To The Flame [Fox/Closed]

Why am I here? The Nothing wondered to herself more than once on this journey, but she had felt the pull, inexorable and unignorable. At first, she thought it was wanderlust. It made sense from the outside, she had obtained this strange blade, like the robed ones who hunted her kind, and removed her mask yet wore it still and now she thought perhaps she simply wanted to explore. But she knew better, that this desire which had implanted itself in her heart was not her own for she would never desire such a thing so fruitless and full of risk.

The others now avoided her, a turning of the tables which felt truly undeserved because had they known that this 'evolution' of hers came with no true power they would have descended upon her immediately. Even with such a ruse, it was never safe to simply travel across the moonlit wastelands. So knowing her heart she ignored the sensation for what it was, a dangerous distraction, and went about her life; moving in the shadows far from prying eyes that wished much the same from her.

But even as she tried to ignore the impulse, she found day after day in that nearly timeless place of Hueco Mundo that she was drawing unconsciously in one direction. It had become her north star, with a magnetic pull that inextricably drew her in. Mothlike toward the lamplight. At last, when it seemed fruitless to put it off any longer she surrendered and made her way towards the center of the dunes, to a place largely forgotten by her kind and time alike.

She might have tracked her journey by the numerous cycles of the moon that passed if such a thing had meaning to her.

The first sight of her nearing her destination was the dome which crested above the dunes like a ship returning from a long voyage. Or more accurately, she figured, as the port appeared to the ship on its way home. She stood for a day at least when it finally came into view and observed it studying carefully as if she might learn, or reveal to herself what it was that drew her in.

Ruined towers surrounded a shattered dome, betraying a structure that itself had long fallen into disrepair, and threatened to be consumed by the unmoving sands that surrounded it. She imagined for a time what must have occurred there as she sat and observed and wondered. No truth to its draw appeared to her.

When at last she could wait no more she made her way to the final steps, across the sand, past the massive unbelievably looming towers, and to the shattered dome, through the broken rings of what must have once been considered an unassailable fortress to some forgotten master.

She heard the sound of ancient creatures, little nothings of life like her, scurrying about in the shadows, out of site. Did they make way for her, or were they merely observing yet another of her kind caught within the web of this place? She wondered that too but had long given up the thought of turning about and moving away. Like a marionette, she pressed forward toward the central most structure. In time, one of the most plentiful and meaningless resources abound in this place, she arrived at the gate of the central structure. A final large and towering structure, exposed and broken to the ravages of the abundant time. The gate, what remained, was little more than a shattered remnant of a barrier, she stepped around it and in.

Doors and passages stretched out before her in a labyrinthian way, winding through multiple intersecting corridors exposed to the rest of Hueco Mundo from the long-standing damage to the place. She could have been lost in the place for an eternity finding new corridors and passages and ways to arrive at each, exploring the chambers, rooms, and buildings, passing shattered tables that once possibly held meetings for some ancient things that made decisions that once felt like they might matter.

Instead, she followed the breadcrumb trail left for her by impulse, passing by all the rooms, and all the ancient memories of this place until at last she arrived at some heart of a place, passed a recently opened and disturbed entryway, and into a central chamber. A massive marble column rested in the middle, shattered in half, and in the center of it a throne remained.

The solitude was broken at least by a figure which was no mere nothing. The Nothing had stumbled upon another, perhaps beckoned like her? Or had entirely appeared by chance? Or...perhaps was the source of her call?

She gripped the hilt of her blade tightly, white-knuckled she made to call out, but stopped. A small amount of movement then occurred as she turned to exit quickly, and caught between the flurry of impulse which struck her deftly she did none of them effectively, half tripping over her own feet as she made a strangled sound, and stared blankly, wide-eyed, ahead at the figure who had reached the heart of this place before her.

"Hallo little mouse."

The Wickerman found herself once more and again at the heart of dilapidated Las Noches - there was something so picturesque to draw her into the pages of its story book, a tale laid out in every stone to dribble off the yawning, broken arches and crunch under light steps. Something so mighty yet so fragile. A fortress at the center of the World of Demons, as they were, and she: well, she was just another scavenger. The Fox, as she was, cared nothing for the historical import or significance of this carcass she drew her clawtips 'round and 'round. If this was anything that mattered, if there was any merit to its existence in the new universe, her touch wouldn't be enough to crumble it.

Yet it was! No, she was drawn to this site for the standing testament it stood for her. Nothing couldn't be taken. Nothing couldn't be ruined. She could steal a glance, thumb an eroded pillar further towards entropy, and reaffirm the righteous feeling of knowing your place in this anarchistic scheme of unlife. The mighty Kings and Queens and numbered stations of Las Noches that once thought themselves so grand and powerful and important; they, too, were snuffed out like little candle wicks. A lick across her thumb to punctuate the sound of a sizzle she'd make and her tongue was coated in the remnant dust of sandstone. A - ha - ha.

She spit it out.

"I'll play the cat."

