Andros
Posts : 17 Join Date : 2014-03-24 Exp : 365 Weapon Skill : Expert HSM : Master Reiatsu : Master Hakudo : Master
| Subject: Andros Addison - Cazador "Huntsman" Thu Mar 27, 2014 11:42 pm | |
| ~~~Arrancar~~~ Name: Andros Addison Alias: Cazador ("Huntsman" among Hollow), Shiroi ōkami ("White Wolf" among Shinigami), Pack Leader (During Adjucha times) Age: 1,523 Visual Age: 20 Gender: Male Reiatsu Color: Sapphie Blue Hollow Hole Location: Stomach Affiliation: Espada Rank: 5th Aspect of Death: Solitude --------------------Persona-------------------- Appearance: - Spoiler:
Andros' most noticeable trait, aside from his steely teal colored hair, are his ice dragon blue eyes. These eyes seem to bore into one's soul. His lids are almost always half close, as if by even existing he is bored with the present situation...and odds are he is. Across the bridge of his nose lay a mark that shows he has entered his true state at least once. On the right side of his cheek are the remains of his Hollow mask. The powerful teeth of what once was a mighty wolf. His steely teal hair falls down just beyond his shoulders. His bangs are short and don't even reach his eyes, but the back and sides reach his shoulders and are always well kept. His lips are almost also flat lined. He doesn't often smile or frown, but when he does it usually means he was really bothered or excited. Around his eyes are nice black eyelashes. They are slightly curled upwards, and naturally rather full as well. This darkness causes his eyes to appear more luminous than they usually are. His actual form is rather athletic. He's a bit closer to lanky, but he retains enough muscle and muscle definition to show that he works for his body. Standing at about six foot tall and weighing in at 150lbs. His choice of attire doesn't change very often. The male wears the typical Arrancar jacket with his own slight modification. It sits a bit bigger on him, having slightly wider sleeves, and with about an extra two inches on the chest. The collar of the jacket is also a bit higher than usual. His lower body is covered by standard clothing as well with no alterations made. His hands have a pair of white gloves, fingerless on the left and full on the right. His blade is kept on his right hip. His number sits on the palm of his right hand, and his Hollow Hole rests neatly where his stomach used to be while living. Personality: Andros Addison is not a friend. He isn't the guy you turn to with problems. He isn't a guy who cares. He may appear self-involved, ego-centric and careless, but he's far from that. His mind, at any point in time, is racing with a thousand thoughts. It's not often that these thoughts are positive, but that's just who he is. Cursed with a mind eternally subjected to be trapped in his own Hell. Andros is victim to self destructive habits merely to validate his own self-loathing. As he views it, what's the point of living if you feel nothing? After centuries of dealing with severe clinical depression, he has a tendency to come off as...chilling. He's an introvert by nature, and a hermit by choice. He finds small talk to be trivial and useless, and he finds other people to be even more trivial and possessing various degrees of uselessness. With his own powers, he finds all the company that he really needs or desires for that matter. Should one approach Andros with conversation, he wouldn't really turn them away. He finds turning someone a way to be a sign of caring. Feigning interest is the true mark of one who doesn't care. Because if you don't care, then why does it matter? One shouldn't mistake the words "feigning interest" either. He isn't likely to give you any sort of expression or emotion. His voice is rather...dead about 90% of the time. Feigning interest should be taken as saying that Andros will engage in the conversation, but he isn't really looking to drive it forward for the sake of anyone. He may ask the occasional question out of his own self-interest. He doesn't really see why he should care at all about another's feelings or the problems going on in their personal lives. He has his own set of issues, and at the end of the day it's his powers that will save him, so why should he even remotely begin to care about trying to cheer someone else up? Addison views combat as barbaric really. He dreads getting into fights but sees the need for them. He is a Hollow after all. He spent centuries as a mindless beast, driven by insatiable hunger and a need for survival. His mind wasn't even his own until he was an Adjucha. Even then, he was barely in control of himself. His actions were driven by nothing more than useless attempts to sate his ever growing hunger. What kind of like was that to be? Sentenced to immortal torment because the Shinigami couldn't be bothered to rescue him, to