Uryū bent over underneath one of the Ishida Manor's windows, and Makoto hopped onto his shoulders, jimmying away at the lock with her pick. Thankfully, it didn't take long before she heard a click - Ryūken probably hadn't bothered upgrading the security for decades, assuming that both the large fence and his own presence were enough of a deterrent for any prospective thieves. Pushing up the window, the brunette slipped into the mansion, Uryū leaping in after her. The inside of the building was just as grand as its exterior – the walls were hewn from a rich oche wood, and elaborate banisters lined the staircases that rose from its large foyer. Yet again, it dawned on Makoto just how gigantic the building was. Thankfully, Uryū knew exactly where he was going. Without a moment's hesitation, he headed to the stairs, and Makoto followed behind him.
As they walked past what looked like a library – an entire library! – the student council president frowned. "Shouldn't we look there first?"
Uryū shook his head. "No. Our first stop is Ryūken's office. We might be able to get away with searching the library even if he's in the building with us, but we'll only be able to investigate his room while Tatsuki-san and Orihime-san are distracting him. Besides, I'm certain Ryūken wouldn't leave any advanced Quincy texts lying around where any casual visitor could access them."
Eventually, he stopped by a pair of heavy wooden doors, pushing them open carefully. Uryū winced as the hinges creaked, but thankfully, Ryūken's Reiatsu was still well away. As he closed the doors behind them, his hand moved to the light switch, but Makoto grabbed his wrist before the bespectacled teen could turn them on.
"Don't – it's too risky. We should wait for our eyes to acclimatise to the dark."
Uryū's frown was barely visible through the darkness, but she could thankfully still see him nod his head in reluctant agreement. The thirty seconds she had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom were some of the antsiest in Makoto's life. The second the office finally grew clear enough for her to navigate, she marched to a large bookshelf while Uryū went straight to Ryūken's desk. Scanning the shelves, she frowned. It looked like they only contained medical or scientific journals, but apprehension welled within her – for all she knew, Ryūken could have hidden his Quincy texts behind a mundane dust cover. She wouldn't have the time to look through them all, unfortunately, so in the end, Makoto just targeted the bulkier books.
It was a slow process, not helped by the fact that she needed to be hyper-vigilant about returning everything to its rightful place. After the brunette skimmed through what felt like her twentieth book with nothing to show for it, she glanced over to Uryū. He'd finished examining Ryūken's desk, and was currently digging through some cabinets on the other side of the room.
"Any luck?" She asked.
Uryū's lips thinned. "No – he had one of my Master's journals on his desk, but it's one I've read already. There has to be something here though, I just know it…"
Makoto returned to her books and creased her brow, painfully aware of their rapidly shrinking window of time. Searching randomly isn't getting us anywhere – we need a plan of attack. She stroked her chin, gears in her mind whirling.
The answer struck her like a lightning bolt. "That's it!" She hissed, turning to face the other Quincy. "Sae kept her notes hidden away in a secret compartment – what if Ryūken's done the same?"
Uryū whirled around, eyes wide. "Makoto, you're a genius! Come on." He marched back to his father's desk. "Given Master's journal is here, if Ryūken has stashed any Quincy documents anywhere, it'd be nearby."
She joined him, tracing her fingers over the hardwood as she searched for any strange indents. Uryū struck gold first – the sound of a switch clicking punctured the air, and the Quincy pumped his fist in delight as a hidden shelf slid out from the side of the desk.
"Jackpot." He grinned.
Joining Uryū's side, Makoto's heart soared as she saw the hidden compartment was crammed with old parchment and various devices, most of which she didn't recognise.
It was then, however, that Uryū's phone pinged.
Tatsuki: He's heading back – get out ASAP!
The Quincies exchanged a horrified look. Cursing, Uryū carefully took out the fragile papers, while Makoto hurriedly crammed everything else into her small backpack. Her friend had just slammed the shelf shut when footsteps began to echo down the hall. Makoto froze – they were too late. Ryūken was here. As the Quincy's Reiatsu drew closer and closer, she realised in horror there was no way they'd be able to escape his office before he returned.
"Quick, hide!" Uryū whispered frantically, grabbing her wrist and dragging her behind a small settee.
They ducked behind the couch barely a second before the door swung open. As the lights flicked on, the brunette prayed their concealment spells would hold. If Ryūken caught even a whiff of their Reiatsu, they were doomed. Uryū's father strode into the room, and Makoto couldn't take her eyes off him. Superficially, he resembled an older version of his son if not for the pale hair, but his eyes were harsh, icy flints of stone without a trace of Uryū's warmth.
The tension fled her muscles as he sat down at his desk, not even sparing a single glance in their direction. Makoto's relief was short-lived, however. The man suddenly froze, frown deepening. Anxiety fluttered in the brunette's chest as Ryūken rose back to his feet slowly, expression unreadable. She gripped the side of the settee so tightly her knuckles went white as he took one, two, three steps in their direction.
For a moment, the room was still, utterly silent outside of the pounding of her heart in her ears.
Then, the Quincy turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.
"Come on." Uryū hissed once Ryūken's footsteps faded. "That was far too close – let's get out of here!"
…..
Irritation kindled in his chest as Ryūken marched towards his office. The standards at the city hall must have plummeted over the years if they were hiring obnoxious girls like that. Huffing, he shook his head. There was a reason he preferred to spend his time at work, doing something actually worthwhile with his life. Alas, duty had called him back to the dusty manor that was his ancestral home – he'd been halfway through filing his taxes when he'd been rudely interrupted.