If this could be broken - if the very soul of a world could constitute scorched earth as if consecrated, smote by mightier powers - what was the limit? At what point did this chain of command end? How far did you have to go to find the center of meaning and rip that out with dripping fangs? Feast upon the concept of matter, mattering, mattered. How far could she go? The pillars of Las Noches, the pillars of the Living World, the pillars of the Soul Society ... the pillars of creation, would they leave her tongue as grain-tipped?

There was no extant form of life, Fox argued with a snicker known only to her. A female spider would eat its mate after insemination because he had fulfilled the merit of his existence - he served both her & her young more as food from that point, and biological imperative dictated there was no more meaning to his life but to his use. Fox popped her lips, a roll of sharp teeth over bright bloody plush. The gargled, keening noise of a hungry beast pealed with this easy motion, sound off the caved walls to encircle her and the seductive tilt of her head.

Therefore, you either lived, or you were used. You couldn't be both.

"What game should we play tonight?"

This led her to the guest at her dinner table, caught in the web of manic thoughts she herself couldn't escape from. She found peace in the cloying strands that clung their bodies in paralysis to the board atop the silver platter. They would take turns rolling and moving spaces, predator and prey, predator or prey, alive or useful. Every interaction came with the threat of eat or be eaten, but Fox had yet to simply be served up. There always had to be this chase. There always had to be a fight. Come on, stimulate me. Come on, keep up with me. Come on, eat me.

A - ha - ha!

It was then that she spoke the words that hung in the air before they had even begun, the atmosphere of oppression giving way to intoxication as multicolored toxins permeated in the sweat off her monstrous visage - and the woman, the beast, the fox, she found a lay across the lap of the throne, feet propped on its fallen armrests.

"I'll let you go first."

She knew it wouldn't be able to run.

She stared in apprehension, enough thoughts erupting in her mind at once to make the net effect essentially nothing at all. The figure before her could talk which increased both the odds of avoiding a conflict altogether but vastly increased the danger. Things in this place did not speak with words, the only communication was often through fist and claw. Violence was the language of the land, and typically those who spoke with words were always the best versed at wielding it.

A shiver ran down her spine, from the back of her neck all the way down, hairs sticking out as it went. Little mouse. Wandering where it should not. Whisker trembling, paws clutched at its treasure placed atop the pressure plate, too late to realize. Snap. The trap would close, and danger triggered far past the chance to avoid its fate.

"I'll play the cat."

She remained frozen as if the words themselves were the claws that would tighten around her throat. I don't want to fight, she might explain. Please leave me alone, she'd plead. I didn't mean to trespass, she'd promise. Any of these might have made their way out, futile as they'd be, but instead nothing for a moment more. Dry mouth, heart suddenly pounding. She was a spirit pressed up against annihilation with such intensity it was impossible even for its regularity to become routine. The popped lips, the razor-sharp teeth, the thin snarl which reverberated in a rumble across her nerves.

The tremble began at once so strong it threatened to force the hilt from her hands, the thin rattling sound it made. Her mouth was dry, she tried to work her tongue to manage words but she felt sun-bleached, cracked and raw.

"What game should we play tonight?"

And slowly her body began to return to her. The shock eased, albeit only slightly. She exhaled the stored breath, faster than she wished but it was enough for her hand to steady, for her to turn the sword just so, from behind her to the front, tilted towards the floor raised only a few inches in defiance. She was a nothing, a meal in waiting, but she was Hollow, or was at one time in the past. She yet lived unlikely as it seemed. The inexorable march of time had carried her existence forward, and she bore that momentum even if she didn't know why. It wasn't going to stop here.

She began to process the information that lay before her as the woman lay languid across the abandoned throne. Adjucha, perhaps or? More? Her eyes traced across her figure for a moment picking up what she could even at a distance. I won't run. She knew better. Death came from behind. The Nothing had her own strengths, if she couldn't avoid notice then she was just strange enough for all but the most desperate to pass on trying to make a meal of.

Does she seem desperate?

"I'll let you go first."

She swallowed once enough that her mouth began to work again. The hammering of her heart made her dizzy, she wanted to sit down more than anything else in the world, somewhere anywhere else in the world.

Instead, she stepped forward with one gentle step and then with all she had leaped forth. A single graceful movement to approach the throne. She reached the dais and stumbled a half step forward, turning it into a more aggressive step than she intended as the blade pivoted from the ground upward, pointing toward The Queen in a lazy rebellious arc. A sudden unpleasant heat pressed against her at once.

Her voice wavered as she began to speak but found its tenor swiftly. "I am sorry to intrude upon this place," she began with what seemed like sincerity. She held the blade in two hands, held forward in an awkward way she hoped carried enough gravitas. She hoped there were few enough swords in this place that it wouldn't be noticed. Remember who you're pretending to be, she thought.

Someone bold. Someone capable. Someone dangerous. I'm strange, I'm powerful. But I'm not a threat, not if you don't make me one. I'm not the prey, I'm not the predator. You don't know what I am.

"If you allow it, I'll leave. No trouble." She stopped herself from promising. Too simpering, too weak. Perhaps she should have tried to pretend to be something closer to what she really was. The softest tremble worked its way into her stance, causing her sword to waver slightly. It was corrected quickly, to her credit.

"I don't even know why I came here," she said, regretting it at once.