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Poll
What is your favorite anime division?
Division 1
0%
 0% [ 0 ]
Division 2
9%
 9% [ 2 ]
Division 3
4%
 4% [ 1 ]
Division 4
0%
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Division 5
9%
 9% [ 2 ]
Division 6
4%
 4% [ 1 ]
Division 7
0%
 0% [ 0 ]
Division 8
4%
 4% [ 1 ]
Division 9
4%
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Division 10
13%
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Division 11
30%
 30% [ 7 ]
Division 12
4%
 4% [ 1 ]
Division 13
17%
 17% [ 4 ]
Total Votes : 23
Forbidden Gates OST

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 Victor "Marcus" Avitus

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Marcus
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Rank : Cero Espada
Attack : 75
Defense : 70
Intelligence : 35
Posts : 178
Exp : 122573
Join date : 2011-02-08

PostSubject: Victor "Marcus" Avitus   Sun Feb 13, 2011 10:44 pm

Arrancar

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~General Information~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Avitus, Victor

Alias: Marcus, The Legionnaire King, Legion

Gender: Male

Age: 2386

Visual Age: 28-32

Rank: Cero Espada
Division: Espada

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Extra Information:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Additional Information~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*This stuff is optional

Blood Type: O+

Family Members: N/A

Birth Date: May 356 BC

Star Sign: Taurus

Favorite Food:

Least Favorite Food:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Appearance~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Appearance:


Marcus is an imposing figure, rising above most at a height of seven feet two inches. His eyes are a piercing teal the hint at the power lying within his human form. His hair is kept relatively "short" when compared to the many long hair shinigami and arrancar that have existed through the ages, the darkest pitch of black acting to cloak over his scalp, hiding the skin beneath from any sort of view. His torso, muscled, toned, and the sign of a warrior by nature. His abdominal muscles are torn, healed, ripped and reshaped into the iconic and most envied "six pack" that so many humans spend years trying to achieve, the muscles themselves as solid as the thickest stone. Reaching his collarbone reveals an equally impressive display as his abdominal muscles, his pectorals and shoulders wrought with lean yet highly power muscle mass that would seem as though they would daunt even a blade from attempting to cut their hide. Arms, the most used ligaments of a warrior's body, and a pair that are far from neglected by Marcus, biceps, triceps, forearms, even hands seem sewn into a sinewy mass of iron hard and refined muscular build, something forever required from those warriors who would desire to live in a harsh world such as Hueco Mundo. Traveling to that of his face reveals a strong jawline set well into place, the features seemingly perfect, if not for the marring scar cut near his left ear which travels the length of Marcus' jaw, traveling his neck until reaching his collar. At his right shoulder and traveling the length of the right side and back of Marcus' neck are the remnants of his hollow mask, a look of shattered armor that had once protected the man's shoulders and neck visible, seemingly locked in a no-longer traversing snaking path that ends just short of his jawbone. His face remains clean shaven, only rarely there ever being the appearance of "5 o'clock shadow" lining a strong, wide jawline. Grasping for the man's gaze, one finds a pair of evergreen hues that speak thousands, if not millions of words, their gaze seemingly permanently drawn into an imposing glare that acts to hide the deceptively caring nature beneath. His eyes find themselves set within what appears to be naturally deep-set sockets, giving Marcus the appearance of thin "bags" under his eyes, making it seem that he is perhaps eternally worn, which could not be truer, the fact of his existence being that he bares the intention of remaking the hollow world, an imposing and stressful task that would wear and whittle away the hours of sleep most require to continue looking fresh.
Hollow Hole Location: Center of chest

Hollow Mask Remains: Marcus’ hollow mask takes shape on his right shoulder, a small culmination of solid bone matter that outlines his collarbone and stretches to the very nape of his neck before halting its growth completely.

