#arrancarverse

As an Arrancar, Renji's hunger for souls reduces him to a somewhat primeval state. He acts purely on instinct and a thirst for power and an obsession with feeding himself to lessen the gnawing hunger inside, it's a miracle if any positive aspect of Renji's original nature remains at all. This simply leads to the conclusion that although the whole soul part of Renji is still alive inside his Inner World (he would need to be, or else Renji would devolve into a hollow) he is comatose. 

Look!-

There's something almost therapeutic about taking his time like this. No rush. No fuss. The wall of resistance that his prey presents is a husk, an egg shell underfoot to be shattered. Shattered and smeared into the dirt, the frail exterior and the delicate membrane broken underneath for the ones who scavenge the wreck. 

He is good to his pack. He shares. Sometimes they'd rather he didn't, but he shares. They have to grow big and strong, and though Hisagi hisses when Renji presses his thumb down on the smaller arrancar's neck to force open his throat and Kira spits and spats when Renji approaches with a fist full of hearty meat, they will grow big and strong. 

Not Her, though- She takes her pound of flesh as she demands it.

Another pit to fill for another day.

His prey (though perhaps 'victim' is more appropriate at this point. Whichever you please) doesn't have much left in them. A lesser arrancar- they are so rare among this territory. There are a lot of tracks in the sand from where Renji left his pack to hunt, and now he, alone, is rewarded with the red plush and the aromatic, metal syrup that is free for him to scoop out of the body like feed from a trowel. Why rush what you can enjoy? A few spare breathes left in it before the gaping maw opening up at the shoulder and ripped down the side, exposing the soft meat, leaves the body lightless and lifeless. 

A new smell reaches his tongue, and draws a g r o w l. A crack of his teeth grinding. Who's that who found him? Who told? Who told Her where he would be he will rip Kira's tongue out of his throat-

It's not her. It's someone different. Someone else who's powerful. Friend or food or ((both))? Renji recognizes that pop of blue. He saw it the night before he was killed. What are the odds?

It's not quite as satisfying a hunt as he would have liked.

He prefers to prey on those who once loved him, to turn their hearts into grenades inside their chests that detonate and destroy them from the inside out while he destroys them from the outside in.

But a job is a job, and the always say you should love your work.

The prey is pinned, where all such creatures belong, on the ground under Renji's foot. The struggle was short and, of course, pointless, because Renji is infinite and chaotic and destroys anyone who draws his eye. A skull-like grin is Mortimer's reward, and a look with yellow, glowing eyes that are hooded and border on affectionate, endeared. It's always charming when his prey finally gives up the struggle and go limp and paralyze in his grasp.

If there is peace in rest, he will be loud. If there is beauty in death, he will be ugly. If there is good in dark spaces, he will be evil.

It's a little like disassembling a doll, really. Some heavy tugging and some screams of agony and a whole lot of blood to pull the arms and legs free from the torso. Renji ensures that wide eyes are watching him when his nails sink into skin and release skin and sinews and joint from each other.

He decimates the body. Makes the shinigami watch the blood spilling down out of Renji's mouth like a bubbling fountain and down his chin and onto his pure white clothes. Watch even the bone be shredded between drill-like fangs, shattered in his snapping jaws like hard candy.

It makes him giddy, even though the bones might be rough to digest later. The hard, sharp fragments boil and gurgle in a stomach that is accustomed to the finer things in life, like blood and soft flesh.

Ah, well. At least if he regurgitates it later he can find a way to feed it to a lower ranking plaything. He'd love to try and force it down Hisagi's throat, still hot and acidic with Renji's own bile. Maybe try with Kira, if he's especially clever and especially scary. That would be funny.

Much of Renji's current behavior patterns reflect his fears from his life as a whole soul, particularly surrounding his inferiority complex, value of personhood, and fixation on dominance/submission dynamics. The people who victimized him as a child/adolescent made him feel weak, ineffective, and helpless. As an arrancar, Renji seeks to inspire the same kind of feeling in his victims.

