--{ ɢ ʀ ɪ ɴ ᴅ }

It's barely sank in, he's scrambling up when another hit lands, heavy against his ribs. He curls, hand on his side now, remaining red dripping out of his mouth in thick strand. He spits it out, shooting still defiant glare towards the attacker.

Wiser guy would probably quiet down there and let the guy walk without a single word. Eiden though, he's not stupid but he's got a reckless streak to him.

" Right", he scoffs as he wipes the corner of his mouth, only managing to paint a dusty, red streak across his cheek to decorate smirk that stretches his face now.

Grimmjow's vision flashes red-- he should have learned to keep his damn mouth shut.

"Only idiots," he growls, flipping the shattered half of the wooden blade in his grip,

"Who don't know their fuckin' place."

Normally, a downed target would have lost all of his interest; if they're not getting up, then they're a waste of his time, no longer a toy to be played with.

Those who made the decision to speak down to him, however--

The jagged end of the ruined blade comes down in the same place it had shattered not moments before; blood splatters up from the wound against the splintered wood, up his forearm. The euphoria that comes from it washes through him, makes the snarl on his face curl up at the corners. It's like a pressure valve being released, as though the new wound inflicted on the other was an outlet of his own.

"I'll rip and tear until it's all back," he says as he leans down. Just as forcefully, the blade is ripped back out from where it had stabbed its way in as he stands back up. "All of what they took from me."

No matter how weak he's become, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He's made that much clear through action and words alone. If Bentley were the one to have found him, he probably wouldn't have lasted long. Sun was strong, but mentally, he was weak. Even he was aware of this. Grimmjow was sure and confident.

And it's the simple words Grimmjow says that pull him out of his thoughts.

Get stronger than them, he says.

"Grimmjow," Sun calls out. He stands a little taller than normal. His hands barely touch the ground beneath him.

"If you come at me ill-prepared," he says, glancing back over his shoulder,

"I'll kill you."

Nervous as Eiden might being threatened and all, it doesn't prevent from the words flaring his temper. This is despite knowing it's only newcomers that can say this sort of stuff with confidence. They don't know anything so they can say whatever they like it's nothing.

Not that Eiden intends to just listen though!

" The hell do you think you know about me?! "

The temper serves to push him ahead too, forgetting the whole part where this guy doesn't seem exactly the least dangerous guy around.

" Ahh, well, isn't that just great then! "

" Going out to find out where they are? Good luck then. Might as well lead everyone there since you know it so well. Make yourself so damn useful. "

Eiden then brings his fist over his palm, lightly tapping onto it like he just figured something new out.

" Oh but.... you're going to fight them? " he asks, supposedly innocuously, eyes round, " like that? "

Simmering discontent flares into violent fury, fuse short enough to be nigh on non-existent. Any of the limited patience that may have resided in his veins is burned up in an instant, gone up in smoke. Though upon waking up in this maze of humanity and stone so much of him had been somehow even more thoroughly hollowed out than the unholy process that had seen him borne, the strength he'd been leashed so tightly for once before so unceremoniously ripped away from him, they had still left him one thing.

To he who had lived with the speed and deadly accuracy of a predator elevated above this world, it feels sluggish in comparison; from once being entirely imperceptible neutered down to the speed of a lowly human. But the speed still gives him momentum, sonido unneeded in such close proximity but letting him throw all of the strength held in the well of himself into the blow as he uses it, the loud crack of his knuckles making contact with the man's jaw reverberating through the air like the sound of a whip.

"You shoulda' stopped at just bein' useless," Grimmjow snarls, teeth bared.

"Instead a' decidin' to keep openin' your stupid fuckin' mouth."

The wooden sword, as useless as it is in comparison to Pantera's blade, comes next; this dirt under his heel to serve as an ideal way to rid himself of it. Just as quickly is it yanked from its place at his hip, an insult of a weight, and cracked in half with the force of just how hard it comes into contact with the other's side.

He sees Grimmjow moving quick and swiftly kicking him. If it weren't for his hands blocking the attack (Albeit a little too slow), it could have been even more dangerous.

Sun yelps, though. It still hurts. He's lying on his side, but proceeds to slowly get up.

"I only asked because..." Everything hurts.

When his eyes look up, he can see the rage in Grimmjow's eyes. He sucks in a breath, eventually manages to get back on his feet and hands. He braces for another attack, but,

"Let them try," he says, voice dangerously low.

"I'll rip out their god damn throats."

Even without Pantera. Even with the gaping maw of lack that sits in his bones, as though they themselves had taken the hollow characteristic of his namesake. He'd rip and claw and tear for another hundred years before he allowed himself to be caged again.

