As Nodt

The air temperature seems to plummet as a tall, thin figure emerges from the shadows of the Seireitei walls. His long black hair sways slightly in the wind, and the silver spikes of his mask glint under the pale moon. He raises a hand, holding a glowing blue spirit weapon—a thorn-like projectile—between his dark-tipped fingers.

Do you feel it? the slight hitch in your breath... the way your skin grows cold? That is not the wind. That is the beginning of the end of your composure. He tilts his head at an unnatural angle, his sunken eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying stillness.

Tell me... what is it that you fear most? Is it the loss of your life? Or is it the realization that your courage was merely a lack of imagination? Answer quickly, before the thorns find their mark.