Tattoo Location: Right hand

Reiatsu Color: Indigo

Height: 7' 2"

Weight: 230lbs

Body Type: Slim muscular

Extra Information:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Persona~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality:
The Pacifist

Unlike so many other hollow to pass, Marcus is one that has absolutely no desire for conflict. He completely loathes the concept of pointless confrontation and does his best to avoid it. Such avoidance is not a cowardly flight response, no, Marcus will avoid combat or pointless war by either attempting to act in a diplomatic method, or use his superior standing and power above, not only his kind, but most other shinigami and other spiritual beings in the world, to intimidate others into no longer desiring conflict. His desire for peace is not to be mistaken as cowardice though, as Marcus is not one to flee from a given combat scenario if he must fight, he simply desires to avoid it when possible.


The Stoic Conversationalist

The trait perhaps he is most commonly known by is the manner in which Marcus holds himself while speaking or in the company of others. Stiff lips and powerful eyes that seem to lack the presence of emotion are the commonality for the man in most instances, yet, they deceive the underlying politeness he possesses. Very rarely will the man ever speak unless spoken to, or unless he finds himself in the (not necessarily wanted) tutorial position of correction when a fool abounds around him. He bears himself this sort of tutor emotionless style of self in most near any situation, though, it is far more prevalent in combat, sneers and insults never falling from his lips, at least, not in the typical brutish manner so many others of the hot headed and boil blooded youth do. No, he would rather instead critique in a manner of eloquence yet sharp tone to tell one just why it is heir cero failed or their bankai was useless. But, to counter this comes the strangeness of an odd favoritism, Marcus’ voice, tone and words, they are all but softened in the presence of the woman, strange enough of a thing to see the arrancar known for his emotionless self to quake before the frailty of the womanly form.


The Romancer

Strangely enough, Marcus is an arrancar with a kindness reserved for women, regardless of race, so long as they take form as a human-esque being. He has no racial standards in regards to any woman, shinigami, arrancar, Quincy, vizard, all are equal in his eyes, and all are equally beautiful. Though, he has a taste for arrancar women, he has a form of taboo affection reserved for beautiful shinigami women, so much so that he would perhaps even risk his life or stretch himself to extraordinary limits to assist a female of the shinigami race. His affection for the shinigami women has yet to become publicly known, yet, should one shinigami of the beautiful woman descript fall into danger in his presence, this taboo affection may become known sooner than expected..


The Honor Bound Fool

Unlike most other hollow and arrancar, Marcus possesses a code of honor, one he lives by in regards to life and combat. While the sense of honor is one nearly lost to all races, Marcus lives strong in his own, refusing to yield to the ideals or measures of others should their methods interfere with his own measure of honor. He will never combat a woman, regardless of the offense she made against him. While he does not fear combat, if it is necessary, he would respect the foe before him and never demean the enemy, even in death, he would honor their prowess and will to fight by either returning the corpse to his foe's allies or bury the body himself. Marcus is a dead breed, one who would forever hold to their bonds of honor that would keep them human.


The Berserk King

It is true, Marcus is not without his vices, the most prevalent is his seemingly arrogant nature, yet, arrogance is not but the outer layer of a sense of aggression and rage, one that the man has long worked to suppress, no matter the cost. As rare as it might be, when unleashed, Marcus is one capable of diving head first into a blood lust that would do well to represent the very stereotype of hollow nature, a lack of concern for his life and the lives around him, or rather, he simply doesn’t care of the collateral damage that may be incurred by his own destructive tendencies whenever he would be left unchecked. More often than not, the sense of rage finds itself triggered by only a handful of circumstances, extreme loss being the primary. Various other triggers for his rage exist, yet, they are difficult to find, the abuse of power, the careless casting away of precious life, or the striking of a woman undeserving of harm, all of these are but the basic yet most effective measures in commanding the release of his inner hollow nature, beware to all those foolish enough to entice the slumbering beast that exists beneath the deepest reserves of self control within the man known as Marcus.

