White Sands

The even white sand stretched out eternally into endless night. A subtle wind brushed over valleys and carved snaking lines of ridges, but nothing moved. Normally a desert was defined by its lack of water, and subsequent lack of life. But there was life here. Teaming beneath the surface in an unseen world. But not everywhere in Hueco Mundo was so rich. Some places there was nothing but rock or sand. But here the petrified gossamer limbs of trees protruded from the surface of the desert, marking the vast area of the Forest of Menos.

And here, a lone figure could be seen making his way across the sands.

He moved slowly, his turban wrapped around his face so only his eyes were exposed, and prodded at the ground with the blade of his weapon— a Guandao. In the World of the Living, he could have easily resembled a hunter or a nomad scratching out a hardscrabble existence in a hostile environment. But he was not a human, and was completely at home here in the desert.

Humans also did not hunt for subterranean monsters to eat.

The Hollow moved to another location and again poked at the sand with his blade. He paused, listened, and moved on. Stopping to cast his gaze at the horizon, he could make out the delicate white towers of Las Noches against the sky, and his eyes narrowed before he continued with the task at hand. He was an Espada, but bore no love for his so-called “compadres,” for Runuganga was a simple creature. He existed only to exist, and to fill the endless hunger that seemed to consume him daily.

There, something was pushing through the sand. He could sense it through his feet, and from what he could tell the Hollow that was making so many vibrations was a large one. This pleased him. But as he approached its location cautiously, being sure to move with as little disturbance as possible across the ground, he realized it was not so large as he had thought. It was a scorpion-type creature about the length of his forearm, although doubtless Runuganga simply identified it as “small meal” as he had no frame of reference for the arachnids that resided in the human world. It was currently trying to burrow its way into the base of the tree. With an air of disinterest he simply walked over and drove his Guandao into the ground before removing the skewered and squirming creature.

“Ay, but you are a poor mazo.” he murmured to the dying Hollow. But it would suffice as a snack, he decided, and found a small hill on which to enjoy his food while continuing to scan the land around him. As always, Runuganga possessed a shifty and suspicious gaze, and scanning the land in the opposite direction of Las Noches, he spotted a glint of what appeared to be metal somewhere in the depths of vast distance. He did not move at once, but his curiosity was of course peaked. Instead he chewed thoughtfully on one of the scorpion’s legs and began to mutter to himself.

“Ay, but it could be valuable.” he mused. “Es así, but too far to tell if it’s a threat… but what is a threat? Nothing is a threat… Ja, this is mierda. Anything could be a threat. Do you have rocks in your head?”

The solitary conversation continued for sometime until at last Runuganga had finished eating. He stood, stretched, and rewrapped his scarf over his face before grabbing his Guandao. Swinging the heavy weapon back and forth casually, he started in the direction of the unknown object.