spare him the torment of this Hell, was he truly that awful? Because they failed at their duty, he was subjected to a world where war was the only speed they went. He had to be privy to a class of being that only knew combat. So of course he despises fighting. Now that he is finally in control, now that he is finally rid of that burning hunger, he would rather not fight if he can avoid it. Why fight if you can avoid it? Strength, to Addison, is resolving a conflict without the need to fight. Andros Addison is not your typical Hollow. Despite his rank and beliefs, he's capable and has no problems with killing, but because of his beliefs he is only at his current rank. He is self-loathing, self-destructive, introspective, and his clinical depression has followed him into the afterlife. He's not here to be your friend, he's not interested in being anyone's lover, he has a goal and a plan. That's all that matters to him. Pain experienced between now and then just serves as a reminder that surely he must be a terrible person and that is his Earthly punishment. Why else would the Shinigami have forsaken him? One of his personality quirks is that anytime a tense situation arises he is usually the first to exclaim "shots fired". He also is fond of putting his index and middle finger together to form a gun and making a shooting motion. No matter which situation it is, and no matter his present temperament, he will give a slight smirk and his voice will be just slightly higher than it's usual dull tone. --------------------History-------------------- History: - Life to Death:
Andros Addison. Born to two loving parents, but raised on the streets. No. He wasn't abandoned and left to be a street urchin, or any such thing. The streets were his home, his playground, his sandbox. He came from a loving family, but that didn't save him from feeling alone. His only comfort growing up were the kids he ran with. Literally. He was never apart of a crew, he would just...show up. He was accepted there and always offered chances to hang out outside of their daily runs. Sometimes he would take part in their other activities, such as going to visit the local plaza and see the shops, or even go outside the gates to see offer aid to travelers who needed to move wares off their carriage. More often than not, however, he would say no. His world was in a state of eternal turmoil. He detested the idea of leeches being plastered onto his face, or hole being drilled into his head. So he often kept his darker thoughts to himself. He knew he could talk to them, count on them, rely upon them, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He would sit there on the staircase at night saying what he wanted to say to himself over and over again. After twenty minutes, however, he'd give up and just go to bed. Presuming the wooden floors didn't give him away and he didn't receive a spanking for being out of bed at such an hour.
By the time he was 17, he had basically become accustomed to this life. He managed to fool everyone around him. Ask any of his "friends" in town. They'd all say the same thing. He was a boy who could brighten up any room, put a smile on any face. He was selfless, within reason, and gentle. He was kind and caring. He had everyone around him fooled. He hadn't gotten any better after years and years, he had just gotten better at managing it. He still would isolate himself, he'd still prefer to be alone over being with anyone else, ironically it was not this that killed him. Well...not entirely anyway.
Fast forward a few years. He's a skilled artisan, making jewelry for the...higher class of society. He was never interested in marriage, and the very idea of it, quite frankly, irritated him. Why couldn't he just have been born and die alone? Nevertheless. He was to be wed to a young woman. She was...okay. Andros, truthfully speaking, couldn't see why anyone would even feign interest in her. Physically speaking she was beautiful. Her personality left a lot to be desired. Fortune would smile upon him, however, one morning when she would beg him to leave his workstation and go out with her. She wished to attend a ball. Now, Andros wasn't a socialite by any means. Of course people knew him, knew his work, knew his habits. He would rarely go for walks, and he almost always turned down opportunities to attend balls and other such formal gatherings. He just wasn't interested. A client of his, a Noblewoman from the town over, had invited him to attend her party and sell his wares to her friends. It wasn't that Andros couldn't use the money, he could, but the travel was a day at the minimum, and it involved being around people, and then sleeping at an inn. All things that he didn't enjoy. For the sake of shutting his wife-to-be up he would agree to go out with her.
