The air was thick with the scent of burned flesh and raw soul matter. The odor was so bad, so putrid, that it looked as if even the lifeless sands of Hueco Mundo recoiled.
What surrounded Gabriel were a bunch of Hollow corpses... and Hollows with their masks destroyed, some even looking semi-human.
Some of them seemed to still be in pain, caught between Hollow and human—trapped in a limbo of suffering. Yet Gabriel had removed their mouths.
Alongside their voice boxes... their larynxes...
Alongside their eyes and noses... He wasn't the most benevolent scientist. Well, he did remove their sense of self to end their suffering.
They were now a blank slate.
Gabriel stood in the center of it all. His eyes were devoid of any emotion, and his hands were at work, using his power to transfigure their souls further and further, uncovering their inner workings and using that knowledge to improve himself.
Hollows—once monstrous and violent—had been reduced to half-formed atrocities, grotesque amalgamations of shredded masks, elongated limbs, and exposed tendons that pulsed unnaturally.
Their bodies were stretched too far, their skin splitting apart as their essence was manipulated beyond its natural limits. Some had been compressed into small, shrieking lumps of flesh, their masks warped, eyes bulging with horror as their very souls collapsed in on themselves.
Gabriel twisted his fingers slightly.
One Hollow elongated like molten wax, its limbs snapping off as it screamed. Another's body thinned too much, and in an instant—pop—blackened blood and fragmented soul energy splattered across the sand.
Some still lived, barely, their broken forms twitching, trying to move with muscles that no longer obeyed them.
"Kill... me..." a voice gurgled.
"Please... stop..." another sobbed.
Gabriel ignored them.
This was necessary.
Their suffering? A small sacrifice for his evolution.
His gaze fell upon two orbs of fractured soul energy hovering before him, faint remnants of those once called Dordonii and Cirucci. They pulsed weakly, like dying stars, still clinging to the identity they once held.
"What made you two different?" Gabriel muttered, more to himself than to them. "Why were you so strong? Why were you unique?"
He reached out, letting his fingers sink into their fragmented souls.
He began to use them as a blueprint. Walking toward one of the Gillian he had caught, he placed his hand over the creature's face.
The sheer fear and terror in the Gillian's eyes were evident.
This Gillian had, unfortunately, gained sentience... and knew for a fact that whatever Gabriel was planning for him would be painful... very painful.
Harribel had sensed something was wrong even before she saw it.
She could feel it—the overwhelming pressure of twisted, tormented souls.
The moment she stepped into the clearing, her eyes widened in disgust and horror.
They were everywhere.
Hollows, or at least what remained of them, lay scattered across the sand, their bodies barely recognizable. Some were nothing but stretched-out shadows of their former selves, long, thin frames that twitched with each breath, bones exposed and splintered from being pulled too far.
Others were distorted beyond comprehension—fused masses of writhing flesh, half-formed limbs, and masks that barely resembled faces anymore. Their voices had been reduced to wet, gurgling pleas, their agony so profound that they could only wish for one thing.
Death.
And at the center of it all, Gabriel stood, his hand outstretched. He was looking at a Hollow who, surprisingly, looked human.
"Hm... too mindless," he muttered.
And in the very next second, his own creation was destroyed, its body distorted into a small ball that Gabriel would be using later.
He wasn't a warrior right now.
He was something else entirely.
Harribel took a breath, steeling herself before walking forward.
"Enough."
Gabriel didn't even turn to look at her.
"No."
His voice was calm, distant, as if she had said something foolish.
"I'm not strong enough yet."
Harribel's gaze hardened. "Gabriel—"
"I said no!"
His voice cracked like a whip, laced with a rare fury. His reiatsu flared wildly, heat distorting the air around him.
Was he insecure about his own strength?
She understood immediately. Her instinct told her all she needed to know.
He was on edge. Desperate. Exhausted.
If he was pushed to use all he had against some mere foot soldiers, how could he possibly wish to beat the king?
"...You're seven months old," she said, trying to make him see reason. "You need to rest—"
Gabriel snapped.
Why did she keep seeing him like he was a child? Sure, he was seven months old, but it wasn't like any seven-month-old Hollow could box with him.
Matter of fact, even a few Hollows who were over two hundred years old probably couldn't box with him.
"I'm NOT a child!" His eyes burned with anger, gold flashing red for a moment, his spiritual pressure surging. "I don't need rest! I don't need your pity! I need to be stronger!"
Yeah... he was on edge. There was no denying it.
Harribel remained calm, but inside, something twisted in her chest.
She had never seen him like this. Wild. Fractured. Obsessive.
Though in his current sleep-deprived state he looked rather demonic, as if he were the vessel for true evil, he was less himself. She needed a way to stop him before he became... well, like every other hollow out there.
"Then do it for me."
Gabriel froze.
And he folded.
Do not judge him, okay? He had goddamn problems.
A good thing about relationships was that it was all about compromise. He could make this compromise... and he'd probably get a lap pillow later.
Win-win in his book.
A/N.Gabriel is...on edge.