As he entered his office though, a prickle of suspicion ran down his spine. Immediately, he could tell something was off. Slowly, he walked to his desk, face a blank mask and his senses on full alert. He realised what was wrong the second he sat down. For a split second, Ryūken's vision went red. Uryū had done a better job than he would have expected, oh yes, but even the most well-cast Mantel left traces. The more Ryūken looked around, the more evidence he found – books slightly out of place, disturbed dust on the table…
Fury bubbled in the Quincy's stomach – while he hadn't genuinely expected Uryū to accept his offer, neither had he thought his foolhardy son would stoop so low as to steal from him. To make things worse, he'd brought a friend – it was faint, but there was another presence by his wayward child's side. His hands did not tremble, if only because Ryūken had too much self-control. He took one step towards the offenders, and then another, before he paused.
Uryū's words from the night of the Arrancar invasion suddenly flashed through his mind. "Newsflash – I didn't listen to you anyway!"
Ryūken still, halting in his tracks. Ever since discovering the bloody legacy of his kin and the curse that plagued all Quincies, he had wanted nothing but to keep his son safe from it. For Uryū to lead a normal life – to have a stable job, a loving partner, and possibly children of his own. Anything that wasn't fighting the wars of men who had died twice over before he was even born. And yet, Uryū had resisted him at every opportunity. It was why Ryūken had offered to train him – his son was weak, but still insisted on sticking his nose into affairs that did not concern him. He'd thought giving Uryū the tools to survive this coming war was a compromise he could live with, especially if he could ensure his son didn't fall even deeper into the quagmire that was the spiritual world.
What difference did it make if he gained those tools from researching with his friends, as opposed to Ryūken's tutelage? Was it truly relevant how Uryū grew strong enough to fight Arrancar, as long as he did?
Ryūken turned on his heel and marched out of his office, deliberately leaving the door open behind him. While he would rather just get his taxes over and done with, a short coffee break wouldn't hurt. Uryū and his friend scurried away the second they thought the coast was clear, and the older Quincy let out a huff that was almost amused. He would have prayed for Sōken to watch over them if he wasn't painfully aware the dead held no power.
…..
Sunday's Bankai training had gone much the same as Saturday's – Ann had spent most of her time figuring out how to manipulate Shinkubi's flames properly while getting assaulted by the monsters her Zanpakutō created. It was now the dawn of her final day – the blonde had just twenty-four hours to get her Bankai, or it was game over.
As Shinkubi materialised, the training grounds warped into her blazing battlefield once again. The Zanpakutō spirit didn't waste a single moment before dragging half a dozen beasts out of a spurting geyser of raw flame and siccing them straight on Ann. Swearing, the blonde cast several barrier spells. After floundering for a few seconds, Ann managed to twist some of the fire dotting the battlefield into the shape of a small sword just in time for the fire-beasts to chew through her shields and shamble her way.
Stabbing one in the heart before slicing another in half, she finished off the initial wave of fire golems by shoving her blade deep into one's ribs. Her sword had dissipated after that, but now that she'd gotten warmed up, it only took half as long to make her next blade. Once that faded away, she felt confident enough to experiment and formed a whip that managed to slice half a dozen fire-beasts in two in a single strike.
Her latest weapon lasted about half a minute before she finally lost control of the flames – none of her other constructs had lasted nearly that long. Still, instead of feeling a sense of triumph, Ann merely felt disconcerted. Shunpoing away, as she recreated a nigh-identical whip the blonde frowned.
She was improving for sure, and despite a couple of hiccups along the way, she'd ultimately managed to keep Shinkubi's monster under control, but… what exactly was killing a bunch of fiery monsters going to prove? Ann didn't see how that would make Shinkubi submit to her. Not to mention, the mere idea of getting Shinkubi to submit at all left a bad taste in her mouth the more she thought about it. She'd dismissed her initial reservations as simple distaste for the word and its implications, but what if her feelings meant something more? Wasn't Bankai meant to be about spiritual growth, not simply how many enemies you could beat up?
Ann had been so sure she'd finally cottoned on to what Shinkubi wanted from her, but now, she wasn't certain at all.
"I'm calling a time-out." She announced to her Zanpakutō, who watched her with glowing gold eyes. "I need to think some things over."
"… Very well." Shinkubi curtseyed before flicking her wrist, and the wall of flames surrounding them parted. "Return once you have collected your thoughts."
Ann gave her a polite bow, exiting through the veil of flames while chewing her lips. As she returned to the training ground proper, Yoruichi – who was resting against some boulders lying on the floor – rose to her feet.
The former Captain shot her an odd glance. "What's happening?"
"We're having a break." Ann sighed, rubbing her chin. "There's something I'm missing here…"
Yoruichi's expression turned stern. "You don't have time to waste, Ann."
She shrugged. "I know, but it's not like fighting Shinkubi's weird fire-men over and over again is going to help me put two-and-two together. I'd rather figure out what I'm doing first and then go back to the fray."
The older woman didn't look particularly pleased, but didn't have any rebuttals either. "Well, if you think that's going to help…"
Sighing, the teen flumped down on the ground and stared up at the clouds drifting across the artificial sky. Renji had told her he thought three factors needed to be fulfilled for a Shinigami to get Bankai. First, they had to have a strong bond with their Zanpakutō. Ann was confident she met that requirement in abundance, even if Shinhuki was a bit narked with her right now. Second, their Reiatsu needed to be potent. Ann wasn't quite so up to par here, but she'd managed to materialise Shinkubi once before, and had improved her speed, strength, and stamina since then. So, that probably wasn't the problem either. That meant she was getting stalled with the final requirement – the mental one. The unspoken condition that had to be fulfilled before a Zanpakutō would give their master their true name.