They packed up their things, and by that afternoon they were on their way. Andros was conflicted when they ran into a group of highway bandits. On one hand, his fiance finally shut up. On the other hand, he was being held at knife point and asked to turn over all of his valuables. Of course he would obey the men. They had knives. Why wouldn't he obey them? He was almost home free...and then his future wife spoke up. She called them by their names. She recognized them from town, something Andros didn't realize and was content to not know. Once that realization was made, however, they wasted no time killing both of them. Old friends be damned. Times were tough, and that was that.
- Hollowfication:
He looked at his body. He was...dead. Wow. The experience was shocking to him, but he found it rather...easy to accept. He was dead. Fussing about it wasn't going to bring him back to life. He could see his body. It wasn't terrible, but there was a nice knife wound in his stomach. So even if he was brought back, there wouldn't be much to go back to. He could see the spirits of the other people, wandering around, who had died as well. He could also see the woman who he was no longer betrothed to. She was weeping up a storm. Andros rolled his eyes and walked away. If he had stuck around for but a few seconds longer he would have caught the Shinigami. He wandered around the town. He went to visit his old home and sat in the room with his equipment. He wanted nothing more than just to reach out and touch them at that moment. He wanted to hold them, he wanted to feel the cool touch of the needle, the relaxing feel of metal. He couldn't though. For the first time since he was a being of higher reasoning, he was as hopeless as he felt underneath.
He began to linger around the house of the people who killed him. Oh fun. It was a house of statistics. They were drunks and hardly ever bathed, it was no surprise that they turned out this way. Anders hated them. He found himself consumed by rage. How dare they ruin his life. Yes. He had problems. Yes. He wasn't pleased with himself but his life was, for all intents and purposes, fine. He wanted to hurt them. He wanted them to suffer just as he had suffered. He grabbed the chain and got bit. He stared at the bite mark on his hand and then looked at the chain as mouths appeared all over it. Fear. He couldn't believe this. What was going on? He shook his head and tried to make sense of this situation. For a moment, he forgot all about his hate, his rage. The fact that he was dead was finally settling in on him, but this is not what he was expecting. No religion, no cult, no anything could have prepared him for this.
A few days later he still lingered around the murderer's house. He had finally calmed down enough to remember his rage. They were so...CASUAL about everything. It was like they hadn't killed anyone. How many people had they killed that they could just not care? How dare they be so blatant in their actions. So casual in their words and demands of those around them. Days later the rage had consumed Andros. He felt nothing anymore. Everything was seen through blood red glasses and that's when he became a Jibakurei, a Demi-Hollow. Those people finally saw him and died of a heart attack. Anti-climatic, I know, but that's what happened. It didn't cure him though. Their deaths were insignificant to him now. He had been wronged. He had been so wrong. Them dying didn't make him feel better! They wouldn't help him! He wanted revenge, but he was robbed of that now too.
He suffered the pains of the Chain of Fate for months and months. The process was sped up from his hated and the occasional prodding at the chain. At this point, he was virtually undetectable by the Shinigami. He scared dozens of people away from the quaint little home and in no time nature was taking back it's property. Eventually the chain ate itself. This killed him. To suffer like this was...it was hell. He couldn't believe what he was going through. Such pain, such hatred, such agony. He began to choke. He was suffocating, and he was powerless to stop it. His vision was momentarily covered. He couldn't feel anything for what felt like hours, but was only a few seconds. Then...suddenly he could. He felt...different. He felt, better. He felt whole...almost. There was still something left. He didn't know why but his stomach was killing him.
It was hunger.
