Anima Mortis, Shinigami, Complete

Shinigami

Name: Anima Mortis

Age: 504 // 26

Height: 5’11”

Weight: 160 lbs

Gender: Male

Personality:
Positive Traits

• Direct - Very straightforward and to-the-point, Anima does not beat around the bush. If there is something he wants, he is immediately after it without delay. He will not lie if it will not benefit him in the least, nor will he attempt to sugar-coat things if the option is available. He is a merciless, determined being.
  
• Studious - Having studied most of his life on every possible subject he could get his hands on, Anima has attained knowledge on studying. Because of the medium of his abilities, Anima is also very analytical in nature.
  
• Memory - He has a very advanced memory which allows for him to remember most what he sees or hears, almost to the point of eidetic memory. Taking it a step further, he is also capable of using his memory in “real-time” combat, allowing for him to fight on a higher degree.
  
• Absolute – When Anima performs a task, he performs it to the best of his abilities, or until he dies. He cannot leave something go half-assed. If he makes a decision, he will stand by that decision no matter the consequences.
  
• Hidden – Determined not to do something that would reveal the world of the spiritual to humans, he is very careful in his actions and fights not to alert the mortals of his, or any other beings, presence. This is not because of kindness, but because he doesn’t want anything to stand in his way. Nonetheless, he still makes sure he’s very careful.
  

Negative Traits

• Cold - Anima doesn’t seem to care about anyone around him, nor does he particularly care about anything around him. If it will not assist him in his goals, then it must be an obstacle to be removed.
  
• Depressed - Nothing seems to please Anima, and he is caught in a state of depression that will never truly leave him. This does not mean he is a whiny little bitch, but rather he will sometimes seem to simply stare into space distractedly. He does not let this get in the way of his goals.
  
• Merciless – He doesn’t care who you are or where you’re from. He doesn’t care if you’re protecting your family or if you’re mentally insane. If you’re in his way, he’ll kill you. Then he’ll burn the corpse to remove all traces of your body. Twice.
  
• Brutal – Sometimes, Anima may find a small amount of pleasure in “removing an obstacle” in the most brutal way he can imagine. Torture methods can be considered a past time of this shinigami.
  
• Grudge-Holding – Never forget, never forgive. Unless you have proven yourself as a true ally of Anima after surviving fucking him over, then he will never forgive you for your past crimes against him.
  

Appearance:
Cold, bluish-gray eyes are the most intimidating feature that adorn the body of Anima Mortis. They are centered on his pale face with an absolute glacier backing them, and everything that meets his gaze is returned with a freezing look. Roughly shoulder-length, the gray-silver hair on Anima’s head is shaggy and long, falling over his face in spike-resembling locks, curling around his eyes and the rest of his face. Directly behind his hair is the brim of his cape-like outfit, which possesses a black color and stretches down to his feet. Allowing for him to have his fore-arms free, the sleeves end at his elbow with a red stripe one inch above the trim. Keeping this open, it reveals a blue t-shirt underneath that stretches across his tight chest and stomach. A spiked belt matches the wrist bands on his right wrist, which interlink together over his arm. On his left wrist is a similar band, although it has no designs or decals. For his legs, a pair of black pants, designed in an almost dress pants fashion suffice for this man. He has no distinguishing scars or tattoos on his body, although his lack of shoes sometimes gives him odd looks.

Sealed Zanpakutō : (See Picture of Anima) Roughly 3 feet long, the blade of Anima’s zanpakuto, Sentio, is perfectly polished and sheens with a mirror-like edge. Very basic, it is the epitome of normal katanas. Roughly 9 inches long, the hilt of this katana is wrapped with a yellow fabric that is actually quite bright, although a black thread dampens the color. A wooden scabbard painted black is hung on Anima’s left hip with a white thread.

Each character gets 60 skill points to assign to either:

Spirit power: 20

Speed: 10

Intelligence: 10

Fighting skill: 20

History/Background: The year was 1907, and the Roman peasants were revolting against their poverty and hunger. Nearly 11,000 humans died, and it was a slaughter of great monument. One of the few who hadn’t died was named Anima Mortis, an infant of only three days old. Unfortunately, his parents had died valiantly in the war, fighting for their country and son. Taken in by a refuge shelter, he grew up along with 12 other orphans in the Heaven Rescued Orphanage. Most others, as they grew older, exhibited signs of improvement and emotional duress. Anima did not. The young boy grew cold and distant from the other children. At 5 year olds, his favorite pass time was to sit in the corner and stare into nothing. At 15, this hadn’t changed. Growing older, he never managed to become adopted. No one wanted such a miserable child. His only comfort was to visit the tomb of his parents. Progressively, Anima slipped into a lonely depression that caused him to take on violent and aggressive tendencies. Everything bothered him. If someone so much as looked at him funnily, he would snap and either insult them horrifically, or literally beat the shit out of them.