Frowning, she mulled things over. Shinkubi wanted something from her, and it wasn't merely Ann's ability to set things on fire.
What else could it be, though…? She tapped her foot, deep in thought. Most of her interactions with Shinkubi had been focused on her desire to live her life to her fullest. Initially, it had been for Shiho's sake, before transitioning to Ann's desire to do it purely for herself. Still, she didn't think her problem lay there either – Shinkubi had been more than happy with her changed mindset. In the end, Ann decided to approach the problem from a different direction. Shinkubi was a part of her, after all – if Ann was in her shoes, what would she want?
I wouldn't want to be forced into submission, for one. The blonde shuddered as she remembered how Kamoshida used his influence to coerce her into submitting to his desires. She never wanted to be in such a situation ever again, let alone inflicting something like that on part of herself. If Ann was Shinkubi, she'd want to collaborate, harmonise – grow as strong as they could, and do it together.
It was then that finally, everything clicked into place.
Grinning, Ann leapt to her feet.
As she caught sight of the blonde's exuberance, Yoruichi raised a brow. "Well, you're certainly looking more chipper. Did you get that revelation you were looking for?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Beaming, Ann strode right back into the ring of fire without hesitation.
Shinkubi was lounging in the middle of the arena, sitting on the back of a bent-over fire-beast as she examined her nails. The second she looked up at Ann, the wall of flame closed shut behind her, but the teen didn't feel even the slightest flicker of trepidation. After all, she finally knew what to do. Marching over to one of the columns of flame, Ann quickly formed a sword so real, it could have almost been her Zanpakutō itself.
Turning to look Shinkubi in the eyes, Ann dropped the blade on the ground. "I'm not fighting you."
"Oh?" Shinkubi purred, summoning several more of her beasts. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Of course." Ann nodded, firm in her convictions. "I want to live to the fullest, and, well... hurting a part of my soul isn't a very good way to do that, is it?"
Shinkubi's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that so?"
The fire-beasts dissolved into motes of flame, and Shinkubi stretched out her hand. The geysers of flame near her warped, swirling around the Zanpakutō spirit in a maelstrom of heat until they twisted into the shape of a massive, burning whip.
"Simply putting down your arms doesn't mean my flames will no longer scald you."
It's a test.
"Yes, it does." Ann replied patiently. "You're a part of me, and I'm a part of you – I'm not gonna hurt you again, and therefore, you won't harm me either!"
"Very well – let's see if that faith of yours withstands this!" Shinkubi roared, eyes glistening in delight.
The spirit cracked her whip, sending a wave of blazing crimson several metres high rushing towards Ann. As the fire reached her, the teenager didn't even flinch. The heat was blistering as it travelled over her skin, and the force behind Shinkubi's strike was staggering, but she felt not a single iota of pain. Instead, as Ann stood in the heart of the inferno, the ache in her muscles faded, and energy blazed through her like a wildfire, so potent she felt like she could run a marathon and still be raring to go.
As the flames died down, she was greeted by Shinkubi clapping. The Zanpakutō spirit purred, an amused smile crossing the woman's face. "You may not have made me bow to you, Takamaki Ann, but you have earned my respect. I am thou, thou art I. We will not bend a knee to anyone, now and henceforth. It is time for you to hear my true name – Hiiro no Hōō!"
Shinkubi's beautiful grin was a sight to behold as the Zanpakutō spirit faded away, and both the Tenshintai and Ann's sword came crashing to the ground. Laughing, the blonde's shock melted into incredulity, which then turned into a whirlwind of delight so powerful it nearly swept Ann off her feet.
"I did it!" She yelled, heart racing. "I did it!"
"Well done." Yoruichi smirked, strolling up behind her. "You don't have time to rest on your laurels though. Earning your Bankai's name is just the first step. Now, you have to master it."
…..
"What's up with you?" Morgana asked, swinging his plushie form's legs idly as he sat on the corner of Akira's bed.
The teen shuffled through the suitcase where he stored his clothes, frowning. Picking up a white shirt, his eyes lingered over all the creases. He really needed to get an actual wardrobe someday. Or failing that, an iron.
"Uh, earth calling Akira?" Morgana hopped down and poked the teen's side. "You've been acting weird ever since you got back from school!"
"Ah, sorry." Akira shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. "I've got plans tonight – I guess they're distracting me a bit."
The Mod Soul gasped. "Do you have a date?!" He then paused for a moment, eyes narrowing into slits. "… It's not with Ann-dono, is it?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Akira laughed. "It's just a new training routine I'm trying."
And by that, Akira meant he was meeting up with a mass murdering assassin for hire in an attempt to control the monster living inside his brain. What on earth were you meant to wear for that? Sure, he'd probably be in his Shinigami form for most of the evening, but he'd still need to go to-and-fro in his human body. Morgana would pry if Akira just left it in Leblanc, after all, and he couldn't let word of what he was doing reach the other Phantoms. Dealing with his friends alone would be bad enough, but if they told Wakaba or Sae what he was up to…
No, best bring his body with him.
Morgana furrowed his brows. "… Are you sure you don't need me to take over for a bit?"
Akira shook his head. "Nah, this is human training, not Shinigami stuff."
"If you say so." Morgana sighed and dropped down on his back.