- Pack Leader:
He was a nobody right now. He was simply a monster. He spent some time exploring the grounds of Hueco Mundo. It was not long at all until he understood the structure of Hollow. Of course he hunted humans too. He needed to. He was hungry. He was starving. He appeared to be something equatable to a massive wolf. Something the size of a small house. He eventually gained a reputation. Shinigami who hunted him found themselves to be hunted. He became good at what he did. He was nothing to be taken lightly. He was a prize. He was a hunter's desire. Eventually, however, he became nothing but a legend. He got bored. Hunting humans was boring. Even the superpowered ones. They were unique, they were fun, but at the end of the day...they were boring. The Shinigami were even more boring. Their morality irritated him. They would always spew their crap into his face, stating he was a monster. HIM. What did HE ever do? Kill a few hundred mortals and dozens of their friends? Whatever. He was hunger. What was he supposed to do? Die? He did what was natural to him. He did what his instincts directed him to do.
But he was the villain here. Laughable.
A few years went by as he just roamed the grounds of the Forest. He was terribly bored still. He needed something to do. He needed to kill. He began to attack other Hollow. No longer did he get any satisfaction out of humans or Shinigami. He needed something that wasn't going to scream and run, something that wouldn't spit out clauses about moral standards of living. He found this activity to be much, much, more enjoyable. The slaughter of his own kind. They were the ultimate chase. Beings as powerful as him. He didn't do it because he was a mindless beast, filled with malicious desire. He did it because he was running. Running from himself. He hated the Shinigami. He was living in eternal torment because of them. This hatred eventually folded inwards, however, as the depression that had lingered under the surface was starting to rise. That little voice in the back of his head that told him he was getting what he deserved crept up again. It told him he deserved this. This was his fault.
This was all his fault...
He made the other Hollow pay. He would make them all pay.
He allowed this depression to fill him, to fuel him, to push him forward. He wouldn't let any of these beasts get him down, and he wouldn't let this beat him down either. He would outlive this disease if it was the last thing he would do. Eventually, after another year of Hollow-feasting, he felt their power swell within him. He could feel all their voices raging against his own. They wanted out. They wanted control. They wanted power. He wouldn't allow it. He wasn't going to let them win. Round two had started. It lasted only a few seconds, but just like his first transformation...it felt like hours. Things went black for a moment before he regained his eyesight. Everything was so...small. No...they didn't shrink, he had gotten big.
He looked around for a moment, taking in the sights, and then let out a maddening roar. The voices. They still lingered within him. It was his body though. He was in control. He began moving. The hunger. The pain. He needed food...he needed Hollows. So that's what he did. He made his way to the forest within Hueco Mundo. He began hunting again. It was...difficult with his size, but even so...he felt powerful. He was far more powerful than he was before, and the scent of cannibalistic Hollow drew him in. He loved that smell. It was the only thing that calmed him, focused him, centered him. He loved these moments. The hunt. It's what he was good at. Decade upon decade went by. Addison had trouble retaining his identity. He barely remembered his name.
Andros eventually came across a pit...a pit full Menos Grande. If he could smile he would. If he couldn't see who the cannibals were, he sure as hell could smell them. The pit was filled with their stench. He loved it. He wasted no time, diving in. He devoured the first Gilliann he saw. One lunged at him and he threw himself to the side. He bit down on that one, ripped his head off, and continued about his way. He killed those who smelled of cannibalistic tendencies first. The enemy must always be dealt with first...then the innocents. He had a few close calls, but the sheer amount of activity allowed him to avoid injury. He let out a roar as he was finally inside the pit by himself. He let loose a cero to proclaim his victory. He needed more though. He would have more. Even if it killed him, he wouldn't stop here. He could feel them. Powerful beings wandering the sands of Hueco Mundo. He would have that. He wanted it. He craved their power. What it must feel like to be in that league. He would do this, or he would die trying.
As a Gillian he lived for about one hundred years. He had developed a reputation...again. He avoided the Human World though. He was far too large and he wasn't fast enough to deal with the Shinigami yet. Yet. He followed the scent of cannibalistic Hollow. He roamed the sands for half a decade. He preyed on the weak, he picked on the strong, but above all he was a hunter. It was what he was born to do. At the end of the fifth year, he had a particularly nasty return to the Menos Grande pit. The pit was filled with Hollow. The amount of cannibals here was significantly higher than last time. He waited for a moment. He let the numbers die out just a little bit before diving in. He let out a roar as he began to feast on the various Gillian there.