Because of his behavior, Anima was eventually placed in solitary confinement in the orphanage. With only his schooling to keep him company, Anima delved into it, studying everything he could get his hands on. When he got out of this confinement, he would have every door opened to him. Being trapped in that little room made him realize that he wanted nothing in his way. No more barriers. Everything would be at his fingertips. The world would be at his disposal. And it was, in a sense. By the time Anima graduated from school, he had high honors and was the top of his class. Bidding the tomb of his parents goodbye, Anima was ready to go. He was immediately invited (not accepted, but actually invited) into M.I.T, resulting in Anima moving to America. Three weeks after graduation, he was on a boat to Massachusetts. The trip wasn’t memorial.

The only thing special that happened on the boat was the sinking of it. In the year of 1925, Anima Mortis died. As the light faded from his cold eyes, his soul chain immediately expunged itself from his flesh. A flash of light, and Anima was back in Rome. The chains bound themselves to his parents’ tomb. For the next five months, the soul of Anima Mortis stood in front of the door to his parents’ tomb and screamed his incorporeal head off. This attracted the attention of a very large hollow. It must have been on the verge of evolving into a Gillian, for it was huge. Instead of attacking Anima, however, it merely stared at it. Watching the creature, Anima stopped screaming and stared back defiantly. He didn’t give a fuck what this thing was. If it was here to fight, Anima would fight. For three days the two stared at each other, and Anima’s fists were clenched the entire time. The hollow liked that. Spinewrencher, the name of the hollow, was very amused by this kid.

Not a single word was spoken to another, but they both eventually found a mutual respect for each other. Anima saw this hollow as something beyond, something achievable. This was better then being dead. Maybe the hollow would turn him into …whatever he was. For the first time in his entire life, Anima saw hope for something in the future. As for the hollow, he saw Anima as a heartless murderer. If he devoured him, who knows what would happen. Maybe he would be taken over. For the first time since he died, Spinewrencher felt unease.

Unfortunately for the two of them, they would never see what would happen to them. A shinigami was attracted by the mass amount of reiatsu in the area and came to investigate. Upon seeing the hollow, he attacked instantly. Immediately in shikai, silken ropes captured the hollow before black chains ripped through it and eviscerated the creature. Screaming again, Anima was mortified. His future. It was gone. Thinking that Anima was merely afraid, the shinigami immediately gave him a soul burial. Everything went black.

When he awoke, he was surrounded by a group of black-clad people that simply exuded power. They informed him of everything that had happened, and then explained to him how he was supposed to live now. When the basic information was explained to him, he was summoned to the Chamber of 46 for questioning. Why had he survived against the hollow for so long? A hollow did not sit and watch a soul for three days without doing anything. Something must have prevented him from attacking, and they wanted to know what. When Anima couldn’t provide an answer, their only conclusion was to train him as a shinigami in an effort to unlock his hidden abilities and see if they had anything to do with it. Enrolled in the Shinigami Academy, it was time to put his brains to use.


Rp sample: The sky bled without mercy. Dark clouds hung over the sky as a thick veil, blocking out all forms of star or night light for miles to see. The city crystallized under the torrential downpour as rain water bounced from the steel structures with vicious ferocity, before dropping to the ground as gravity took it’s toll. The streets were flooded, and the few cars that happened to be out were fighting for control over the slick pavement. Even fewer then the vehicles were pedestrians, and from the roof of a rather tall skyscraper, they looked like an Ant’s ant. Nonetheless, within their veins and arteries pulsed the thick, iron-ladled liquid that sustained Urufu Azathoth, and through direct association, Vereor Azathoth. A sharp wind picked up, dragging cars along the roads as if they were toy scraps of aluminium. This very wind slapped the rain against Urufu’s flesh, although he barely noticed. The sharp stinging of each drop was disregarded as nothing more then a nuisance. It wasn’t even worth his time to notice. Stepping onto the ledge of the building, the young man wiped the drenched blond locks of hair that was currently over his face out of his eyes, before snapping the cuff of his cloak in front of him. Water fractured from his sleeve to join the ocean that was surfacing in the city.