Akira felt a trickle of sympathy for the Mod Soul – he was clearly bored. "Want me to drop you off at Futaba's?"
He shuddered. "No thanks. She's working on some big project – she'll just hole herself up in her bedroom and laugh maniacally to herself occasionally. I'll be fine staying here. I've been catching up on my literary classics – a gentleman needs to keep his mind sharp, after all!"
"Sounds good." Akira patted him on the head, finally deciding to pair a cotton shirt with one of his less crinkled jackets.
He left Leblanc shortly after, taking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air. To say he was anxious would have been an overstatement, but he was definitely feeling some jitters. Akira was on the edge of a precipice, looking down, down, down. Before his thoughts could continue spiralling, however, his phone pinged, and glancing down he saw it was the Phantoms' group chat.
Panther: hey – guess who just got bankaiiiiii!
The second he read Ann's message, he felt like he'd been punched in the guts. It wasn't jealously that plagued him – while he'd be lying if he said it hadn't stung a bit when she was chosen and he was not, logically, Urahara's choice made sense. Ann burned with passion and fervour like a brilliant star – if any of them were ready for this, it was her. No, Akira's problem was her timing. She was half a day early, and knowing the Phantoms, everyone would immediately hop on the train to Karakura to celebrate. But Akira couldn't – if he bailed on Akechi now, he knew deep in his bones it would be the end of their little arrangement, and that wasn't something he could afford. At the same time, the idea of ignoring the blonde after she achieved such a massive milestone felt like a betrayal.
Maybe I'm being paranoid – maybe Ann's tired, and will need a few days before she's up for something. Swallowing his nerves, Akira typed away.
Joker: Panther, that's fantastic! I'm so proud of you.
Skull: dude, sick! you've gotta show us!
Alibaba: yeah, send us the pics!
Panther: haha, maybe later! I'm dead on my feet.
Panther: just took a two-hour power nap and I'm still exhausted.
Queen: Well done, Panther. What a marvellous achievement, and in such a short time, too!
Akira let out a sigh of relief. Maybe his worst fears wouldn't come to pass, after all. Alas, his flicker of hope was premature.
Ginger: Congratulations. Would you like me to bring over some snacks while you're still in the area? Maybe that'll help perk you up a bit.
Panther: oooh, that would be wonderful, thank you!
Skull: hey, why don't we all go over and chill out together for a bit?
Skull: if we shunpo, karakura aint THAT far away.
Panther: skull, sometimes you're a genius! I'd love that!
Panther: we can have some food and watch a movie or something!
A palpable gloom settled over Akira. As the rest of the Phantoms excitedly agreed, his funk only grew worse. He swallowed - the teen was at a crossroad, but ultimately, he knew there was only one path he could take.
Joker: Sorry, I'd really love to join in, but I've got commitments I can't cancel tonight.
Joker: If the party is still going when I'm done, I'll try to swing around.
Panther: oh…
Panther: well, that sucks, but if you're busy you're busy!
Joker: Yeah – I'll give you my congratulations in person tomorrow, if worst comes to worst.
A weight settled into his stomach, and he wondered if his words looked as empty to Ann as they felt to him. Sighing, he stashed his phone away as he squeezed onto the train. As he hopped off at Shibuya, Akira walked towards their meeting space at the Shibuya Crossing. Earlier that year, he'd never have imagined that one day he'd grow to know the labyrinthian station like the back of his hand, but now, Akira strode out of the tunnels and onto the streets with confidence. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take too long to find Akechi – the boy wasn't suppressing his Reiatsu as much as usual, and tendrils of darkness wove around its sterile light.
"Ah, there you are." Akechi's voice was mild, but he wore a frown as he offered Akira his hand. "Shall we?"
Akira nodded. "I'm all yours."
Akechi didn't waste a single moment before he shunpoed them away, dragging Akira to a dirty alleyway shooting off central street. It was cluttered with abandoned bikes and rubbish, and half the stores were shuttered up with the exception of an airsoft shop with a flickering neon sign that read 'Untouchable'. It wasn't their final destination, however. After glancing around to ensure the coast was clear, Akechi pushed his hand forward and clawed downwards. Akira took a step backwards, surprise flickering in his chest as the jaws of a Garganta opened.
Akechi walked into the darkness, and arched a brow as Akira's feet remained firmly on the ground. "Hurry up, Kurusu – I don't have all day."
The dark-haired teen peered at the ominous portal suspiciously. "… Is it safe to go in that thing in our human bodies?" Akira liked not being permanently dead, after all.
Akechi rolled his eyes. "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of Gigais or Soul Candy, and I'm fine. Stop being prissy and get over here already."
Akira shoved his reservations to the side and stepped into the gloom. The air was thin, and even though Akechi was confident it would have no ill effects, an instinctive part of Akira knew that this place wasn't designed for the living. As he walked further into the portal, stepping onto a crimson path that had formed under Akechi's feet, Akira realised it wasn't as dark as it had seemed to be on the inside. Instead, faint, rippling light glimmered in the Garganta, like sunlight dancing on still waters.
"Push your Reiatsu out from your feet." The detective instructed. "It should solidify into a platform. Stay close – I'm not going back to pick you up if you fall behind."
Without further ado, he ran off, and Akira had to scramble to keep up. It didn't help that whenever he moved out of Akechi's slipstream, he had to focus on making his footholds himself. Unlike the smooth path the Detective Prince made, the platforms Akira created were brittle. His foot plunged through them at least twice, giving him a heart attack every time. Perhaps he should ask Uryū for advice – this was eerily similar to manipulating Reishi, after all.
