The Classic Grand Massacre (Pm for invite)

Some habits are hard to quit, even more so than life despite popular opinion. Like Glasgow for instance, Sal Norongachi had technically been deceased for 2 years and yet since his leaving of Soul Society he always came back here. He always found himself drawn to Union Street where the pubs were familiar, where he used to get utterly smashed out of his tree on a nightly basis as a living, breathing human.

Here he was again, on the corner next to Mc Donalds, looking out at the rabble of drunken revellers going about their inebriated business. He was an outsider now, as intangible as the air around them, utterly separate from the world of the living as any spirit from a ghost story.

He had a purpose however and as lonely as his life was, as utterly black and depressing his situation may have been he still had the task at hand. Hunt and kill the Hybrid. This was all he did now, he existed to track them to find them among the masses of ordinary humans and slaughter them before they could do harm.

He'd found one, perhaps two, it was hard to say these days. The bastards had become accustomed to suppressing their unnatural Spirit Power. They knew they were being hunted, he'd slain hundreds since this began and they'd learned and adapted accordingly. They weren't safe, he would always find them. No matter how well they hid.

He stepped out into the street and crossed the road, making sure to avoid collisions with the natives, and moved toward a growing line of party goers. They were lined up outside a nightclub, a heavy metal club to be precise, and he joined the back of the line, spying his marks a few bodies ahead.

The press of bodies moved forward and he slipped inside unseen, moving up the stairs and past the payment desk and then into the nightclub proper. His eyes were met by a Gothic strobe lighted wonderland. It was wall to wall black, more piercings than you could toss a magnet at and almost everyone had dyed their hair from its natural colour.

He took up a position at the rail running round the dance floor and watched, that was all he had to do, was wait for them to make a move. To succumb to that animalistic urge to feed and kill, then it was killing time.

He spied the pair walking up a spiral stair case at the back of the dance floor and followed, cautiously scaling the stairs. He noticed a sign as he ascended that said 'Private Function' and continued on. It seemed the bastards were crashing a party.

He got to the top and was greeted by a set of double doors, by this point the music from down below was muffled but the sheer volume had left his ears ringing annoyingly. He stuck a finger in each and wiggled it about to no effect and then, taking a deep breath, pushed it open. His long black coat swirled around his ankles as he passed under a jet of cold air from an over head fan and stepped into the room.

It was indeed a party, of sorts, nothing like the debauchery downstairs however. It was more sedate, the music at an acceptable level and folks gathered on long plush leather couches and at long tables rather than standing shoulder to shoulder with some unwashed emo bastard.

The reaction to his entrance wasn't what he expected. Normally humans couldn't see him, but this lot did. Every eyeball fixed itself upon him and for a split second he had no idea what to do, not a clue what was going on and then in the booze addled recesses of his mind a little light went on and a thought, as meek as a kitten popped into the foreground. 'Oh...' It said, and immediately he hoped his bowels were working at full capacity because he hadn't brought a clean set of underwear.

"Ah! The guest of honour finally arrives." Said a voice, from the side of the room, a man with long black hair and a piercing in his left eyebrow stood and walked into the center of the black and white checker board style tiled floor. "We've been expecting you Slayer but i must say....i thought you'd be-"

"Taller? Seriously, where you going to say taller? What the fuck mate, do you have a little book of clichés in those skinny jeans of yours?" He hated skinny jeans, despised them with an unholy passion.

"I was actually going to say cleaner looking...." The man said more than a little thrown off his stride by the Glaswegians outburst but he ploughed onwards like a professional. "You have...been a pain for quite awhile now."

"Mission accomplished" Sal smirked and his hand slid under his coat, reaching up to the handle of the Katana on his back that rested at the middle of his spine, facing downwards and set at a diagonal angle in its sheathe.

"Heh, not quite." The man said and then around him others began to rise, all of them in fact stood to face him. It was like the village all over again, the horde he and Jin slaughtered still haunted his dreams.

"I can remedy that." He said and watched with mixed fascination and horror as their forms began to change, their skin rippling at first and then finally ripping with a spray of blood. Green scales covered them now, their bones cracked as they reformed into a hideous almost ogre like shape, long forearms ending in viscous silver claws and stunted noises with yellow eyes and a gaping mouthful of silver teeth.

"Still as ugly as fuck," He chuckled and drew Claidheamh Mor from his sheath bringing the blade before him in one hand down to his side, point down. "Well....who's first?"

There's always an over eager one, the guy who lets loose his best attempt at a blood curdling battle cry, that actually sounds like he's just stubbed his toe on a table leg, and comes rushing in, possibly swinging a set of swords in a elaborate fashion, only to meet his end rapidly.

