Reunión Familiar

[prfctpotions]

WHO: prfctpotions and tauromachia
LOCATION: Starting in Szayel's room, heading out into the corridors and finally ending in the courtyard.
WEEK: 57
TIME: Saturday at midnight.
WHAT: Family reunion... with fists.
RATING: Um... PG-13-ish; lots of violence. :|b

Comments

[tauromachia]

It hadn't taken all that much coaxing as, already, several students were more than willing to share, with him, the location of Szayels' private quarters. But the information to be had wasn't an exact point so much as an area.

Ilforte let out an aggravated sigh, it figured. Szayel would, of course, hide himself away in the decrepit labyrinth that was the Hogwarts' Dungeons. It wouldn't save him though, because Ilforte could feel the faint oscillating reiatsu of that pink haired fag.

He snickered and entered the dilapidated chambers. Stalking the dimly lit path, Ilforte eventually found himself standing at a the Potions' Storeroom. He growled, albeit softly, resisting the urge to topple the overstocked shelves. "Maldita sea, Szayel."

With a deep breath, Ilforte leveled himself. He couldn't afford to give himself away, not after- not after several years of waiting and careful planning.

He took one last look around, which revealed, to him, another door. He walked over to it with a renewed sense of urgency, only to find that it was bound by a combination lock. He cursed, damning that cabrón to Hell and back. He studied it for a couple of minutes, before deciding, on a whim, to try the combination that Szayel used way back when. Much to Ilforte's surprise, it worked. He just stared, resisting the urge to start laughing. Really. Really. ¡Qué idiota maldita!

Laying a hand on the hilt of the sword, Ilforte pushed open the door, .. crossing the threshold. He waited for Szayel to step into view, and upon seeing the slightest bit of pink, Ilforte bolted forward. He forced Szayel backward, and pinning him back against the wall, Ilforte laced his fingers around his neck. "Por fin he encontrado, traidor."

[prfctpotions]

Whatever Szayel was expecting when he walked out of his bathroom, it certainly wasn't that. His head bounced against the wall, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he gagged, desperately clawing for air. What the hell had he done to Sebastian to deserve this kind of rough treatment?

And then those words, that voice, hit his ears, and then all of Szayel's nightmares came up fresh in his mind. His eyes flung open, gaping in shock and surprise.

"Ilforte, estás vivo?!" he gasped out. Ilforte, you're alive?!

[tauromachia]

"Es esa la manera de dar la bienvenida a tu hermano." Is that any way to welcome your brother. Ilforte chided, relieving the gasping pink wreck of some pain, if only, to throw him down to the floor. He stepped after him, laying a food to the back of his neck.

He unsheathed Del Toro and, gently, pressed the blade to Szayels' cheek. ".. le vendió a todos y por lo Szayel, lo que -! Por su propia seguridad, hijo de puta traidora. Tendrá a su cabeza, Szayel." .. you sold everybody out and for what Szayel, what--! For your own safety, you traitorous bastard. He'll have your head, Szayel.

Ilforte knelt down, gliding the blade toward his neck. "y estoy para ser el uno para dárselo a él." and I'm to be the one to hand it to him.

[prfctpotions]

Szayel managed an alarmed noise as he hit the ground, though he quieted quickly once he felt Ilforte's foot on his neck. His eyes widened as he felt a blade against his skin, and he carefully craned his head enough to see his brother's precious Del Toro too close for his comfort.

"Tú has traído esa cosa aquí? ¿Estás fuera de tu mente?" You brought that thing here?! Are you out of your mind?

Szayel moved to shove himself up, though he stopped again when he felt Del Toro pressed against his neck instead. He hissed, gripping at the rug beneath him.

"Me importa un bledo lo que Él quiere. Está muerto, o que debería estar muerta, tal y como lo debe ser." I could care less what He wants. He's dead, or he should be dead, just as you should be.

[tauromachia]

He chuckled, a crooked smirk turning up his lips as, idly, Ilforte watched the little worm helplessly writhe around beneath him. "Mí. Fuera de mi mente. De ninguna manera, hermano. Me dijo que era para la protección contra todos los monstruos que acechan culo débil de este agujero de mierda, y lo sabes, que lo compró." Me. Out of my mind. No way, bro'. I claimed it was for protection against all the puny ass monsters that haunt this shit hole, and what do you know, they bought it.

again, Ilforte laughed, but it stopped abruptly as Szayel made to move. "ah ah ah, Puede que desee tener cuidado. Sería una lástima si te duele." Might want to be careful. It would be a damn shame if I hurt you.