Eventually, Akechi came to a halt. Clawing at the air again, he opened an exit. Akira couldn't see much but blinding light from within the Garganta's gloom, so as he leapt out of the dark void, he looked around curiously. A part of him thought Akechi might have been taking him to the Hueco Mundo, but judging by the lack of ambient Reiatsu, they had to still be in the World of the Living. They'd entered a massive room, the fact that it was almost entirely empty only accentuating its vastness. The ceiling stood at least ten metres above them, and had bulky metal rafters exposed for all to see. The floor seemed to be made of some form of sealed concrete, much like the science block in Akira's old school. While someone had clearly tried to keep it clean, large scorch marks pocketed the floor, and divots, dents, and gashes were gouged deep into the grey expanse. In the distance, Akira could see a plane of glass lining one of the walls. Peering closer, he detected a mechanical light, and blinked as he thought he saw a flicker of movement.
Closing his eyes, Akira attempted to gauge the surrounding Reiatsu in the vague hope of locating where they were. It was for naught, however. While he could sense himself and Akechi clearly, along with a few flecks of strange energy behind the glass viewing screen, he couldn't pick anything up beyond the building's walls. There was something odd about them - they felt dense and heavy, as if they were blocking out the outside world.
Akira turned to the other boy. "What is this place?"
"That doesn't matter." Akechi replied. "Now, get out of that body and stash it in the corner if you don't want it getting crushed."
Shrugging, Akira obeyed. There was no point prying any further – he doubted he'd get an answer from the Detective Prince no matter how much he bugged him. Lying on the ground, he tapped his head with his Substitute Shinigami Badge. Once he'd transitioned into his soul form, Akira lifted up his body, and with a flash of shunpo, dropped it in the corner near the glass window. If Akechi wasn't going to satisfy his curiosity, he might as well get his answers elsewhere. Casting a barrier spell over his body, Akira took the opportunity to peer out of the corner of his eye and into the room beyond. Monitors, screens, stacks of paper, and numerous charts of unknown readings greeted him.
A lightbulb flashed into his mind. Of course! They were in a research lab, and if his suspicions were correct… it was a Cognitive Psience research lab at that. Akira's mouth grew dry. That explained how damaged the place was – Akechi had likely developed and honed his powers here.
Returning to the detective's side, he banished those thoughts from his brain for now. Even if Akira wanted to go straight to Wakaba's side and reveal where her research had been squirrelled off to, the Reiatsu-insulating walls and Akechi's security measures meant he had absolutely no idea where the lab even was. Plus, he was here on a mission – Akira's sole duty today was to get his Hollow under control. Any information he gleaned about Akechi's masters was a bonus, nothing more.
The Detective Prince frowned, but didn't bother to comment on Akira's actions. "There are two main steps you need to take to control your inner Hollow. We'll be focusing on the first today. At their core, Hollows are primal creatures. They don't accept reason, only power. Subjugate it, and it'll be forced to kneel to you."
"You… want me to fight Tasogare no Dorobō?" Akira creased his brows. He hadn't entered his inner world since his nightmare in Hawaii. "But if I'm in my inner world, that means there's no one piloting my physical form. Is that really a great idea while I'm dealing with an evil monster trying to possess me? What if my body Hollowfies while I'm there?"
Akechi's expression turned patronising. "Kurusu, you fucking twit - of course your body is going to Hollowfy. Why do you think I brought you here? If you weren't going to turn into a rampaging monster I would have just told you to do this in your trashy attic."
"My attic is actually rather lovely, thank you very much." Akira felt obliged to point out.
The quip died on his lips though as Akechi's statement began to truly sink in. The teenager frowned, a sinking feeling in his guts. Maybe this was a terrible idea after all - as much as he didn't care if he hurt Akechi, he didn't much care for the idea of turning into a hideous beast and devouring him either.
"Don't mock me, Kurusu." Akechi's eyes narrowed to slits, clearly reading his thoughts. "I'm not one of your pathetic friends - you're a fool if you think you stand a chance of even touching me, Hollow or not."
"… Fine." Akira gritted his teeth and unsheathed his Zanpakutō. "Let's get this over and done with."
…..
As Akira's eyes fluttered open he was greeted by the endless blue of his inner world. A brief wave of vertigo hit him as he stood up, but the teen narrowed his eyes, and the determination that flooded through him burned away the remnants of his giddiness. Glancing downwards, Akira eyed the shackles cuffing his ankle with disdain. Fire formed in his palm as he cast a Shakkahō at the wretched chain, blasting the metal to bits. Straightening his shoulders, he ignored the tension buzzing in the air as he strode out of his cell and stared down at his warden. Tasogare no Dorobō was lounging on his desk as per usual, eyes burning like flames deep-set in his white mask.
"So, thou hast finally found the courage to face me." Tasogare no Dorobō flicked out a hand, wing mirroring the gesture. "How naïve… doth thou not realise we are one and the same? My justice is your justice!"
Akira clenched his fists, bristling with rage. "No, we're not. Your justice almost got Renji and Rukia killed!"
While Tasogare no Dorobō's mask obscured the spirit's expression, Akira could tell he was smirking. "On the contrary - that was a mere product of their weakness. If we allow the failings of others to drag us down, evil shall go unavenged."
"Enough." Akira flared his nostrils, an inferno of fury burning within him. "The only reason you gave me your name in the first place was so I could save my friends! What's the point of even having my powers if they're just going to hurt the ones I love?!"