It. Was. Delightful.
The power. The rush. The feeling. It was glorious. Andros ripped these mindless beasts to shreds. He consumed in a desperate attempt to fill the void inside of him. It was to no avail. By the end of it all, his emptiness was still there. His hunger was still there. By the end of it all, he was still alone...still the strongest.
And he only got stronger.
He felt that familiar irritation. It stirred inside of him. It stirred in his core. Raging voices sprung to the surface once more. This was it. This was the ultimate test. Every being he had eaten was going crazy. They knew too. It was their last chance. This moment was their final chance to claim a body. Andros wouldn't let prey control him. No. He was the ultimate hunter. He was the ultimate killer. Prey did not deserve to control him, and he would not allow them to rule him. He defeated them before, and now he'd defeat the old spirits as well as the new. After blinding pain, he awoke to find that he was...changed.
Lower to the ground now, he resembled something closer to his original form...but was also different. He was smaller than his original form. On top of that his fur was a brilliant blue, almost white. He had some streaks going over his legs. He found a small pond and looked into it. A small flame was coming off his left eye. He also felt stronger. Much stronger. He was an Adjucha now, and he would live his life as the hunter he was always meant to be. He began to spend more time in the human world. He discovered that when he howled he would summon other wolves who looked like him to aid his battles. He would use them to chase down prey and kill the before they would escape. It was a beautiful thing. The wolves could understand his thoughts, his will, and they reacted accordingly. He would chase his prey down and rip their throat out, or he would feign running away only for his wolves to come and destroy the would-be hunter. He began to make yet another name for himself. The Shinigami had, apparently, never forgotten the milkly white wolf Hollow who preyed on the innocent and on their own kind. Andros welcomed their challenge. Of course being an Adjucha, other Hollow knew he had feasted on their own kind. While the mindless lesser rabble were content to ignore his existence, the intelligent Hollow, or at least the ones who retained an identity, sought him out. They tried to feast on him, claim his power for his own. As he was, however, he didn't break a sweat taking them out. He would roar and loose a brilliant sapphire cero at his enemy. He would will it and his wolves would take out the foe. He was the ultimate hunter, and any lesser being who thought otherwise was quickly proven wrong.
A century later, he was still doing...well this. Eating, hunting, killing. His depression drove him to extremes. He would push his luck and a few times the Shinigami actually almost got him. Part of him wondered if that's what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to die again, maybe he wanted to get caught. This cycle would never end, this Hell would never leave him alone. He spent his night alone, curled up inside of a cave. He hated this...he didn't deserve company, but it was forced upon him anyway. One night a few Hollow wandered into his cave. They were all Adjucha strength and Andros immediately readied himself for a fight. Growling at these people, he howled and his wolves materialized next to him. The other Hollow frozen and made known that they didn't mean any harm. They wanted to stop. Of course all of the Hollow heard tale of the Vasto Lorde. These beasts had been trying to attain that rank for over five hundred years, and they were tired of it. They were content to remain as they were. Andros narrowed eyes at them as he tried to detect a lie. Their scent didn't betray them though...He called off his wolves and motions to a corner of the cave before curling up. He didn't sleep that night. He watched them. One looked like a hulking gorilla, another appeared to be a dark and twisted equine, and the last resembled an overgrown serpent. No way in Hell he was letting these people sleep in his cave without monitoring them.