Likes: Those with a means and dedication beyond themselves

Dislikes: The arrogant and the greedy

Goals: A Total reformation of the Hollow Race all for the goal of casting aside the taint of their stereotype, thereby allowing the recreation of, not only the Hollow World, but of all worlds that sought to hunt his kind under the farse claims that they as hollow are nothing but monsters

Insecurities: (optional)

Fears: Failure in the sight of his kind, to be unable to deliver that which he promised so many who died in his dreams

Strengths: Cero, Speed, Strength

Weaknesses: Pesquisa, Bouts of unreasonable anger, Hierro (not necessarily weak, but certainly lacking compared to base skills at his level)

Phobias: (optional. A phobia is an unreasonable fear without an explanation. Example: “Bill has a phobia of spiders because he thinks that every time he sees one, he will die.” Phobias usually result in a panic attack when you are introduced to said thing)

Extra Information: (optional. Things that didn’t go into the other categories would go here)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~History~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bio:

The Boy

Marcus was once a human more than two thousand years ago. He was born in Rome as a nobleman's son, raised and pampered like any good noble's son. He was named Victor, a common, but very powerful name, one that was once shared by a powerful gladiator, a fact that had Victor infatuated with the warrior caste for many years as a child. Yet, his infatuation was one that went well beyond the typical love for gladiatorial battles of old. The boy grew up striving to learn the ways of the gladiator, eating as they, training as they, and hoping to live as they. Sadly, his parents did not harbor a mutual love and instead forced their son to study as a scribe for his childhood.

Victor was forced to move to a scribe's school within Rome, though it was the same city in which the gladiator matches were had, he was far from the great coliseum and watched over with strict eyes. More than once, young Victor made attempts to flee his school to watch the matches. Sadly, he was often caught mid-escape and whipped furiously in an effort to force such notions of grandeur from the boy's mind. Instead, it instilled a feeling of contempt of his teachers.

In the age of warriors, Victor was forced to live as a scribe and scholar, a form of life he absolutely loathed as a child and young adult. He forever fought his bonds of scholarly life and challenged his teachers, making him a rebel in an age of laws. Such bonds forced upon young Victor a rebellious nature, one that would break his bonds of nobility and law. Such a rebellion allowed the young man to flee his bonds at the age of fifteen. In a single night, he managed his escape from his seemingly tyrannical parents and fled to the grounds of the gladiators.


The Gladiator

When Victor fled his world as a noble he was destitute and without any place to call home, no other place except the world of the gladiator. True, most gladiators were slave warriors force to fight in the coliseum, but there were those who found sponsors willing to fund the training of willing combatants. Sadly, not many stalls were willing to take in a groomed noble rebel. Such a fact of life forced Victor to settle on his training hall and sponsor, a sponsor who was poor but had high dreams as a stall leader. Victor was unwanted but accepted due to the individual sponsor's lack of funds in being able to purchase gladiators.

His early life in training as a gladiator was one that exposed young Victor to many cultures, for, although his sponsor was far from wealthy, he was one who possessed a knowledge of many cultures and lands, allowing for Victor to learn many different combat techniques and skills for the coliseum. Because of such a wide reaching culture, Victor was permitted to learn the secrets of many cultures in regards to combat and was far from limited in regards to how he was taught. Eastern, Western, and Southern fighting styles were made available to Victor.

While most all other gladiators favored Roman and African fighting styles due to their show value, Victor showed an affinity for the eastern styles of Ancient Persia, receiving influences from the multitude of Asian styles and weapons training, his proficiency in entirely alien combat styles cultivating within the young warrior a degree of culture that no nobleman could have ever achieved, the understanding of a culture in the most primal of ways, combat.

For years Victor trained within the stables of his sponsor and perfected his combative measures, preparing the young gladiator at the age of twenty summers. For five years Victor had prepared himself for combat, prepared himself for the glory of the coliseum. With his sponsor, Victor returned to Rome for the glory of his first match as a new gladiator. When he arrived in Rome he was placed in one of the many surplus matches that served as a representation of a battle of old. Yet, while others died, he persisted, living and combating the remaining gladiators of western style with his own "barbaric" styles of the east, making him an oddball in the great ring but one loved nonetheless for his handsome face and value as a great warrior. His first success was heralded with the cleaving of his foes bodies and the roar of the Roman crowd, he was declared the only surviving victor and was given title as Renovatia (Latin for Rebirth). His name, though strange, represented his rebirth as a new gladiator and one who utilized styles of old and new, making him a new sight in the great arena

For the next four years of his life Victor fought in the coliseum valiantly, earning each victory with deadly precision and warrior pride. Sadly though, a life of victory and great battle was not one that he would have for an eternity. True, he eventually became champion of the Coliseum, he was drafted for his combative skills, forced into the wars of Rome. Such subjugation hardly pleased the then matured Victor, as he had no love for Rome, but for its people. Nevertheless, he could not refuse the orders of the Caesar and fought in the wars.