Ugly bastard number six was this guy. He came rushing forward, screaming like a little girl on her first period, and leapt toward the motionless Glaswegian. The silver claws lashed out toward his head but found instead the dangerous end of Sal's Katana, the arm falling to the ground in a splash of noxious purple blood that spurted from the clean cut stump where his fore arm used to be. It didn't have long to suffer, Sal wasn't cruel, in the time it took for it to realise its limb was a good deal shorter than it had been when it opened its eyes this morning Norongachi was in front of it and like quick silver his blade was arcing upwards cutting the hideous beast from groin to the top of its skull so quickly that the eye had a hard time following.

The two halves fell aside and Sal stood, soaked from head to toe in the purple life blood of the creature, grinning as only a mad man could at the remaining Hybrid's who seemed unfussed by the demise of one of their own.

"I never liked Dave..." Said the Hybrid who had previously been his black haired host, looking down at the perfect human halves of the Hybrid who had once been Dave "I warned you not to rush, this isn't some human we're up against chaps, take it nice and easy." The Hybrid said to the gathering, his voice distorted like there were several voices layered upon each other but slightly out of synch

"Fast and hard...its the only way to roll." Sal growled and then tossing his coat aside in one fluid movement he gripped the handle of Claidheamh Mor tightly.


"Sound the Funeral Bell!" He said and with every word one could almost HEAR a bell somewhere in the distance just on the edge of hearing. The katana's blade glowed briefly before blood red cracks began to snake across its surface, running the length and breadth of the silver metal, shining like veins of fire in hell.
The metal shattered outwards in a hail of shrapnel and from it grew a blade of epic proportions. As tall as Sal himself and as wide as a hand span the mass of the Claymore was something to behold indeed. The hilt shattered also as sharp spikes shot from either side and the handle lengthened to accommodate both hands comfortably.

Norongachi hefted the blade onto one shoulder like a child would a crayon, his muscles bulging under the scarred and pale skin of his arms, and gave the gathering a manic stare. "I think....its my turn..." He laughed as he rushed forward, his feet mere blurs of accelerated motion. The broadsword lashed outwards, its length giving him unparalleled reach, and it cut deep and clean through Five without slowing its momentum. It sliced through its arc and as it came to the end he spun on his heel slashing it upwards from his side at an airborne assailant who tasted the other worldly metal before he could do any harm.

The next assault came from either side, claws ripping the air toward him. He stood his ground and to the left shot out a boot while to the right a punch. Both found their mark and the creatures near buckled from the strength behind the blows, spraying blood into the air from their deformed mouths.

Sal wasted no time and taking his Zanpakuto in both hands spun 360 degrees, the blade decapitating both of his hesitating foes and then lunging forward to skewer another who had approached from the front.

The former Shinigami stopped his whirling dervish of gore and surveyed his handiwork. He'd whittled down the crowd to four, which wasn't a bad days work, he thought. He turned his blood splattered face to the remaining few who had the good sense not to join the initial charge.

"Should we finish up or would you like a moment to collect yourselves?" He asked.

Sal could swear he heard organ music in the background and he noticed the sideways glances of disgust the Hybrids were giving to one of their own.

"Well i guess it would be nice, if i could touch your body..." George Michael sang in the background.

"My finger slipped...." The Hybrid growled sheepishly under their glares.

"I know not everybody, has got a body like you. But I've got to think twice...." The man sang, his voice like silk on the ears, spewing from the jukebox.

It was at this point that something in the atmosphere changed and the cautiousness gave way to aggression, each of them feeling the change in the air that signalled round two. Set to the most inappropriate sound track.

The each rushed forward, 'Faith' twinkling in the background, and collided in a flurry of silver tipped claws and Zanpakuto. Clothes tore, flesh was ripped asunder and everywhere there was blood and screams of pain and anguish. As quickly as the melee lasted they were separated again but the Hybrid group was noticeably shorter in numbers, only two remained.

Sal ground his teeth together, his chest was torn open from the left pictorial muscle right down to the right side of his abdomen revealing the first signs of bone as a rib came in and out of view with each breath the blood drenched Glaswegian took.

..reconsider my foolish notion. Well I need someone to hold me, but I'll wait for something more.....Yes I've gotta have faith... " The song ended and the records in the older model began to click as they were replaced, as mechanisms whirred to life to removed the small black disc from from the slot.

Sal charged and the Hybrids were not a millisecond behind. They met again, Sal ducking under a wayward slice at his head and cleaving the beast at the torso before flipping in a corkscrew like fashion sidewards as a fist ruptured the chequered tile flooring where he had stood. His boots skittered across the floor as the Hybrid followed through with its assault, flashes of silver talons darting toward him like a spear tip and Claidheamh Mor moving deftly to deflect the bone rending claws.

