had always been loyal, his ambitions were simple but his willingness to pursue them was tenacious and absolute: he could not bear the isolation he felt. Perhaps on one level or another their origins were comparable: each aware that their existence was too much, but while Aizen had embraced his solitude, Starrk had suffered by it.
Aizen’s copper-stained eye settled upon the chip that the Primera offered up: all that remained of Lilynette. The side that personified his energy and his enthusiasm, all lost leaving him numb –– no matter how many others he surrounded himself with, the void remained.
Again perhaps there was a parallel: Starrk created a companion to keep him afloat, where Aizen created a persona to aid him with his endeavours. The soft, affable captain had certainly been more popular and only reaffirmed his sense of disconnect with the world.
But unlike Starrk, Aizen had no qualms about bringing about an end to that work of fiction.
He had no need of facets and personas beyond their immediate usage –– once the captain had outlived his usefulness, it was only sensible that he should be discarded. Things that ceased to have a use to him were not worth an after thought.
A smile tugged Aizen’s lips as Starrk apologised and offered thanks, “Show me your gratitude with your deeds, Starrk,” his reiatsu flared up, became heavier and more suffocating if that were possible. Almost the embodiment of a void.
Without hesitation, Aizen lifted his arm up; the black fetters strapping the limb down unfolded like broken bandages, he curled ebony-clan fingers around the chip and held it. Indigo light gleamed in the gaps between his fingers as the Hōgyoku’s power was summoned to life.
The orb’s domineering existence was palpable as Aizen commanded its power to suit his whims; the light grew fierce and cut through even the heavy fog of Muken. Once the light died down there was a familiar helmet sitting in the God’s lap, but the young owner was not yet present. Part of the mask was yet missing: the part that covered her eye.
“It seems a fragment of her yet helm remains in the world,” Aizen remarked as he offered the almost complete helm to Starrk, “Find that piece, and Lilynette shall be once more. Perhaps by that point, I will have need of you to demonstrate your gratitude, Starrk.” ”
Although he’d never expected to understand the display he alone was privy to, it was still far more theatrical than he’d anticipated. Reiatsu rose to dizzying levels, but Starrk resolved himself not to falter, nor flinch. His God was performing a miracle, and the first blade would not dishonor him by bending now. Not if, should his delusions be entertained, this miracle were all for him.
Constraints that held Aizen melted away, their role nothing more than a superficial claim to imprisonment. Starrk maintained the mindset that at any point, on any given day, Aizen would stroll out of this place and resume his tasks. Fanatical? Maybe. Even a nihilist would see worth in the theory.
As the light enveloped the shard, instinct was quickly smothered. To reach out and snatch back what was his, to save it from this alien presence. He rejected it, resisted it. Allowed the magic to work its course, to achieve his goal--
Gaze pierced quickly through the fading light, gingerly receiving the helmet. Powered swirled within it, familiar and warm. His heart ached and his knees trembled, but overwhelming both those sensations was the longing of his soul. The beckoning that now echoed throughout his core, tugging him toward where he knew he must go.
“I’ll await your signal, my Lord.” The Shinigami mightn’t allow another meeting, and pity the fool who might attempt to claim the helmet from him. When next he was summoned, however, it would not be as a forlorn layabout. A vagabond seeking answers. Reiatsu flared in silent salute, sonido carrying him out of this impotent tomb, impatience winning out over any remaining ceremony.
When next he was called, it would be as a whole. Entrance could be advised at gunpoint.
