White
That's all the eye could see for miles; flat, pearly grey sand against a greyish white sky. Only faded, blurry memories graced emerald green hues as a pale, thin fame wandered aimlessly for who knew how long. These memories were jumbled, confusing, unclear, and the creature tried making heads or tails of them all; tired identifying the unfamiliar places and faces, the screams, all the blood. So much blood. Puddles of it, everywhere in every memory. What did it all mean? Why was there so much of it? Why was it there? Where did it all come from? Who's blood was it? And who spilled it? Why where these memories relevant? To whom did they belong? So many questions and no one to answer them. And what about this place? So barren, empty, lifeless. Nothingness, all around. Nothing but wind, sand, and sky. Endless sky. Fiery red locks whipped about a lithe form as a gust of wind whirled angrily and threw sand into tired eyes. How irritating. Fangs bared in annoyance, a low growl rumbling within a small chest whilst longs talon-like nails fluttered to shield sensitive corneas. Once able to see again, sharp sight spotted a building of sorts in the distance. Was the ground...shaking? Something was happening over there. But what? Suddenly, a black spec shot into the sky, followed by another, then the shrill strike if steel against steel and the obvious sparks flying from such. A battle? Out here in the middle of nowhere? Curiosity overpowered, and excitement raced down an eagerly arched spine before bolting towards the edging violence. ................................................................. An enraged cry split the air as a blue blur whizzed toward a gangly frame. Grimmjow and Nnoitra were ignorantly fighting yet again over who was strongest, and Grimmjow was as determined as ever to prove he was king. Of course, he was failing against the higher ranking Espada. Nnoitra laughed as the two clanged swords together, then effortlessly flung the sexta into another pillar and sent it crashing to the ground in a heap of rubble. Pathetic. "Tch, I'm fuckin' done with this shit, today, asshole," the quinto grunted as he swung his weapon over his shoulder. "I suggest you clean your ass up before Aizen's meeting later," he added, before sonidoing out of sight. Furious, Grimmjow let out a growl and slammed his fist into the nearest concrete, causing it to crumble into pieces. "You...fucking...ASSHOLE!" He exclaimed, then suddenly stopped, wide eyed. Something was approaching, and fast. A devious grin of excitement crossed bloody features as cerulean hues lit up. Seems like easy prey, judging by the spiritual pressure, but could put up a decent fight. Excellent. This could be fun.