Ilforte tensed, forcing the blade into the soft, and supple flesh, of Szayels' neck. "Pensé que se suponía que el inteligente Szayel. Perder el contacto, es que. Él no está muerto. La mayoría de nosotros no lo son. Sorpresa, sorpresa. Creo que usted lo desea, puede empezar a preocuparse, porque yo no soy el único que está enojado." I thought you were supposed to be the smart one Szayel. Losing your touch, is that it. He isn't Dead. Most of us aren't. Surprise, Surprise. I think you may want to start worrying, because I'm not the only one that's pissed.

He continued to press the blade against the side of his neck, stopping only as the faint pulses of the artery there reverberated up the swords' edge. "Me ha ocurrido que hemos sido el elegido para venir y decir, Hola. Me pregunto por qué, hermano." I just happen to have been the one chosen to come and say, Hey. I wonder why, brother.

[prfctpotions]

Szayel flinched as he felt his blood slowly trickling down his neck, soaking the carpet beneath him, though the thought of having to clean it up quickly left him as Ilforte said that. Still alive... they were still alive? Just how many, and where? Were some still in the Ministry's dungeon, or had some escaped... perhaps even built a new Las Noches? He grit his teeth as the sword dug deeper into his neck, heart hammering loudly as he fought to keep his head as still as he could.

"Ni siquiera podía comprender por qué, pero hay una cosa que se le olvidó, querido hermano." I could not even fathom why, but there is one thing you forgot, dear brother.

Szayel's hand tightened around the bit of carpet he was holding... before he suddenly twisted it, activating a switch he had hidden in the floor. There was a whirr and a click, and for a moment it seemed like nothing was going to happen. That was, of course, until a cauldron full of swelling solution came barreling out of the wall, point blank toward Ilforte's head.

"Do not insult my intelligence!"

[tauromachia]

Ilforte smiled, all but purring, as the frantic palpitations of that pathetic heart of his continued to disturb his blade. It certainly was a lot to stomach, but Szayel seemed to be taking it well, and that meant that there was little, to no, need to explain it further. Excelente. He preferred not to waste any more time evading the point of his presence, besides.

"¿Qué se me olvida?" What did I forget. He scowled, just about ready to slit his throat in the name of the Espada and the Números, but from above or, rather, behind, came a loud crash. Ilforte jerked around just in time to be coated in some vile smelling concoction from head to toe. He flinched, all but seething down at Szayel as, without a moments' hesitation, Ilforte forced Del Toro's blade through Szayels' back, -effectively pinning him to the floor.

"Bastardo. Dime lo que mierda era." Bastard. Tell me what that shit was. He sank to the floor beside him, leaning in unbearable closer as, again, Ilforte demanded to know. His anger, however, was soon replaced by worry, as the potion set its course.

His eyes fell shut as, quickly, he felt himself swell. He cried out in pain, that damn brew leaving him terribly grotesque. Esa maldita imbécil. He took hold of Del Toro, as best he could manage, and slowly urged the blade down Szayels' back. "Corregir esto, o me separé de abrir." Fix this, or I split you open.

[prfctpotions]

Szayel squeezed his eyes shut in pain, trying to ignore it as Del Toro dug into his back. When his brother's eyes fell shut, that's when he made his move; his hand went into his robes, ripping out his wand and pointing it at the damn sword.

"Expelleramus!"

[tauromachia]

tch. It wouldn't be that easy, Szayel. Ilforte shifted and raising his hand, in spite of the pain, called back the sword. " ... accio, Del Toro." He managed, the sword returning to him, albeit a bit clumsily. Growling, Ilforte fumbled with his own wand before, finally, directing it toward Szayel.

"Petrificus Totalus."

[prfctpotions]

Once the sword was out of him, Szayel was moving. He may have not had his own sword at Hogwarts, but he still had his own tricks. Unfortunately, at the moment, some of his best ones were not brewed.

The spell zoomed past his ear, leaving a tingling feeling behind as he bolted out into the potions store room and the hallways beyond, gathering up prepared potions hidden away as he went. Right now, unfortunately, he needed to put as much space between himself and Ilforte as possible.

"Su objetivo sigue siendo terrible, Ilforte!" Your aim is still terrible, Ilforte!