They proved to be truthful to their word. Hollow began to hunt the pack, but every time they proved to be stronger. Andros proved to be stronger. Even with these creatures who understood where he came from, as a Hollow, he felt alone. He would always feel alone. He hated feeling like this. They were decent being, but that didn't change how he felt. It wasn't a switch. He couldn't just stop feeling this way. Though he wished that he could. Though the crew roamed together it was clear that Andros would always do as he saw fit, and that was fine with the other three. They acknowledged Andros' power, they didn't want to get caught in his cross hairs. Addison put on a good act, being social and friendly. The others knew though...they knew he was in pain.
The group became the scourge of the White Sands Desert. Andros became known as the "Pack Leader". That was all. There were tales of a blue-white wolf who would show up, feast on you, and then leave. Andros would continuously eat and eat and eat. This company drove him forward, supporting him, encouraging him. Andros didn't care about ascending to Vasto Lorde, he just wanted to fill this void. He wanted to suffocate this sorrow inside of his chest with the suffering of others, with their power, with their crushed dreams of rising throuh the Hollow evolutionary chain. After three hundred years, each day filled with numerous kills of Adjucha, Menos Grand, Lesser Hollow, Shinigami, and whatever else he could get his hands on, things finally took a turn for the worse...and it couldn't have happened at a worse time.
- The Huntsman:
At the end of three hundred years, the pack was curled up in Andros' den. They sat in front of a fire, making idle conversation. Andros had finally gotten used to having these guys around. They were...they were enjoyable. He found himself missing them when they split up, and found himself happy to have them back. Their company became his crutch, and that would be his weakness. He would be reminded of a very good lesson he had long since forgotten. They all stood up as they sensed something...a power reaching out to them from outside of the cave. They had never felt anything so monstrous, so thick. They were backed into a corner. Andros began to growl as a humanoid shadow appeared. He called to his wolves and eventually the being appeared to them. Humanoid, full Hollow Mask, dark reiatsu....this was a Vasto Lorde. The Adjucha all looked to each other and then turned on the stronger being, loosing their Cero at him. This, of course, destroyed the cave, but it allowed them all to escape. They could still feel this monster. When the dust cleared, they hadn't even made a dent on him.
The Vasto Lorde began to make quick work on the group. They were being destroyed. Andros felt his punches. They were like a train hitting him in the face. Even his wolves were basically useless in this situation. This Vasto Lorde was toying with them though. He began to laugh. He began to mock them. Noting their weakness, mocking their shortcoming, the Vasto Lorde laughed. The Adjucha grouped together as the Vasto Lorde began to walk forward again. The Adjucha knew they didn't stand a chance. They were dead either way. The three Adjucha offered themselves to Andros. He was appalled at the idea. He couldn't possibly take their lives like that! They argued there was no time. The Vasto Lorde began to laugh uncontrollably. He stopped his advanced and gestured for them to continue. Cocky bastard. "Damnit...fine..." They flashed a smile at him and gave their final goodbyes. Andros feasted on them, and he could feel their centuries worth of power spiraling inside of him. He felt stronger, but he needed more. Just a little more! The Vasto Lorde chuckled. "Pitiful. You're kind is always weak. Attachments make you weak. Compassion makes you weak. Your little playmates sacrificed themselves in a last ditch effort to empower you...but you're still as weak as you were five minutes ago." With that the Vasto Lorde charged him.
The stronger Hollow made mince meat of him. He didn't even use his special abilities. He didn't need to. The gap in their power was too grand. Andros only got in a single hit because he is a hunter. He is never prey. He never would be prey. The Vasto Lord charged at him, and two wolves made to intercept him. The Vasto Lorde used his bare hands to slice right through them. In that moment, however, Andros slid under and bit his hand clean off as it made it's way down. The Vasto Lorde howled in pain, and Andros howled in return. His howl was much different though. The area around him began to thicken with his power. His reiatsu exploded as and the Vasto Lorde snarled. For just a moment, Andros could feel the spirits of his friends. It wasn't long, less than a second, but he knew they were there. The power this time did not hurt, it did not blind him. He was too busy being pissed. He rose slowly with some mild discomfort as his body changed yet again.
