Corroded Spirits

Corroded Spirits: 43

Chapter 43: Barren Oasis

Battles have never been events that Orihime liked to see. Arguments, debates, or even friendly exchanging of sharp wits. She thought she'd seen it all until she was plunged into Ichigo's universe of Hollows and Shinigamis and Spirit dwellers. Her whole outlook on the word 'war' changed to the highest level. She's seen and experienced most of these violent occurrences herself. In fact, being the victim in certain times and always in need of the knight in shining armour.

 But this time, this moment where she was unsure if it was day or night, she couldn't believe the intensity of the awful onslaught taking place before her. Her Arrancar is losing, and she knows this for a fact. It's difficult to admit, even to herself, but with the way how Grimmjow and Nnoitra seemed to be tossing the Quatra around, even as he fought them off in what was still his apathetic demeanor, something was going to give soon. And it sure was sure as hell obvious who it would be.

 Still, she can't accept it. Won't accept it. She won't bow down and submit to what fate was laying out for them. And neither would Ulquiorra. Even if he knew in his mind, that it was already too late. Even in his Segunda Etapa form, Ulquiorra knew, that his fight was a lost cause.

 Based on rank, Ulquiorra surpassed both Grimmjow and Nnoitra. Individually, he would've been able to defeat them, skillfully, without releasing his Zanpakutou, unless of course the situation demanded it. But it was an entirely different thing to fight fellow Espada as individuals compared to fighting both with consecutive ranks on a two on one battle. And although it was believed to be almost impossible, Ulquiorra was the one losing.

 His previous cuts already proved to be useless to heal for his abilities, and so he was left handicapped in the fight, and because his concentration was long damned thanks to Nnoitra's end, there was no going back to the scale of getting the upper-hand.

 With another hit, Grimmjow breaks Ulquiorra's form and he's down on the ground. He was quick to try and get back up, but Nnoitra prevented him before he could even stand. With a foot on his head, Nnoitra plunged his double-bladed scythe into the ground just a few inches from the Quatra's face. "No!!" Orihime yelled somewhere from across the battlefield. Nnoitra sneered. "Hear that, man? Your woman's asking me not to do anything horrific.." He said.

 Said woman was having an internally mental breakdown at her spot, trying to think of ways to interfere with her useless mundane form, but to no avail. Ulquiorra hears it. Even from afar. He can hear her stifled sobs, her occasional sniffs, and sharp intakes of breath. He can hear it all, and judging by the look on Nnoitra's face as he looked down at him, he no longer had it in his power to mute her horrible sounds. "Let's try this out for horrific." Nnoitra said, suddenly grabbing Ulquiorra's left wing.

 Before, Orihime could even have the time to process what the Quinta was about to do, the skeletal Espada, pulled with tremendous strength, and tore off the black wing clean off from Ulquiorra's back. The sound echoed for a millions of millions of times until it registered in Orihime's mind. She doesn't hold back now. The turmoil escapes her mind and her mouth, and she let out a sound that was not worthy of the word 'cry'.

 It was devastated, hopeless and beastly, as if it hadn't come from a young girl, or even a human for that matter. And it only further strengthens the bloodlust Nnoitra and Grimmjow had. So they continue. "Stop!!" Orihime went on as they did, but was still ignored. Despite the inevitablity unfolding before her eyes, the girl began to twist her head around, frantically searching for something, anything. Perhaps, even in this dark precipice that was their impending doom, she might find a miracle.

 And oddly enough, she does. It was quick, but Orihime saw a flicker of light shine into her eyes on the sands near a patch of flowers. Mumbling incoherently, she crawled on all fours to it, hoping it could be a weapon of some sorts, or anything that she may be able to use for...anything. "This is..." She reached out, and gave a cry of sheer joy. It was her pins, her Shun Shun Rikka. "Yes! Yes!" She cried loudly, not bothering to care if anyone heard her or if it was inappropriate for the situation.

 Not wondering how the pins even got there, she quickly stood up and held the pins in her hands. With cold determination, she directed her gaze towards the two Espada, who were slowly, but brutally murdering her Ulquiorra. "Tsubaki!" She called, one shard of her flower-pin slowly turning into golden light. "Koten Zanshun, I--" However, her order was never given out. In that moment, just as the fire spirit was to be unleashed, a shot of red flame, dashed from out of nowhere, and shattered both pins from her hands into dust.

 It was so unexpected, so quick, that Orihime no longer even lingered on the burns that were left on her hand. Instead, she turned her head, to the direction where she (thought) saw the flame came from. A burning tear makes its' way down her cheek, upon finding Aizen across the oasis from her, with a hand outstretched in her direction, and a burning red light, dissipating from it. "There's nothing you can do anymore, my dear." He whispered. Without a second thought, he Shunpoed his way behind the girl, and positioned her in front of him again so that she could see the Quatra's nearing end.

 She wanted to close her eyes, but her mind couldn't let her anymore. They were wide open to the horrible view before her. Both of Ulquiorra's wings were gone now, unable to regenerate just like all his other wounds. And by other wounds, Orihime meant the dozens that covered his now scarlet torso. There was blood on his face, too. Nnoitra, or Grimmjow, whoever from the two, had pulled off one of Ulquiorra's horns, and blood was streaming in thick cascades all over his face which was crippled with absolute fear.

 At that moment, while Orihime watched Nnoitra and Grimmjow take hold of their fallen victim by both arms, Ulquiorra's eyes magnetically found his beloved hime's. Just as Fate was cruel, Time was as (un) giving, and froze itself, for the two to behold each other, for what was most likely, the last time.

 Orihime was an entangled mess. Dress all torn and burnt, hair twisted and pulled out of place, skin blistered and dirtied with half-dried burns on her legs. Ulquiorra looked like a literal bat out of hell. Wingless, half-horned, soaked in blood, and reason and purpose all diminished, once again. It was incorrigibly cruel, in every sense of the word. All promise of hope, all chance to be free, and all that they had, withered away by their fear turned reality.

 These thoughts filled Ulquiorra in a rapid rate that felt like shards running through his skull. All at once, the pain of his wounds, his stolen wings and naked crown numbed away from their spots, and coursed beneath his flesh towards the one thing that Ulquiorra possessed but did not have. And as his eyes and face began to contort in despair, his mouth opened to deliver its' vocal background.

 It was indescribable. The sound he let out. Almost as incoherent as the one that Orihime herself gave. And the fact that it equaled hers, broke her heart all the more. When she saw that his breath caught to cry out once more, she gave herself in to the torrent of her tears, to cry along with him.

 Above, Hueco Mundo was quiet, peaceful, somber. No soul was disturbed, and no dune was forced out of its' shape. It was the same to how it always was. And it remained so, as the oasis beneath it burned, and the couple who loved it so dearly, died along with it.