The Hybrid howled and drew its arm across its chest before launching a viscous back hand chop that rattled against the flat of the Claymore and sent Sal off his feet and slamming into the wall behind him where he remained, briefly, imprinted into the cracked cement before staggering his way free only to find himself on the defensive once again. There was something different about this one, for a start he seemed to have retained some of his humanity even after transformation. The thick black mane of hair that had been present when he had spoken to Sal ten minutes prior flowed down his back and shone with lustre in his attack looking every bit the deadly predator he was. His face as well wasn't as misshapen, the nose was not as stunted and snout like, it was thinner perhaps and slightly more pointed. The mouth as well wasn't as gaping and slack jawed, although still possessing the rows of silver teeth, it could almost pass for human.

Sal did everything in his power to stay clear of the deadly razors on the end of each finger tip, the Zanpakuto caught what it could and the rest was down to sheer instinct and reflex on his part. He ducked and weaved to the sides and under phenomenally quick slashes, the Hybrid seemed to almost predict his his movements. Everywhere he tried to find sanctuary the creature zeroed in on his position forcing him on the defensive once again. Sal didn't like the defensive, it wasn't a natural habitat for him.

Sal was by no means a stupid man, then again he was far from a genius either, give him a math question and his faced screwed up into a look of extreme agony for instance, but when you had been fighting as long and as hard as he had you learned to read the battle. He could spot flaws in technique even under such a furious assault and in this case their was none. The raven haired destroyer was faster, his reflexes just as quick if not quicker, his strikes precise to within a millimetre and they fell like atom bombs.

One one thing to do then, only one course of action that would assure a win but by fuck it would hurt like hell. The Hybrid fired one of those missile like stabs, the fingers extended and pressed together, and Sal's instinct brought the flat of Claidheamh Mor up in direct defense of the blow but he willed it to carry on to the side, justa fraction out of alignment and as expected the Hybrid saw the 'mistake' and capitalized, the garish green hand turned palm down, now much more like a sword, and moved past his failed defence.

Sal shifted as quickly as he could, bringing his upper body to the side, and felt the agony of that hand punch straight through just beneath his shoulder. The flesh sunk elbow deep into him and the beast was a nose span away from his face, its stinking breath wafting across his face. He stifled the scream and though tears threatened to rise up in his brown eyes he held the Hybrid stare for stare and then his grizzled and blood encrusted face cracked into a smile. His free hand snapped up like a viper, his hand clamping down upon the hideous forearm just above where the rest was buried in his flesh and some out through his back.

The Hybrid seemed to consider its mistake but all to late. Sal had the claymore at his side and drew back his arm and upper body before plunging it forward through its torso, his roar out classing the howl of agony exuding from the disgusting maw of his enemies. He buried it right up to the hilt and kept pulling it out a bit and then slamming it back in with caused further screams of exquisite agony to fill his ears.

The Hybrid started to go over backwards and Sal let him fall, the arm slipping from his shoulder and then fighting through the pain brought Claidheam Mor up in two hands above his head and with a scream of anger slammed it down on the creatures neck, severing head from shoulders and sending the now disembodied human head, as Hybrids revert back to their human forms after death, clattering across the stained and brutalized floor.

He fell to his knee's and the Claymore reverted to its natural Katana state and then he cupped a hand across the vast puncture wound, feeling the blood ooze between his fingers. He had got lucky, very lucky.

The banks of monitors on the back walls gave the light its only illumination and silhouetted in the mirade of colours was a chair and desk. A man sat in the chair and watched the live feed from 'Area 13' and gave a growl of disapproval before clicking on a small Dictaphone and raising it to his mouth.

"Subject Twenty, failure. Implementation of long range bio-weapons is imperative to further improvement to the bio-mechanical hybrid state." The Dictaphone clicked off and then he pressed a button upon the arm of the plush leather chair. "Mildred, organize a clean up crew for Area 13." The voice was bland, emotionless and without feeling.

He cradled his hands under his chin and gave the monitor a long stare, the small image of Sal Norongachi staggering to his feet in a pool of his own blood playing before him. The Shinigami was growing tiresome but what better opponent for his Bio-Armour? They would be the only opposition worthy when the change came.

Even now they had Moscow, London, Madrid and even Rome. The Washington was theirs, Tokyo would soon follow and after that all that was left would be to initiate the Final Protocol. With the worlds super powers dancing on their strings who could possibly halt the terrifying future that had been centuries in the making.

"Mildred, bring me the latest read outs from Subject 14." He said absent mindedly to his secretary before returning the gaze at the monitors.