He looked to the Vasto Lord. The enemy snarled and charged again. The battle resumed, but this time it was on equal footing. Addison discovered that he could still call for wolves, it was in significantly greater number this time. Not only could he call for wolves, but he could fire ceros a lot quicker now, with a lot more accuracy. The enemy Vasto Lorde tried to get a moments rest, but the new and improved wolves wouldn't let him have it. They were composed of what looked like fire. Even when the Vasto Lorde found that they could be killed with a blow to the head, their numbers were just too great. Andros backed the enemy into a corner and finally managed to get his hand around the enemy's neck. Addison narrowed his eyes at the enemy. He wasn't going to justify his death be eating him. No...he ended up blasting the beast. Andros was alone once again. He had nobody. He let himself get happy, and this is all he had to show for it. A battle-stained desert and the highest form of natural Hollow evolution.
He was alone...
Andros would wander the dunes for another five hundred years in complete and total solitude. Never speaking to another Hollow, never even hunting them. He didn't care to. Why should he bother? Every now and then some foolish upstart believed that they could take him down, but with only a fraction of his power he dismantled their hopes and dreams. He began to pick on the Shinigami once more. The summoned wolves gave him away, and once more the tales of the White Wolf began to spread yet again. He eventually learned how to form a pair of pistols to fire cero out of. This, in conjunction to the way he stalked his targets, gave him the nick name Cazador or Huntsman within the Hollow community. Of course as far as most of the Hollows knew, he was only a name, an idea, a thought...not a face. He wasn't a person. The world didn't know him, they only knew of him. If he were to die, then nobody would ever knew. He didn't care though. Why should he? He was finally his own being for the most part. The hunger still raged through him, but it's call was significantly dulled. He began to target Quincy and Bount too. Sending his wolves into their camps to raid and slaughter their people before he walked in and began firing.
He would come into the Human World, cause some problems and then leave again a for a few years. His legend was still lingering though. He heard his aliases fall from the lips of those who were soon to be dead. Hopeful upstart Shingami attempted to draw him out to kill him. He even decided to check out this Hollow Bait Quincy used one time. It didn't end well for them. He was bored though. He needed more. He wanted to be alone, but he wanted to be with people. He wanted to kill, but he wanted to die.
Such was the curse of the Huntsman...
- Behind the Walls:
Skip ahead a century. Andros was approached by a man. This man had power far beyond his own. He tilted his head a bit as he analyzed him. He was clearly a Hollow...but why did he feel like a Shinigami? The man spoke. He had been watching the legendary "Huntsman" for quite sometime. He was impressed. He demonstrated his power to the Vasto Lorde. The Arrancar said this power could be his...if he wanted it. Addison truthfully didn't want it...why should he? What was there to gain here? He killed and ate Hollow to try and fill his empty heart. After all these years, the emptiness was still there. It would always be there...So why bother? He sighed.
Why not though?
Agreeing to the proposal, the Arrancar. He did as he was told and removed his mask. What a curious feeling. As a Hollow he knew he needed to protect his mask. If it was damage, he risked death. This man, however, had a fragment of his mask. So part of him wanted to resist, wanted to fight against the urge to possibly commit this suicide. Another part of him didn't care. This part hoped that he would indeed die. He wasn't sure which side to root for as he gripped his mask. With one tug it cracked and fell off. He was surprised with how easily it came apart. He was left with a small fragment in his hand before it dissipated into reishi like the rest of the mask that fell off. There was a moment where everything fell silent. He felt nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if he was trapped in a void.
And then...bang.
His power exploded. He had never felt anything so amazing before. He gasped as he drank it all in. Struggling to keep it all down. Even the other Arrancar had to flare his own reiatsu to keep from being injured. After a moment Andros got it under control. He panted softly. The Arrancar offered a hand up, and Andros took it. With that, they were off to the towering structure Andros had always seen but never entered...Las Noches. Even being on the outside, Andros could feel the swarming powers inside of it all. Even with such strong people...he didn't hold out hope. He was sure they would all die at some point in time. The Arrancar led Addison inside the place. Addison was brought before the Novena Espada. Being in his presence was like being around a flame that burned too bright. The Novena was less than impressed with the Arrancar, but decided he could use an extra Fraccion hand around after the previous one...well bit the bullet.