He thought he was stronger than everyone here? That's the kind of confidence Sun would like to have. "Maybe not Monkey King," he mutters under his breath. Monkey King was one of the strongest he knew. "Or Soffon."

Demons, bastards (whatever those creatures were (it's a familiar word that he was called by Bentley and some other people), they were all here on this island, too, weren't they?

"A blade? Like...a weapon? Like me." Because to Bentley, for the longest time, for as long as he had been found, that was all he ever was. Now, though, well, Sun wasn't so sure WHAT he was supposed to be doing. Wasn't that why he still fought?

Except the boy interrupts him, beats him there-- and ignites fury like gas to flame, sets his eyes alight with it where they'd not even a moment ago been dull with uninterest.

The brat might have gotten away with licking the wounds he'd already sustained if he'd kept his damn mouth shut.

"I don't fuckin belong to anyone," Grimmjow snarls, punctuated in the swift violence of the toe of his boot lodging itself into the boy's ribs, kick ruthless and landing it's target in less than a blink. His claws may have been dulled from their killing point, but that did not mean they could do no harm.

Just as quickly is his leg drawn back, body coiled and ready for another blow.

Years and years spent trapped under the heel of another in the pursuit of strength rattle in his head, in his bones, in the heat of shame that never leaves the nape of the neck.

Never again.

If the other's pushing forward Eiden's definitely trying to step back, retreat away. As long as he likes a hot guy on him he can't say this doesn't make him sweat a little. It's not exactly the first time someone's demanding to know what's up with their captors like he's got some inside info no one else does...

" Look, I get it. You want to let out some steam but.. I don't really have anywhere to take you. "

He laughs a little awkwardly, palms facing forward in an attempt to calm the guy down a little.

"Four years," he says lowly, not backing down at all in spite of the other man's shrinking away. Something else should probably be sinking in through his hardened skin along with the revelation, but the only thing that does-- as it always does, time and time again-- is fury simmering there just beneath the surface, a gradual ascent to boiling point ever-threatening with just how rapidly it could reach the peak.

"And you don't know where to even find the bastards that put you here."

That had taken everything from him- a blade dulled suddenly, forcefully, with no warning; not from use but from a sudden severing of all that made it so. A ripping away of purpose, so abrupt that it's a rug from under the feet. Still expecting the clean, vicious slash of metal only to clang dully against nothing.

"So you're tellin' me you're fuckin' useless, then," Grimmjow snarls. All at once the other man is roughly shoved away from him, as much strength as he can dredge forth poured into it.

"Compliant."

It's spat- an insult.

He looks like someone who'd go for a real fight. Where the only rules would be fight to the death. Another fighting Sun is all too familiar with. Probably would thrive under Bentley's fighting cage, honestly.

"I'm not usually this weak," he mumbles under his breath. "I don't usually lose a fight, but I have lately." He LOATHES it.

Sun huffs.

It isn't any of his business, yeah. But Sun is always the curious sort, which prompts him to his next question:

Never mind his inability to sense those around him-- he didn't need it. The singular person he had ever found to be worth a damn in the realm of the living wasn't here; or, at least, Grimmjow hadn't found him yet if he was, with the limited time he'd been given to scout his surroundings.

( He's not even sure he'd want to find Kurosaki like this-- misplaced shame boils, anger in his nerves. That Pantera was not by his side, that he found himself landlocked, that the great, roiling power beneath his skin had been so thoroughly neutered. )

"People've called me a demon," he offers at least, a generosity. "And a bastard. A lot worse, too."

"But you can just see me as a blade."

Being alive, being dead; though the names of the places they lived were dictated by the concept, it was never quite so simple. He was alive-- just not in the same way as those among the realm that claimed to be so. Was he dead? No. But neither was he 'alive', not to them.

He doesn't like to think about it.

more than scared. Terrified. The fear shoots down their spine and curls against their back; catches in their throat at the man’s crass and uncaring attitude.

They’re scared. They’re scared. They haven’t felt this way in a long time — Chara’s been spoiled, by the grownups here. The kind, caring, thoughtful people that populate this place.

They’re a fool for becoming complacent.

— still. Chara startles as the man storms ahead; without thinking, they reach out, grab at his shirt, and pull.

“I said — I said —

I said NO! You have to go somewhere else!”

Their flowers. Their garden. They’ve worked so hard on it, and the people they love have added so much to it —

The sound of the blow cuts through the relative silence, the seemingly endless noise of the place in which he'd found himself muffled, here-- followed only by the inevitable, dull 'thud' of a landing.

They aren't worth his strength, a waste of any sort of exertion; but the distinct feeling of his strength's absence, not having the same bottomless reserve, sets his blood simmering in his veins- not quite its potential inferno but yet another reason for his jaw to clench.