[tauromachia]

Ilforte cursed at the wand, expelling a sigh as Szayel left the room. Buenas. He could use a moment to fix this. He entered the storeroom once more and, frantically, started the search for the antidote. Ilforte, eventually, came across it -the Deflating Draught- but by that time several precious minutes had already passed. Dios maldita sea Szayel.

He drained the contents of the flask and upon returning to normal, Ilforte lifted the sword and muttered, "Gore, Del Toro." In an eruption of spiritual energy, an incredibly durable exoskeleton resembling that of a Bull forged around him. In the wake of the explosion, Ilforte smirked, taking careful steps around the bits and pieces of what had been Szayels' storeroom. Oops.

He stepped out into the Hall, and charged down the narrow corridor, looking for that maldita cobarde. He followed the faint trail of reiatsu, caring not for the wanton destruction caused by the stampeding. Ilforte found him, finally, and muttering the enchantment for the Trip Jinx, -He charged Szayel. Head lowered, Ilforte impaled Szayel upon the tips of his horns, and forced him up against the wall. He was through fooling around.

[prfctpotions]

Szayel heard the thundering hooves before he saw him, and his eyes widened at the stampeding bull heading right for him. He turned before him, frantic to start moving faster... only to find himself stumbling, caught up in the trip jinx. He did not get a chance to recover, as next he knew he was slamming against the wall again, pain shooting up from his abdomen.

His gaze drifted down, shock filling his mind as he stared at the pale white horn through his stomach. Gasping, he struggled to pop open one of the potions he grabbed, angling himself to throw it in Ilforte's barely visible eyes.

[tauromachia]

Ilforte smirked, lifted a stare to behold the sight right in front of him. His horn had hit its mark. He stepped back, if only to ram the wall over and over and over!, -forcing Szayel further onto the penetrating horn. "Te odio, hermano. Yo te odio maldita." I hate you, brother. I fucken hate you.

Ilforte muttered, silenced only as a stinging liquid permeated the mask and spilt into his eyes. He hollered in agony, staggering back as if to avoid the burn. Blinking profusely, Ilforte tried to shut the poison out as it wreaked havoc on him, to no avail, but thankfully, it tapered off. He opened his eyes only to be met with a crimson curtain. He was, He was bleeding.

He fell silent for a moment, before suddenly becoming overtaken by an intense bout of rage. He slammed into the wall again, shaking his head violently before turning down the corridors' open end. He took off, chasing after that red veil as though it were in front of him.

[prfctpotions]

Szayel slid off as Ilforte staggered away from the wall, gripping his stomach in agony. He popped off the cork of another potion bottle, blindly throwing it onto his wound as he staggered away himself. He managed to just get behind a pillar as Ilforte started raging, rampaging against the wall he had been pinned against.

Unfortunately, as the enraged bull turned, it pointed him directly at Szayel. Forcing himself, he pushed himself away from the pillar, fighting to move fast enough as the potion worked on healing his stomach.

[tauromachia]

Ilforte couldn't think straight -that shroud of scarlet having left him no more than an infuriated mess. He continued to thrash about quite sporadically, all whilst still in hot pursuit of Szayel.

It didn't take all that long for Ilforte to catch up to Szayel, that wound having substantially slowed him down. He nudged him with the tip of the snout to force him along faster, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. He tried, again, to force Szayel along, this time nudging him significantly harder. ¡Muévete! maldita sea. Snorting, Ilforte drove Szayel forward, allowing him to rest up against his head as he rushed on. But Ilforte stopped, abruptly, upon reaching the Courtyard, a smirk turning up his lips as Szayel was flung helplessly onto the grass.

"Hermano, .."

[prfctpotions]

Nudged? More like tossed. The first nudge almost made him misstep, the second left him fumbling, and now he was flying across the courtyard, landing in a heap on the grass. He paused there, gasping for breath as he felt the bleeding in his stomach and back slowing down. Hesitantly, he climbed back up to his feet, bleeding in new places now, but none of it was nearly as bad as what his stomach had been.

"Esta lucha no tiene sentido, Ilforte. La Espada se han ido, y lo que significaba no significa nada más. Nuestro Señor es justo un tonto engañado en una prisión española." This fight is pointless, Ilforte. The Espada are gone, and what they stood for means nothing anymore. Our Lord is just a deluded fool in a Spanish prison.