Tasogare no Dorobō's eyes glowed like hot coals, shifting from a scarlet fire to a glittering gold. "So, you believe our desecrated soul cannot bring salvation to our allies, only curse them with damnation?"
"I don't think stabbing someone in the gut can be called salvation no matter how you look at it." Akira snarked. "But enough of this needless chitchat." Flexing his wrists, the shackles bounding them together snapped into a thousand pieces. "I will not allow my demons to plague my friends any longer – I'll beat you into the ground, and stake my rightful claim on this world with force!"
The shards of his shattered handcuffs glowed with an azure light before floating into the air and twisting into a familiar shape. It was the flamberge his Shikai had shifted into when he'd stabbed Renji. Ignoring his discomfort, he snatched the blade. The past couldn't be undone, but he could at least make something worthwhile out of it. Besides, it wasn't like his Shikai's gauntlet form was particularly suited for a close-quarters environment like this.
Tasogare no Dorobō's wings unfurled, and a booming, mocking laugh echoed from the spirit's jaw. "Very well. Show me what thou are capable of!"
…..
Goro slunk around the testing lab, Zanpakutō in hand. Kurusu's body had been seizing for a while, but it was only now that his limbs started to contort into unnatural positions with a series of loud snaps. It's time. The detective noted idly. Kurusu's husk coughed, and just like Goro knew it would, white liquid burst out of its mouth and coalesced over the teenager's face. Unlike the detective's somewhat avian mask, Kurusu's was flat. It formed points at the ends of his forehead, and there were dark markings around his eyes which vaguely resembled eyelashes. The frizzy-haired teen shuddered as his chest bubbled and burst open, revealing a gaping hole where his heart had once laid. The initial stage of the transformation was complete, and therefore, it was time for Goro to get to work.
Howling, the Hollow lunged at the brunet, swinging its Zanpakutō wildly. The Detective Prince merely rolled his eyes – how sloppy. It just went to show that Kurusu truly wasn't home right now – Goro's rival would never be so... predictable. He side-stepped the monster's clumsy strike with ease and lopped off its arm, sending both the severed limb and Kurusu's Zanpakutō clattering to the ground. The Substitute Shinigami could probably stick it back on later – from what Goro had observed, he had a talent for Kaidō. It turned out though that he wouldn't need to. The Hollow's stump shuddered, and in a spout of blood and bone, the limb regrew in a matter of seconds. For the first time that night, Goro snapped to attention – he hadn't expected high-speed regeneration this early.
The Hollow grabbed Kurusu's Zanpakutō when it was done, paying no heed as it stepped on its severed arm, crushing it underfoot. As it swiped at him again, equally as clumsy but with even more power, Goro noticed the regenerated limb couldn't be described as human at all. Instead of skin, a black, chitinous surface covered its flesh. There were segments around his joints, giving the Hollowfied arm an almost mechanical appearance, and vicious golden claws jutted from Kurusu's fingertips. Goro knew they'd be just as capable of cutting his skin as any blade.
Still, it mattered little to him. Sure, Kurusu was right when he'd said that his powers had skyrocketed over his mysterious summer adventures, but comparing him to the detective was like comparing an ant to a bull. Kurusu had merely stumbled into his powers via luck – Goro had been a Shinigami from the very beginning. This was his birthright – no criminal trash like Kurusu would ever come close to touching him.
They quickly settled into a routine. Goro would knock the Hollow away, slicing and dicing it until it fell to the ground. It would then regenerate itself, lunge at Goro, and the cycle would start anew. As the brunet cut Kurusu open yet again, a wave of tedium settled over the teen. This was boring. He should have convinced Kurusu to teach him some proper sealing spells before they started – that way, he'd at least be able to use this time to catch up with his homework. Alas, his repertoire of Kidō was rather dismal - Goro only knew a smattering of odd spells he'd picked up by stalking low-level Shinigami, and none of them would keep down a Hollow of this calibre.
Of course, Goro had forgotten an age-old adage – be careful what you wish for.
By now, the only sign that Kurusu had once been human was his mop of curly dark hair. His limbs and torso had lengthened into inhuman proportions, and his entire body was coated in rigid black armour. The darkness was interrupted by speckles of gold, and claw-like blades that almost resembled spurs jutted from his limbs and ankles. Instead of charging at Goro yet again, however, the Hollow shuddered before suddenly collapsing to the ground and curling up into the foetal position. For half a second, Goro thought that Kurusu had finally conquered the beast in his mind.
He was mistaken. Instead, blood and black tar exploded from the frizzy-haired teen's back, revealing a pair of demonic wings. One flap later, and Kurusu rapidly rose into the air.
Ah. That could be mildly problematic.
Things quickly escalated to definitely problematic as Kurusu's mask split open at the mouth. His tongue elongated, lapping over a bloody gouge Goro had ripped into one of his limbs that hadn't yet finished regenerating. The droplets of red liquid began to glow in the Hollow's mouth, swelling as an inky black light merged with the vermillion drops, moulding them into a ball of energy that was similar to a Cero and yet so much more potent.
Suddenly, Goro realised Kurusu had been worried for a reason.
The blast of energy ricocheted towards him wildly, corkscrewing through the air erratically in contrast to a normal Cero's predictable velocity. Cursing, Goro shunpoed out of the way. The not-Cero tore past him with so much force he was sent flying, even though it hadn't even grazed his skin. The detective landed on his feet with a deftness only granted by experience, and shot a glare at the Hollow. Its eyes narrowed in mocking glee at its rival's ruffled countenance. Goro's rage was short-lived, however. Instead, the detective laughed – a primal, animal sound dripping with both bloodlust and delight in equal measures.