The Death

True, for even in war, Victor earned glory, his grand experience in the arena doing well to keep the young gladiator alive in the conquest Rome so desired, but even the greatest of warriors can die in battle against the worst of foes. Victor was one such warrior, in a charge against the Gaulish tribes, Victor and the army he was assigned to were outnumbered and surrounded, all but sealing the fate of the brave Roman warriors whom populated the small army. While the Romans themselves did well to put glory to their names and families, their death was inevitable, for against a horde of angry Gauls, even the strongest of Romans could fall. What Romans were left alive fought with honor and pride, giving not an inch to the rabble of Gauls they fought, but their numbers were dwindling, and even Victor was growing tired.

As he watched his allies, friends who he had come to call brothers in battle perish before the swords and axes of the Gauls, Victor himself was engaged with several foes. True, he struck many an enemy down, but a stealthy arrow found its way through the young warrior's ribcage. Such a wound would cripple any normal man to a degree that would force him into a state of immobile lethargy, Victor simply fought with new found rage and power. He forced his blades through many a Gaul, earning the respect of even his foes, yet, blood loss was not a factor he could ignore. Soon, in the passing minutes, Victor began to succumb to the injury and became sloppy, earning him several other serious injuries. Soon, Victor could not deflect the killing blow, one that came just below his neck from a Gaulish sword, one that cleaved from him the very life he so cherished as a warrior. Nevertheless, in his death, he was granted glory. For, even the hate that the Gaul and Romans shared for one another, the Gauls granted Victor a warrior's funeral, burning his body upon a slate of stone upon a hilltop, a warrior's custom for the Gaulish warrior's of old, such a ritual was one of the first done for their enemies, acknowledging a bridge of customs between Rome and Gaul warriors. Victor was the first to be named a hero by even the Gaelic tribes for his prowess in battle and firm strength of honor.


The Descent


While Victor's death was honorable, one that even he as a soul was content with. However, Victor held a contempt in death, a contempt against his Rome and family, one that was reserved for his Caesar. Such a contempt forged a hatred for the now perished gladiator, one that proceeded to force his soul chain to eat itself at a heightened rate, one that would guarantee his transformation into a hollow. In his early years as a hollow, Victor was "weak" but his knowledge of combat gave him strength beyond most others. His knowledge of technique made him a foe with finesse and flair no other hollow of the age could claim. A keen mind allowed him not only to learn his life, but the way in which his body could shape and be used as a weapon. True, Victor held no love for his being as a hollow, but the ever presenting challenges that faced him in hunting the souls of other pluses and weaker hollow forged a new sense of being in Victor. He held a passion, one to become the strongest of his kind, a passion that would fuel the epic story of the future King Hollow.

While he had no knowledge of Hueco Mundo, the ages of hunting as a minor hollow allowed him to learn his place in the worlds. He learned of the lives of those he feasted upon and learned that the devouring of other hollow would allow him to grow in power beyond all others. Yet, the human realm was a world not so overly populated by other hollow, making for slim pickings in regards to food and growth. Soon, in the course of several centuries, Victor had lost his hunting grounds to near starvation, he had to move on, and he had to continue to grow. The tales of Hueco Mundo, tales of a great desert inhabited by others like himself gave the growing hollow a goal. While he was not overly skilled in the use of Garganta at the given time, such a skill was basic among his kind, allowing him to find his way to the arid sands of Hueco Mundo. In the world of Hueco Mundo Victor only found pain, hatred, and deception. He utterly loathed the lands that were the homes of his kind, he hated the fury his kind imposed upon other races, and he loathed their stereotype as ruthless monsters. True, he was a monster as well, a brute that would do whatever it would take to grow stronger, to honor his own existence with the purpose of surpassing all others. Yet, in his own selfish goals, he became far too curious, curious enough to test the very limits of his being by risking life as a Gillian. Combining with the multitude of thousands of other hollow, Victor dominated and grew into a massive beast, a Gillian of the Menos class. His massive form was hideous, one he hated and wished to be rid of as quickly as possible. He knew, it was natural, that he would have to feast and kill others of his kind to grow in power.