This said, he has a lot of sadistic tendencies, and prefers to prey on those who he has/had a close emotional connection to (such as we see in our Izuru example, with Renji purposefully leading Izuru out alone, giving him the false hope that Renji was still the same as he was before only to destroy it, and inflicting brutal, entirely excessive pain on Izuru instead of focusing on his real objective) He derives pleasure from people being afraid of him, and will go out of his way to unsettle and upset people for fun, even those who he claims as his "Friends". Wholly self-centered, when Renji is hurting someone he wants that person's attention to be entirely on him, and to view him as a monster that they cannot control or fight back. 

It is the Second Day. 

In reality, time is useless, nonexistent. In the bleak night that washes over sandy and desolate shores time marks only the separation of the weak and the powerful. 

But only the passing of events of relevance are worth marking in Renji's mind. Every day since his birth is the Second Day.

He created the World, first, and She was good. She was good but she was alone, lifeless, dark. An infernal void, a sheer horror at nothingness clawed at Her being for in the dark and the loneliness She was cold and without air or light or love She is but a bleak scar of existence in the spaceless void. Tormented, She crawls. Agonized, She stands. Despairing, She rules but She rules nothing and therefore nothing She is.

He was the Second Day, to which mercy fell upon her rule by the grace of one who would serve her. And he is the light that will strike upon Her foes and will pierce the veil of night. It is in his light that she can rule, he is a glow of strength and around him everyone shall gather. Not even knowing, they will praise the Star that rises at Morning. Light is not a gentle gift but a distant foe and She, in due time, will fall into the black hole of his maw. Her kingdom is his kingdom but it is his to take.

Not today, though. Today he serves.

This world was once home, this ground beneath his feet his ground and this sky hanging over his lead like the lid to a coffin through with cracks of starlight leak was his sky. Now they are embarrassments. The ground and the sky are so tiny to him now, as if he could crush the stardust in his palms like sand and crush the earth on his fangs. 

His prey- his Prize- waits in the safety of a den for ones that will never arrive for him. The songbird will sing only of misery, and of anger, because that is what instinct knows. And instinct preys closer still to await him. The wind tears at ripped and ruined Shinimgai robes, his burial shroud, stained from his throat to his abdomen in dry and wretched blood. Come out little birdie it's almost sunrise and you must sing.

Renji's arrancar resurreccion, like that of the rest of his unique pack, is based off of the monsters of mythology. Renji is ranked as the Quinta's (Rangiku) first fraccion: The Chimera. In this form, he is incredibly powerful and fast, and easily espada-level.

In his second release, Renji's body undergoes an extreme physical transformation, his sealed form shedding away like snakeskin to allow the shape underneath to grow.

He stands at about 9 feet, with shaggy, white fur hanging down his lower torso and legs, with heavy, cloven hooves for feet. He has practically no feeling in these hooves, and can smash anything under them from solid stone to metal to bones. His upper torso is bare, excluding the lightning-bolt markings covering his body and arms, the patterns thinner but longer than his tattoos in his sealed form.

His arms become thicker and longer, with sharp claws. A snake-skull that looks very much like the one he wears on his hand in bankai is attached to his shoulder like armor. His hair grows longer and thicker into a full mane covering his head, neck and shoulders. Ram's horns as long as a grown man's arm curl back out of his skull. But his primary weapon is his long, serpentine-tail, which has razor sharp spikes along it much like Renji's shikai. 

And so his Queen traced her fingers upon his throat, as one would stoke the flames of a fire with irons white-hot and scalding. 

In this life there is no life, there is only war- constant battle and struggle, continuous cycles of eat or be eaten. In war there is no truth, there are only soldiers and renegades and those who are victorious write their own truths. He knows his truths, for he plans to be victorious one way or the other. 

Nails like heavenly claws, his Holy Queen carves him anew from the sinful shell of a warrior he once was. A Shinigami is nothing more than a Horseman of Death, one who purveys the continuation of a wold order that is archaic and explosive. She destroys him and rebuilds from the flames a new angel, and his power is awe-striking and his abilities world-shaking and his resolve is unstoppable.

But does she not sense her miraculous work can only do so much? Is his skin and flesh, rancid with sin, not hostile territory to her touch?

No surprise. As obvious as scripture that it would be destined this way. Eve never suspected the Snake, either.

"As loud as you wish, Your Highness." He rumbles, gently taking her hand in his own and moving it, splaying out the fingers until they rest on his neck just barely grasping his throat.

He trusts-

He knows

No harm will come to him quite yet. There must yet be time to turn this wasteland into Her garden.