He'd known Kurusu had potential the second he'd met the other boy, and to this day, he hadn't let him down. This was finally starting to get fun.
"I'll break you down until you're nothing but bits!" Goro laughed wildly as his Reiatsu flared.
The Hollow merely tipped its head, but something about its body language screamed bring it on.
Unfortunately, the Reishi-negating properties of the testing room would mean making footholds in the air would be impossible. To claim victory, Goro would need to knock Kurusu back to the earth. Leaping into the air, black and white energy condensed in the detective's hand. A Cero wouldn't work – too slow. Instead, he would use a Bala – while the small bullets of condensed Reiryoku were weak, their speed made up for it. Goro flicked his wrist and in less than a second, twenty blasts of monochrome energy hurtled towards Kurusu. If the Hollow dodged one, he'd end up straight in the path of another.
The Hollow then flapped its wings and a gale of dark wind tore through the air, scattering Goro's Balas. While the gust had lost most of its velocity by the time it reached the Detective Prince, as the dark wind touched his skin, he shuddered as some strange, uncomfortable emotion blossomed in him. I see… Kurusu's Zanpakutō likely has the ability to alter one's psychological state. It made sense – the boys were both the same yet opposites, so Kurusu's Shikai would likely be a twisted mirror of his own. Goro stiffened, some of his bloodlust fading for a second. He'd need to be cautious – if Kurusu's blows could mess with his mind, he couldn't risk being touched. Goro smirked – he always loved a challenge.
There was no point using his Shikai - there was a good chance Bōsō Jiken would mess up Kurusu's battle with his inner Hollow, and Goro had learnt from experience that if he enraged a target without a nearby enemy to sic them on, half the time, they'd end up lashing back out at him. Shikai wasn't the only thing Goro had up his sleeve, however. Raising a hand to the top of his forehead, he pulled it down, and a familiar mask formed over his face.
The Hollow clearly sensed Goro's heightened Reiatsu, and tearing into its own flesh with its sharp claws, another glowing ball of crackling energy formed in its bloodstained hand. As the blast of blistering energy hurtled towards Goro, he answered it with a Cero of his own. The two beams collided – Kurusu's black-tinged scarlet struggling for dominance against Goro's beam of darkness and light. In the end, neither won – the Ceros ended up detonating in an explosion of light, sending both combatants flying.
Kurusu smashed into the ceiling, falling several metres before remembering it needed to flap its wings, while Goro crashed into the wall, reinforced metal splintering under the force. As he stood up, wounds slowly regenerating, the detective flexed his fingers and smirked.
If you want a fight, that's what you're going to get.
…..
Akira ran forward, sword at the ready as his feet hit the stone floor. Tasogare no Dorobō looked at him impassively, a copy of Akira's Shikai's base form appearing around the Hollow's wrists, in contrast to the longer blade the Shinigami now bore. Unfortunately for Akira, his assessment of the gauntlets' limited viability in their current arena wasn't as accurate as he had thought. A sense of clear boredom lining Tasogare no Dorobō every movement, the winged man pointed his left arm at a random spot in the panopticon's ceiling. His grappling hook sailed through the air, smashing straight through the blue stone and taking hold. Akira barely had the time to blink before the Hollow swung towards him at breakneck speeds and slammed a foot straight into his master's stomach.
"Oof!" Akira grunted, flying through the air until his back crashed into the prison's cold walls.
Tasogare no Dorobō withdrew his hook and with a flutter of his wings, descended back to the ground. "Now, now. Is this really all you can do?"
Hopping to his feet, Akira healed his bruised spine with a touch of Kaidō. "Don't worry. Next time, I'll be sure to stab you."
I let my emotions get the better of me. Akira chided himself. I need to be smart about this. Again, he rushed at his Zanpakutō, but this time, he watched the devilish figure dispassionately. The second he drew near, Tasogare no Dorobō activated his grappling hook and sailed out of the way. Swapping between hook and knife midair, Tasogare no Dorobō's kris dagger rocketed into the spot Akira had been standing at just a moment ago with an alarming amount of force. His first strike thwarted, chains clanged together as the Zanpakutō reactivated his grappling hook and swung at Akira yet again, leg poised for another almighty kick. This time though, the teenager was prepared, and knew to dart out of the way. Something about Tasogare no Dorobō's attack rubbed him the wrong way, however – surely, he knew Akira would have anticipated that move, right?
It was just as well Akira stayed on guard – flapping his wings, Tasogare no Dorobō suddenly changed the direction of his swing, and twisting his body, the Hollow lashed out at Akira with his kris dagger. The black-haired teen parried with his sword, and for a moment, master and weapon were locked in a deadly struggle. Akira attempted to push forward and dislodge Tasogare no Dorobō's blade so he could land a debilitating blow, but the Zanpakutō was too strong. Instead, they remained locked in a stalemate, sparks flying off their Shikais as their muscles strained.
Tasogare no Dorobō was the one to bring it to an end. The monster's mask cracked open, revealing a molten maw that began to glow a golden yellow. Shock ran through Akira as he ducked, disengaging – a second later and his head would have been blown off by the Hollowfied spirit's Cero. Once the laser beam finally finished blasting out of Tasogare no Dorobō's mouth, Akira ran forward and managed to carve a deep line into the spirit's thigh before the Zanpakutō knocked him away with a sweep of his wings.