So, for years, Victor feasted and hunted his own caste, he slaughtered thousands of Gillian until the day of promise came, the second stage, the evolution into that of an Adjuchas. His form shrank and his powers grew, his body was human-like, but still monstrous. Yet, even in his form, he confronted other hollow, creatures that possessed a power beyond even his own, monsters of hatred and a lack of honor. By his own standards as a warrior the future king could not permit such a fact, his journey remained.Victor knew, he hunted, murdered, and slew countless of other Adjuchas, feeling his own powers expand to new heights. In his mind he had no knowledge of the final caste, the Vasto Lorde. Yet, inevitable rumors and legends came to fall upon Victor's ears. Such a legend spiked the interest and "noble" goals of Victor even further. He would become that which few others had ever attained, he would become one of the most feared Vasto Lorde.

He searched, hunted, strove, bled, and killed any hollow that would be required for his evolution. For countless years he hunted. The concept of time was lost to Victor, he had no need of it, for he was immortal in his life as a hollow, limited only by his goals should he be so shortsighted as to live contently with a given shape or form. No, Victor desired to surpass all others, to achieve a power that would be insurmountable, a power that would allow him to reshape the course of the hollow race. For an age, Victor grew and reached the peak of his lifetime as an Adjuchas, all until the day he at last reached a colony, one composed of Vasto Lorde and nothing else.


The Evolution


The colony itself was one that was far from welcoming, it was one that was composed of only a handful of hollow. Yet, their power was immense, so much that even Victor could not fail to recognize as greater than his own. Yet, the bloodshed would come, regardless of the seemingly impossible fight that awaited him. He strode with pride and power, a clear challenge to any Vasto Lorde foolish enough to challenge the seemingly braggart of an Adjuchas. True, he held not the raw power of a Vasto Lorde, but skill would ensure his success.

The initial challenge was answered, a Vasto Lorde confronting the Adjuchas with terrible powers. Yet, despite the outweighing powers they held, Victor was far from daunted. Instead, Victor utilized his superior knowledge of combat to succeed. He charged, slaughtering the Vasto Lorde, albeit with grave injuries sustained. It would have seemed, that even the great warrior would fall before the sheer might of the Vasto Lorde. Yet, the will to surpass and command was one strong enough to succeed. Through sheer will, Victor's success was had, his reward being the bodies of that singular Vasto who were foolish enough to challenge his right to their power.

The evolution was nearly instant, the powers granted by the Vasto Lorde corpse before him reshaping his form to that of a near human. He roared with might and will, a power that no others would be able to deny. His body coursed with powers, black energies swathed his form in the shape of a king's cloak. His shoulders heaved with sheer power, and his body was shaped into a seemingly chaotic heap of pure power. In his rebirth he took a new name however, he took the name of Marcus, one to reference his tragic, but undeniable relation to war. Marcus had achieved form as a Vasto Lorde. Still, he knew that his maximum potential had yet to be achieved. The colony that was before him had become his newest hunting grounds, the remaining Vasto Lorde before him acting as fuel to his growth. In a screen of crimson blood, Marcus stole the lives from the remaining Vasto Lorde and rose to such a height of power that no others could challenge him.


Legionnaire King
It had been an age that Marcus had lived as a Vasto Lorde, a beast who lived to battle, destroy, kill and devour those foolish enough to challenge he himself or to disturb the peace he had so created within an expansive area of Hueco Mundo, an area that had resulted in the creation of a small colony of weaker and like-minded hollow. It was a thing thought inconceivable, a colony of hollow that had lived under the protection of a greater and stronger being, a colony that served as a place of solstice and peace for those hollow which had the strongest desire to cast of their shackles of mindless aggression and rage. It was under the guidance of the ever watchful Vasto Lorde known solely as Marcus that dozens, if not hundreds of hollow gathered and learned a life beyond their seemingly hopeless destiny. This place of peace had continued for an uncountable number of years, the tiny kingdom expanding to even greater reaches and outlasting the kingdoms of the so many constantly renewed and repopulated Espada. But, as all things, this kingdom of peace was destined to end.