And so it began. For the next fifty years Andros Addison defended the Novena Espada in battle. His title of Cazador still lingered due to his skills in combat. He outlived all of the Fraccion. He quickly learned that the Novena was hotheaded. He would charge into battle recklessly, throw his Fraccion in there first. Andros would always come out alive. Barely, but he'd make it. He was getting tired of this. This was pointless. This was meaningless. They were not just normal Hollow anymore. They were Arrancar. They were capable of higher thinking. This was ridiculous and it would end. Andros was already a slave to himself, he would not be a slave to this brute either. Such senseless fighting. He challenged the Novena to combat. The Novena had been in command for three hundred years. Several people had stepped up to him in that time, and everyone had fallen before him. A cero erupted from the tower, drawing the attention of several nearby Arrancar.
The pair began their fight, skating across the sands of Las Noches. The pair drew the attention of a few other Espada at the time who watched the fight with interest. Addison was being pressed hard, but he wasn't giving any ground. The pair both released their Zanpakuto. Addison released his hounds and the battle quickly began to tilt in Addison's favor. The Novena's Zanpakuto revolved around lightning. It proved no match, however, for the Cazador's newly improved hounds and his guns. Eventually he eliminated the beast executioner style. Before such a crowd, there was no doubt that Addison was good enough to be the Novena. He was crowned and life went on. Addison didn't believe in celebrating something so trivial. He led his Faccion, but never got close to them. He never bothered to get to know them intimately. He didn't need to. They would all die sooner or later anyway. The few moments of joy he would get now would mean nothing to the pain suffered later on. He would hold meeting for his crew, and he would accompany them into battle with the Shinigami if needed, but otherwise...he never bothered to get close to them. He didn't want to.
His life had fallen into a gentle lull. Things were getting...boring. Again.
And then it happened.
The Blue Moon War had finally come to their door. Three hundred years of boredom and then this... Hoards of Shinigami flooded into their world. The entire thing made Andros believe more in his philosophy. Don't get attached. All around him those he knew and served with were dying. If he had gotten close then mayhaps he would have felt something, but alas...there was nothing. He stayed focused on the battle, keeping his territory safe. His blade was drenched in the blood of fallen Shinigami. Any one of these Shinigami could have been one who may have saved him from his present day fate. He hated them all. He wanted them to suffer as much as he had. Before each one died, he would tell them he hoped they would be reborn and made into a Hollow. He hoped they would feel his pain. The Novena would eventually come to a point where he needed to use his full potential. If only to cover ground he couldn't cover alone. So that's what he did. Releasing his power, he scattered his wolves, sending them racing throughout the tower. Their explosions slaughtering a multitude of Shinigami at a time. In the end...Andros Addison did not fall.
- Aftermath to Current Day:
After the war ended, things were in shambles. They had lost, but win or lose didn't matter to Andros...he was a alive. So what does it truly matter? What difference does it really make? The Arrancar saw opportunity in this as well. While he didn't need more power, he wasn't going to argue it's advantages either. It'd make him a bigger target, but he was confident he could handle himself. He took the Cuarta spot. The previous owner had run into a...unfortunate accident. It seemed he had survived the war but was too weak to go on. Andros would put him out of his pathetic misery. Taking up the crown as the Cuarta Espada, Andros developed a reputation for one who was...ruthless, cold. Everyone knew how he did it, but they were Hollow so it mattered very little. That didn't change the fact that nobody really offered to hang out with him anymore. Which was fine. He desired no company, he desired no pity, no sympathy, nothing. All he wanted was to be left alone in the company of his wolves...
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