It was a hurricane in the making. The city would be forced hard to remember a night of more moisture. In the clouds, a network of electricity was snaking it’s way along the darkness to match the fiendish roaring of the wind and Devil’s Clap of thunder. Inching his bare feet towards the edge of the building, the harsh wind cut through his simple cloak and wracked his small body, causing him to shiver. Stopping himself, Urufu’s purple eyes narrowed as he spotted a figure on the sidewalks below. In the darkness and rain, the distance only adding to the problem, he could barely see anything about the person aside from a moving dot. Nonetheless, his instinct told him who it was. Dropping forward, Urufu crouched along the building and slid down the slick surface. Dropping rapidly, thunder clapped to signify the incoming youth. Making it to the base of the building faster then he thought he might, the cold steel left Urufu’s feet as he kicked hard and propelled himself forward through the air. The hard ground was approaching swiftly, and the kid would be flattened if he didn’t do something before he struck the concrete of the city and painted the gray with red. It was a shame his cloak was drenched, otherwise he would simply open up the cloak and float to safety. Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Instead, Urufu aimed his body for an adjacent building and formed two simple swords in his hands.

A blackness welled up in his hands before spreading into the shape of swords and solidifying rather nicely. This was the beginning of several spells, although Urufu had no need to actually form a spell. Instead, he drove the blades into the building and held on as tightly as he could. Jagged cracks ran through the building as the blades drug on for a few meters before stopping. Urufu’s wrists felt as if they had cracked, and his left shoulder dislocated. Nonetheless, he wasn’t dead, and that was a bonus. Dropping from his handholds to the ground, the blades disappeared into the atmosphere, his reiryoka no longer being concentrated into the blades. None seemed to actually notice Urufu appear near them on the ground. The cold, hard concrete below his feet was ignored once more. He had no time for complaints. He was here on a mission. Popping his shoulder back into place, he blinked away the pain without a single look of discomfort flashing across his face. He had no time for pain, either. Rolling his wrists slowly, he cracked his neck first to the left, and then to the right, before marching forward. He had to find who he was looking for.

The man’s name was Christopher Monarch, and he apparently had memories of a specific event happening that would allow for Urufu to meet a certain person and perhaps gain assistance in his goal. Urufu… Wouldn’t it be easier to violate your human existence with my form? The human mass does not see my kind. It would be much simpler to stalk your prey if they cannot see you. Inside of his head, the broken voice of Vereor cut a swath through the static of the rain. Shaking his head, Urufu appeared to simply be flicking water from his face and hair. In reality, he was answering Vereor. Even though that is true, it doesn’t matter. He is hi-spec, and can see us. Nonetheless, even though he is hi-spec, he is incapable of defending himself against someone of my…our caliber. That too was the truth. Humans were never a match against Urufu. Suddenly, the wind picked up once more, and carried with it more then the usual rain or pollution. It brought with it a scent. As if a gift from the gods, the heavily diluted scent was the very one he needed. Offering a quick acknowledgement to the goddess above, Urufu grinned maliciously and changed course for the scent.

It did not take him long to find Christopher. Tracking him in mere moments, he found him cutting through an alleyway. Urufu dropped from the building he had been previously scaling (his claws cracked from the concrete, wrists and ankles aching from the strain) and stopped the man. A pale hand was immediately at Monarch’s throat, which lifted the man into the air. This was an odd sight to see, if one was to take into account Urufu’s own height, which was roughly five and a half feet. ”Christopher Monarch?” The man tried to deny it, shaking in fear and stuttering. Unfortunately for him, Urufu could feel his pulse beneath drenched fingers. He was clearly lying. ”I apologize for this.” He didn’t, really. He wasn’t sure why he told people this. Lately, any victims that were slaughtered merely for information was apologized to. Vereor thought it was useless. He didn’t apologize to his meals, so why should he apologize for this? Urufu agreed. It was stupid. Nonetheless, it was something he did regardless. Dragging the man down through the rain, his throat was ripped open with a single slash of his free hand, the claws eviscerating through the flesh. Bringing the wound to he face, the dying screams of the man were drowned out with the sound of a steady gulping as Urufu consumed the life-blood of the man.

Draining him dry, the delicious substance was quickly devoured by Urufu. With every swallow, Urufu saw flashes of the man’s life. Tossing the corpse against the wall, he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. Standing still in the rain, Urufu’s eyes closed as he watched the life of Christopher Monarch as a film. He was conscious of the memories, although they still felt familiar. Flash-forwarding by what he had no desire to see, he eventually found what he wanted. Fleeting glimpses of a few “people” completed the mental puzzle that Urufu was currently working on. They were the missing cogs in the machine that he wanted built. Opening his eyes slowly, the purple was replaced with a dominant gold. He had found what he wanted. He was pleased. Blinking rain away, his eyes reverted back to their regular purple. Strutting forward, Urufu walked through a puddle that was tainted with the red of the man he had just slaughtered for forty seconds of memory. He felt no regret. Rolling his wrists and shoulders once more, he allowed the blood to heal the stretched muscles and cracks in his claws, as well as minor scratches and bruises he had. Good. He was up to snuff. Walking out of the alleyway that he had been in, Urufu grinned wildly. It was time to hunt down the Yayjuu.