Sandbox: Aizen and Ukitake~
Aizen Sousuke was not as untouchable as he had once thought.
Rising up higher than was possible to see, the shrine of penitence agreed with him. The blackness became a gaping depth high above, and down at his level the wide window allowed him to see a slip of the red streaked sky. He had betrayed Soul Society - murdered the King - and now he would pay for those crimes with death, but not before they had scraped off every layer of his being first.
Still, it was all simply a case of waiting, in the end. If there was any man that could use any possible oppurtunity to escape, even drained of his spirit power as he was, it was he. He only needed enough strength to break free at the crucial moment, and they would expect him to be too weak. He wasn't. Not too weak; not defenceless. He would fight his way free with his teeth if he had to.
The fallen god sat silently beside the window; the frailty in him obvious the fine bones of his wrist where his hand supported his head. He felt empty, echoing, and though it was not painful as such, there was no doubt that he felt constantly weary, despite his attempts to keep himself healthy and strong. How long had it been now? The days had been hard to count. How long did he have left to think of a plan?
Rising up higher than was possible to see, the shrine of penitence agreed with him. The blackness became a gaping depth high above, and down at his level the wide window allowed him to see a slip of the red streaked sky. He had betrayed Soul Society - murdered the King - and now he would pay for those crimes with death, but not before they had scraped off every layer of his being first.
Still, it was all simply a case of waiting, in the end. If there was any man that could use any possible oppurtunity to escape, even drained of his spirit power as he was, it was he. He only needed enough strength to break free at the crucial moment, and they would expect him to be too weak. He wasn't. Not too weak; not defenceless. He would fight his way free with his teeth if he had to.
The fallen god sat silently beside the window; the frailty in him obvious the fine bones of his wrist where his hand supported his head. He felt empty, echoing, and though it was not painful as such, there was no doubt that he felt constantly weary, despite his attempts to keep himself healthy and strong. How long had it been now? The days had been hard to count. How long did he have left to think of a plan?