Bayonet Charge(Sal)

Menos Forest

Pajaro had a certain advantage, being able to fly down here put him out of reach of the most of the hollows... However he was head height for Gillian, perfect height for one to get a nice bite of Gillian, but Gillian hardly sustained him... He would have to head upworld soon, to the desert...

But then... Pajaro saw the Gillian shift torward a patch of sky... Wait... a patch of sky in the middle of the world of Darkness, how does that happen? Pajaro sped to torward the opening, as if it would close, Gillian were shuffling through, although it was closing... Perhaps a trio had made it through, and of course Pajaro before it sealed itself shut.

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Pajaro was blinded before he acclimated to daylight, the Sun was setting in this town, and the gillians were on the Outskirsts, he swooped down, clawing through the skull of one of these Gillians, he perched there, devouring its energy. It was refreshing, but not even sustaining... He would have to rip open his own garganta back home if he didn't sense anything worth eating in this town...

He launched off of the Gillian's head, letting out a Hollow's screech, rallying the Gillian to the town he flew towards...

What the buggery was it about this little crap hole of a town? It had about as much strategic and economic value as a rusted tin of baked beans, casually discarded by the road side and yet...something was always going on. It was a paranormal investigators wet dream and a major bloody headache for the recently elected Captain Commander.

A dead as Sal Norongachi was he spent more time on the mortal plane than he did on the other side of the twilight veil. Perhaps his advisors and Central 46 had assumed this would change when he took up Captaincy of First Division, they assumed wrong and thus the polite messages came in that he really shouldn't be donning a Gigai and buggering off for a quite drink in some dingy pub with a bunch of feckless alcoholics.

He'd taken exception to those polite messages and like a rebellious teenager had upped his visits to Earth. This was one of those visits but unfortunately in the process of eluding his aide and lieutenant he had to take the first gate available. This lead him here, to Karakura town, much to his dismay.

"Still," He thought "It could be worse. It could be France." The darkening skies gave way for stars to shine above the quietening town and Norongachi let his feet take him yonder, to the next whiskey bar.

Then again, as had been made clear, you can't spit in this town without hitting some kind of supernatural disaster of some kind. Tonight would be no different for the Glaswegian and his senses screamed of the danger.

"ONE DAY!" He yelled to the cool night air, his toy body flopping to the ground as he took to the air. "ONE FUCKING DAY! Is that so much to ask!?" He coloured the air and let his ethereal senses guide him. It wasn't long before senses weren't required, in the distance he could already see the swaying, ponderous, forms of the Menos but all their power was dwarfed by something else.

The Captain Commander moved onwards, closer and closer upon the invisible floor beneath his feet, until he saw the swooping form of the winged Hollow. The handle of his katana was clutched and its blade drawn from the sheath upon his back. He hadn't had a work out in awhile at any rate.

Pajaro swooped down, a VERY strong presense... This one could sustain him for almost a week. Then again, there were other presenses in the city. Ones the gillian's pursued, already shattering Pajaro's hopes of triple teaming the unaware being and having a nice meal for once in the frakking exsistance of an Adjuchas. Pajaro flew lower, torward an opponent who was already in the air... Curious, it appeared he could walk on air. And had a sword... What would a sword do against a comet?

Speaking of comets, Pajaro started forming one above his head, his incessant innervoice demanded that this be a BIG comet... Bigger than anything he had done before... It wasn't instantnious, but a comet DID grow, seemingly spawing ice around itself, starting as he approached this huge energy source the size of a golf ball, growing until it was the size of a VW beetle, and ready to be thrown, thrown at the meal.

"Forgive my table manners, but your flesh will taste good for supper." Pajaro yelled, a maniacal voice, nasally, eerily creepy voice... One that he seldom used, or had a use for. The adjuchas, naive to this new opponent streaked in, going almost 100 miles an hour, every flap of his wings brought him closer, his own inertia was the main force for the comet, but he can also throw the comet. and He did increasing its velocity to a blistering extreme, aimed at the man, and it was a man he could see that now. Anything hit by the comet would be destroyed, at least... He hoped so...

Power. It saturated the entire town with a furious hunger. Colouring the air in a haze, coating every particle in a static that spat and fizzled on the edge of hearing. It was electric, it was magnificent, it was a rush, a thrill, it was everything that Sal Norongachi lived for.

The jagged sphere of ice, of spiritual energy, grew from the merest speck to an eclipsing celestial body plummeting through the atmosphere with wanton destruction at journeys end. That was where the Glaswegian was, stood atop the slumbering rooftops of Karakura town, watching- savouring. Drinking in that heady cocktail of anticipation and adrenaline. Of the fight to come, the blood to be shed, the clash of sinew and muscle. Might versus might.


The Reaper rose to meet it, his sword held in both hands at his side. The wind churned in his ears, slipping across his skin in his ascension and with a roar that could match any creature from here to Hueco Mundo, steel met comet. The two forces of equal might and viciousness held for the briefest of moments and then the gargantuan object shattered.

The shower of ice rained down upon the town like a sinister Christmas sceptical, a chunk the size of his fist obliterated a house to the right as it fled the collision off and several more went further still, cutting great swathes into roads and grass alike until they finally came to an earthen rest.

Sal cast his dark gaze about him, to the towering Menos, to the collateral damage and with the excitement born of a worthy foe, to his attacker. The Scotsman switched sword hands and noted with a touch of respect that his arm was seeded with shrapnel and looking down, he saw his bare chest was similarly doused in crimson.

"Is that it?" He called to the Griffin, to the Menos who weren't even sure what world they were in.

Pajaro did as much of a smile as his avian face would allow as his comet speed in, he was already of devouring this man's soft flesh, his entrails, the power that would soon be flowing through him. It would all be his...

The comet made contact, shattering into street pole sized pieces of shrapnel, raining down on the city below. But the man didn't he stood there, bloodied, but not dead... Not yet at least... Pajaro flapped his wings, each stroke propelling him closer and closer to the wounded man, his feathers flowed in the wind, his claws glowed, giving him an shifting palor.

Pajaro speed in, his razor sharp talons extending to rip out his next entrails out of his stomach. A shriek emmitted from the chords in his mouth, a wail that would unsettle even an arrancar(which by the way, taste delicious) would shudder to hear It was the cry of victory, assumed at least, one that made the Gillian focus on Pajaro, their lifeless eyes debating whether or not to charge a cero at the one commanding them, or to wait for orders. the shifting light of Pajaro's reshi became honed, sharp, in an attempt to cut this fool in half, and THEN he could begin his feast upon his flesh...