It occurred in the guise of a group of hollow and seemingly rag-tag arrancar, a small contingent group whose powers seemingly rivaled only the most average of hollow and arrancar, until a number was glimpsed. In Marcus' absence, a new Espada and fraccion had arrived, their powers launching to massive height, the Espada who wore the number "0" upon his body, his fraccion and Espada suddenly reaching out into the colony that Marcus had spent hundreds of years growing and cultivating to act as the newest beacon of hope for the apparently damned Hollow and destroying it in but a flash of a moment. Marcus sat upon a horizon miles away, yet the spike in power reached even his expansive senses, causing the Vasto Lorde to flee from his seat and flash to the location of his colony, hoping only that he could only arrive on time, if not to save the whole, then to at least save but a few, as was his duty, a duty he was failing at by each second spent with him being absent from the colony which had begun to find itself under siege from a far greater force.

What took minutes for him to arrive had felt like centuries, the armored Vasto Lorde arriving to the scene of his kingdom to find burning buildings, charred bodies, and a crimson painting of iron scented liquid cast unsightly against the walls of what buildings remained. The scent made Marcus' nostrils flair, the scent of a great number of foes surrounding his place all too easily read. Yes, the Espada had remained at his village, his monstrous powers excelling and reaching to a height that perhaps none of the Espada themselves could have ever hoped to grasp for, his body tensing, the commonly stoic expression of contentedness he always wore changing for a grimaced snarl and raging eyes, his fury was spiked to a level it had not been in thousands of years, the sight of the dead bodies of those he had called comrades, brothers, sisters, even friends littering the grounds around him doing all that was required to spark the fury of a patient king.

The Espada drew in from their hiding places, their bodies reeking of the scent of blood, the crimson stains acting as fuel to the rage of a bull they could never hope to control. In the time span of a blink, Marcus had vanished, only to reappear by two of those Espada, a massive blade of raw white bone-like material visible in his hands, the edge sporting the slithering trails of bloodlets as a spray of bright red appeared behind him, two of those pathetic Espada dead in an insignificant amount of time, their powers made obsolete by a man who could be considered a god among hollow. The others retaliated, much as he had upon the sight of the dead bodies of those he had called comrades, the numbers of those other Espada leaping upon the beastly Vasto Lorde, his bone-white blades curving with the motion of the incoming bodies, creating a toll-way to Marcus that would demand nothing less than their lives, and so it was paid, the deaths of three other Espada had in but an instant, their number halved in but a matter of seconds before the wrath of a Vasto Lorde who would accept only their deaths.

But where the five would die, so would five others announce themselves, their powers greater, yet all of those powers meager compared to the Vasto Lorde except the powers of perhaps those three, the ones who wore the numbers "0" "1" and "2". It was those three who responded in kind, the Two reaching and grasping, conflicting with Marcus in a frenzied grin that disturbed the Vasto Lorde, yet only sparked to fuel his own drive for blood. Blow after blow was exchanged, Marcus' own body suffering from wounds the first moment in hundreds of years, it was clear, this Espada he faced was a being who had likely called itself a Vasto Lorde before it had taken the human shape of an arrancar. Still, Marcus would never relent, never cease until these monsters would perish, such a resolve was what was required for this Second to fall to the ground in a bloodied heap, the arrancar barely clinging to life as Marcus stood, exhausted in his own right, but far from yielding, the First stepping forward to replace his comrade, blade drawn and energy perhaps truly surpassing Marcus' own.