"I'll go wherever I damn well please," Grimmjow snarls back over his shoulder.

"Don't ever fuckin' touch me again, you hear? 'Specially if you wanna keep that arm a' yours."

He doesn't wait for their decision, whatever it is they come to do. Instead he continues to stalk forward, further off into the silence.

The further he wanders in, the more every overbearing sound becomes muted, just the bit further away, all those human machines hushed by trees and bushes and greenery also so intensely foreign to what he was accustomed to. And instead of more metal and concrete, Grimmjow finds himself slowly surrounded by color; white sand and black sky spent a century in companionship with so wildly different.

This must be what that brat was trying to block him from. His eyes narrow down at the expanse of them. He stops there, at the edge. Stares.

If that low-boiling anger had been any brighter, any more fever-pitch, made his skin any tighter on his body, the entire thing may have been razed. Teach vermin a lesson.

... Instead he simply continues his advance. Any blooms that may unfortunately find themselves underfoot are flattened beneath his heel-- but those out of the proverbial line of fire remain undisturbed as he makes his way to the other side.

Just one look tells him he's new. There's no way of really telling, but Sun picks up on it. This Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has only arrived recently. Despite it, there's strength there, and Sun's body reacts.

Does he need to defend himself?

It's what he says that confuses the guy. Tail curled around his feet and fingers fidgeting almost nervously.

"There's no leftovers here." He fails to realize that he may be the one this man is talking about.

"Are....are you hungry then?" Seemingly, he seems to have forgotten about his poor attempt at wrapping that injury up.

"M'always hungry," he says. To exist as a hollow is to hunger endlessly, the great gaping maw that constitutes their existence, that gives them their namesake. While it sits out in the open for so many others, easily visible as though a mark of pride and a brand all at once, Grimmjow's own, once the same, sits hidden beneath his clothes.

"S'just that scraps like you taste like nothin' but ash."

He can't even sense souls here, anyway, whether or not this kid would even be worth his time in the first place. He wasn't like Yammy or Arruruerie-- gluttony of that sort never appealed to him.

To be a hollow is to hunger, but the only thing he has ever starved for does not come from a full gut, from syphoning the strength of others; only for their blood on his hands in stains of glory.

Whatever questions Grimmjow might have had about this kid have already easily been answered; he's not a shinigami, clearly, or else he would know exactly who and what the arrancar was. Nor is he anything adjacent to the realm of the dead. Doesn't look worth a damn in a fight, either. So all the kid gets in answer is;

He definitely cannot go home. Not while he looked as messed up as he did. Sometimes—A LOT of the time —he forgets that he isn't as strong as he used to be. Being here has really weakened him.

Even with the enhanced strength that the Stars so graciously gave him, he's lost a fight.

If he goes home now, he's sure Monkey King will worry. He doesn't want him to worry. Doesn't want Seofon worrying either. With that at the back of his mind, he attempts to fix his own injuries.

Sun halts his movement and perks up, his head turning left and then right. He hears someone.

Who knows; maybe, once upon a time, a human who he no longer is and has not been for years and years may have taken solace in the very same act. But to him, now, it does nothing but itch beneath his skin.

In defiance, then, despite so much of him saying to remain silent and assess, he is loud in all his approaches- makes no attempt at the scuffing of his boots against concrete. Let everyone know he's coming; let them know he has no reason to skulk, no reason to shrink himself down for anyone, no matter how completely foreign this place may be.

That includes the creature here in front of him, licking its wounds.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," he drawls as he continues his advance, deigning to afford him an answer.

"Remember it."

When he seems like that the reaction's not much of a surprise.

" Whoaaa ~~ not my intention! " Eiden says throwing his hands up in surrender. Yiiikes. Surprise or not he can't be recklessly pissing people off.

" I was just thinking you seemed kinda... restless, so... "

He has a feeling that alone won't work out but he can just keep pushing it a little.

"New," he says slowly, as though to roll the taste of it around on his tongue.

"Meanin' you're not, s'that right?"

Grimmjow's not all that much taller than this guy, only a few handfuls of centimeters taller, but he now uses every bit of it to press, now he's found his opening, never mind the demand not moments ago to stay the hell away from him. That fucking 'phone' thing sits as a foreign weight in his pocket, a piss-poor counterbalance in place of the sword that usually sits at his hip-- but Pantera or no, he can still throw his own weight around with the same ease as breathing.

Welcome to scenic Isola Radiale, Mr. Kitty!

You'll be housed in CONDO 408.

You'll retain the use of your sonido, but its speed has been depreciated so that it only allows you to hit a speed twice as fast as a human at top running speed. You'll also be given a wooden sword.

Enjoy your stay!