if you want to make enemies, try to change something.

now, every time they fought back to back beneath mundus' divine orders, grimmjow found himself watching more than the battlefield. watching for fractures. for hesitation. for the smallest sign that the devil beneath the black armor still knew how to bare their own teeth. he hadn't stopped trying. he wasn't sure he ever would.

" that bastard's got his claws buried deep. " the words carried no fear of retaliation or punishment. only contempt. grimmjow had seen self serving gods' like mundus before. kings who mistook ownership for loyalty. masters who hollowed out anything they couldn't break outright. aizen had worn that same certainty once. grimmjow knew better than to believe either of them were untouchable. he'd learned a long time ago that forcing something to surface only made it retreat further. so instead, he turned away. the heel of his boot scraped against the stone as he stepped toward the edge of the ruined shore, the black waters churning below them like they were hungry for whatever fell into it from above.

" c'mon. " the command was casual, almost careless. he glanced back over his s houlder, blue eyes catching the murky light with a familiar spark of challenge. grimmjow raised a hand, curling two fingers in a slow beckoning motion toward himself. " unless you're plannin' on standin' here all day listening to the castle rot in this realm all alone. " a faint grin tugged at his mouth. " your boss gave us another target. " the words left his lips with no reverence behind it. just acknowledgement. a job. nothing more. he started walking, the tattered edges of his white jacket shifting behind him as his reiatsu stirred the demonic air around him. " y'know how this goes. "

" we find em'. we break through whatever the hell gets in our way. we finish the mission, simple. " but grimmjow's expression said he knew better. nothing about this was simple. not the false gods they served. not the chains around nelo's mind. not the fact that every step deeper into mundus' territory felt less like following orders and more like walking toward a future grimmjow had already decided he wanted to tear apart . still, he kept moving. listening for nelo to follow suit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ,        words that show no love for what has to be done ,   in no way deferent to the divine mandate that had been bestowed upon them .   Silver markings on marble skin glow with a sickening energy ,   a venomous power that subjugates  &  flows freely under skin .   It is a brand that declares who it is that they belong to ,   of whom they will never escape .   Grimmjow does not share those brands ,   does not share the same views of the lowly demons that view Mundus as their god ,   or their master .   His word is law ,   &  any that had once opposed him had been cast out with little left of them aside from a smear on the cold mortar .   That is what they had been commanded to do now ,   yet there is an unusual pause from the Dark Knight .

                                         Nothing comes .

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ,        as if their reserve of them had dried up  &  left nothing but dust  &  arid breeze in its wake .   Hand at their face falls away ,   & in its departure ,   grotesque horned helm manifests around head with the sound of groaning metal ,   melding shut as it encases all as whatever final twinge of muscle ebbs away from their being  ( the voice has been silenced , only HIS remains ) .   Control seeps in once more  &  the world falls into a tenuous darkness .   There is a job to be done .   Fingers extend ,   cold ,   deliberate ,   as energy coalesces around it ,   infernal flames coiling  &  writhing as it forges itself into the zweihander that they often carry .   A brutal weapon ,  inelegant  &  graceless ,   little more than an unwieldy thing that had been made from the rendered armor of enemies slain .   It was misshapen ,   twisted ;   it was a reflection of its wielder .

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐍𝐒 , 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ,        its wearer paying no mind as the once red ,   now golden eyes stare out of the obsidian face of the mask .   No longer was it the face of the man long gone ,   but the beast that now remained  (  yet not mindless .   No .   A lurid intelligence stares out at him ,   but not quite the one that he wanted ) .   Heavy footfalls bring up plumes of ash  &  dust ,   as they approach Grimmjow with a poised intensity ,   putrid horned head inclining in response to that challenge .   It was something that they could respond to with the corpses that would be strewn across the ground .  A challenge was a game that they could participate in with little reprimand or punishment .   As the dark oceans rise up to meet them ,   he remembers something .

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 ,       but they do not fall .   Cape billows out ,   darkness creeps out from its ends  &  seeps into the perpetual darkness like ink in water .   The world falls away ,   where nothing else remains except the two beings that share some kind of camaraderie .   The Blackened Knight's stride brought them before the other ,   massive form held aloft with a power few could rein in ,   as the dark blue of Grimmjow's hair rustles with the reiatsu that swirls around him .   Despite it all ,   the expressionless mask of helm does little to hide the faint glimmer within the gold glow as a gauntleted hand raises towards Grimmjow  (  not extending towards him ,   not quite ) ,   &  all fingers curl inwards towards palm .   Once .   Twice .

                                            Come on .

" you told me once initiating contact with humans was almost entirely out of the question for you, " says vann by way of greeting. vergil appreciates getting to the point, so why disappoint them? " but art is one of many ways to do so, and it's not the first time i've seen that book. what do you read and why? "

                    ❛   Not all tales  &  tomes are born from human hands ,    ❜        𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 , 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 .         A 'tsk' departs under their breath ,   the note of dismay dispelled by a low hum as hand lifts with book within it ,   only partially closing it  (  thumb resting against crease so as to not lose their place  ) .        ❛    It's a— collection . Of sorts .    ❜        A beat of hesitation .

humans had too many strange customs. dates. meals. small talk. pretending that sitting across from someone in a cheap little restaurant meant something more than just filling an empty space. once, those things had been meaningless to him. now . . . now he found himself wanting to try. grimmjow stood quietly for once, his usual restlessness replaced by an unusual patience as his gaze settled on vergil. he watched them with the same intensity as always, though this time there was no challenge behind it.

" you're free tonight, aren't you? "

it wasn't phrased like a question. grimmjow rarely asked for anything; he always demanded. but this time, there was an unusual hesitation beneath the confidence. he pushed off the wall, stepping closer. " i found this place. humans seem to like it. burgers, apparently. " a faint scoff left him, as if he still couldn't understand why people were so impressed by flattened greasy meat slapped between untoasted bread. " sounds stupid. " a prolonged pause.

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ,        held within Vergil's grasp as they wipe her down ,   the steel glistening with the new coat of oil within the fabric held in the Devil's hand .   Unnecessary for a Devil Arm ,   but a ritualistic care that they follow through on a regular basis .   The blade glints as the angle shifts just so slightly to allow Vergil's reflection to show within the mirror of steel ,   that familiar sharpness settling on Grimmjow when he makes the statement ,   singular brow lifting in response .   Silence pervades for a beat too long ,   enough that Grimmjow charges onward with the explanation of what it was that he had in mind .   Burger place —

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃 ,        during a time where lives were two ,   when that unfamiliar sense of HUNGER gnawed at stomach  &  demanded satisfaction .   He doesn't recall it being wholly unpleasant ,   though the grease that dropped from fingers afterwards had left them in a state of silent dismay  (  but it had served its purpose of removing those hunger pangs  ) .   Curious ,   that Grimmjow would admit that he wanted to take them out on a—

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 ,        flesh gently touching the warm steel as it slips between the pinch of thumb  &  forefinger ,   guiding her into the protective scabbard .   Head turns slightly ,   gaze now finding Grimmjow's ,   that questioning brow now having lowered itself back into something plaintive .   The reminder of their lack of hunger rolls around on the flat of tongue ,   before it's held at the quiet admittance of wanting to experience something other than the usual violence .   To participate in a world that they often strayed from ,   lingering on the outskirts without committing to its every day activities .   Lips part ,   brows furrowing lightly  (  not in annoyance ,   but rather one where they were weighing the options given ) .

                    ❛    You wish to—    ❜                                                      go on a date ?