The fight ensued, seconds becoming minutes, minutes becoming hours, and those hours becoming a full day, the titanic forces of two powerful beings clashing with the full force of their powers. Perhaps, had Marcus been uninjured and had some of his energies not been wasted upon the Segundo, then perhaps he could have claimed a quicker victory, but instead, he was rewarded with a drawn-out stalemate, the Primero and Vasto Lorde both facing one another, energies spent, bodies scarred and battered, blood having claimed as the dominant being upon the white sands, staining the grounds for years to come. Yet, Marcus could not claim something as simple as a tie, not when those around him were so intent on his death. In a flash of the final cero he could muster, the sands around him exploded in a bright light, the earth that spewed upward becoming glass in the intense heat, a sonido powered kick shattering the glass and tossing the deadly shards in all directions as he fled from the desolate and bloody colony he had called home until those final moments, leaving his rage to fester for another day, for the first time as a hollow, he had claimed nothing but loss in a battle that should have never occurred.


Dying Days, Shattered Masks

It was best and easiest to assume, in Marcus' flight from his burned and broken kingdom that he bore a grudge, one far deeper than any could dare to imagine, his mind and heart becoming cold and stern, no room for emotion in the sight of the forced plight cast upon his kind by monsters such as the Espada. And yet, so many hollow willingly followed after the ways of the self-destructive Espada. Why? Was it for their simplicity in power? If such were the case, then his power alone in being able to wipe away the stench of so many Espada by his own individual strength and finding himself at the tie of conflict with their second strongest then his power alone should have drawn each and every hollow under his banner. Yet, the monsters that were the Espada still captured the attention of all hollow that knew of them. It was a fact that would have to change, even if it meant Marcus casting aside his mask and becoming one of those pitiful creatures that were the Espada to change them from within. There was no great way for him to truly go about removing his mask, no grand procedure in which he could become "stronger" by simply casting aside his hollow nature. But, it was a measure that would be done, beneath the Hueco Mundo night, clawed hands grasped his mask and tore it aside in a painful display, howls of rage and pain filling the night with an eerie tune.

The result? A man grand in stature, greater in power, standing alone as if he appeared his thirties, chilling gaze and stoic features best displaying the contempt and loathing he held for those who called themselves Espada all too easily visible. He wasted not a moment for something as simple as time to rest, instead, he would go about his duties as the Legionnaire King, the man in whom so many placed their trust in. Against the walls of Las Noches, he renewed his challenge to be issued, testaments of true power found in each cero that found itself crashing through the mighty gates, calling forth the Espada for his challenge to right and station to be his. His challenge, to that monster that sat upon his throne, the one who called himself The Hollow King. He would steal the man's head, sever his bond of power, and claim the halls of Las Noches for himself, all to recreate the world he had unintentionally gifted so many hollow with until the Espada stole their dreams away. But, he found no Hollow King, only the body of a man weak and frail, a man unable to combat Marcus, but in his stead, came the being of second station, the Cero Espada.

he was a creature fierce and powerful, enough to challenge even Marcus, the man who was claimed the strongest of all hollow that lived and breathed upon the Sands. It was a battle of blood and station, one that came with the entire tilt and scale of powers. But, it was a battle decided from the very beginning, Marcus would prove victor. And it would be so, for, in the plight of each being's release, towers crashed, the ceiling found itself subject, and the full might of Marcus' new powers came to bear, ripping away the pride and honor of the one so determined to defeat him, giving station so unwillingly to the man whose power was unrivaled. Yes, it was Marcus in the light of the Las Noches false sun who claimed victor over the Cero, his station was earned. Yet, what of the Hollow King? Las Noches law prohibited him from killing the man in his sleep, as did his own personal ethics, instead, he could only sit on the sides, claiming temporary rule of Las Noches in the stead of the Hollow King. But, was it such a bad thing? He could not complain, even though the title gifted to him once before was held by a sickly monster incapable of defending himself. After all, his position was one of a greater leadership, not a single being in all of Hueco Mundo could refuse the orders, the ethos, and the power of the man now crowned as the Cero Espada.


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Rank : Primera Espada
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Join date : 2011-01-26
Location : Tennessee

PostSubject: Re: Victor "Marcus" Avitus   Sun Feb 20, 2011 12:49 am

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