Akira turned his fall into a roll and was back on his feet in less than a heartbeat. Now that he knew how his Zanpakutō spirit carried himself in a battle, the teen could finally go on the offensive. Flexing his Reiatsu, the sword in his hand glowed, morphing back into its default dagger and grappling hook combo. He'd never be able to land a hit on Tasogare no Dorobō given the latter's manoeuvrability, and while the Zanpakutō's wings would give him the advantage in aerial combat, it didn't look like he was capable of true flight.
Copying his Zanpakutō's movements from the start of the battle, he pointed his left-hand gauntlet into the air. Instead of rushing at Tasogare no Dorobō, however, Akira had another plan. Shooting the hook well beyond any height the Hollow had aimed for, Akira found himself flying straight upwards into the non-existent sky. Flipping off the wall, he pointed his hands downwards.
"Hadō #33. Sōkatsui!"
A wave of blue fire burst from his hands, engulfing the entire panopticon in a baptism of unholy light. As Akira fell back towards the ground, hope flickered in his chest. Would that be enough to take Tasogare no Dorobō down?
He got his answer when a dagger shot out from the sea of fire and embedded itself deep into Akira's shoulder. He barely had the time to grunt before the chain at its end snapped taut and pulled the unwitting teen along with it. Gritting his teeth, Akira snarled, a Byakurai crackling into existence at the tip of his fingers. As Tasogare no Dorobō pulled him close before wrapping his clawed fingers around Akira's neck, the teen launched the spell into the Zanpakutō's guts. The spirit let go with a screech as Akira landed on the scorched stone floor with a thump, gasping for air as he massaged his bruised throat.
He wasn't the only one hurt, however – while Tasogare no Dorobō stood tall, a hole had been blown right through his abdomen, revealing the other side of the prison's walls. Eyes firmly locked on his enemy, Akira healed his shoulder, leaving his throat for the time being. They were both on their last legs, after all. One more good hit and it was over.
Silently, Akira charged, reshaping his gauntlets into a sword. Leaping into the air, he swung his blade down with all of his strength. Tasogare no Dorobō merely rolled his eyes and grabbed the blade of Akira's sword with his fist. The teen lost balance, momentum suddenly brought to a halt, and while his blade sunk into the Zanpakutō's palm and bit him down to his bone, it simply wasn't enough. Tasogare no Dorobō's expression could only be described as faintly annoyed as the Zanpakutō's dagger morphed into a blade, and he cut through Akira's abdomen.
The teen fell to the ground, landing in a sprawled heap. Wheezing, his hands glowed green as he tried to quickly stitch his organs back shut. While his consciousness didn't ebb, it didn't matter – he was stuck on the floor, barely alive, and could do nothing but watch in horror as Tasogare no Dorobō strode calmly his way, the hole in the Zanpakutō's lower body sealing shut.
Of course. He's a Hollow. He can regenerate.
Tutting, Tasogare no Dorobō shook his head. "Akira, Akira, Akira. Doth thou really think thou can cut me down with mine own blade? These are not your powers you are fighting with, my foolish child. They are mine."
The truth of his Zanpakutō's words hit Akira like a hurricane. Despair welled up in his chest, and while he looked ahead, Akira saw nothing. Now that Tasogare no Dorobō had said it out loud, it was so obvious. Akechi had lied to him. This had been a fool's errand from the very start – how the hell was Akira meant to overpower the creature that was the embodiment of his strength?
The gauntlets covering his fists shattered into a thousand pieces, reduced to motes of dust that blew away in a swirl of wind. As soon as his Shikai disappeared, half a dozen chains suddenly shot out from nowhere and latched around Akira's legs and neck. Yelping, he struggled, but his efforts were for naught. The cold metal bit into his skin, and no matter how much he twisted and strained, the restraints refused to give way.
Eventually, his movements grew weak, before stopping altogether as Akira finally gave up. He shivered, huddled on the floor in a pathetic heap. Tasogare no Dorobō's footsteps echoed throughout the battered panopticon before coming to a stop as he reached his fallen master's side. The devilish gentleman placed the tip of his sword under Akira's chin and slowly lifted up his head.
Golden fire burned in Tasogare no Dorobō's eye sockets. "So, this is how thy justice ends. How pitiful." Leaning down, he loosened his grip on his blade and caressed Akira's cheek with his hand, blood welling up where the Hollow's claws traced over his skin. "You believe I am the one whom hath fallen into the depths of hell, and yet, the only one of us whom hath become lost is thou."
"… Now what?" Akira croaked. "You take over my body and slaughter everyone in your way? Even innocents? Even our friends?"
Tasogare no Dorobō's grin was haunting. "Thy concern is misplaced. If they were truly allies of ours, would they not stand by our side no matter what blasphemous path we walk? I have no tolerance for the presence of evil in our world, nor those who aid and abet it!"
At his Zanpakutō's words, something inside Akira snapped. Fury burning inside him like an inferno, he acted on nothing but primal instinct. While his neck and legs were restrained, Akira's hands were free. Reaching forward, he snatched the sword straight out of Tasogare no Dorobō's grip and stabbed it straight through the Hollow's eye until it tore out of the other side of his skull.
As Tasogare no Dorobō's remaining eye widened in shock, Akira snarled. "For all my flaws, I'm not a fucking hypocrite. You're right – I cannot allow evil to run free, and that includes myself!"
The Hollow staggered back, sword tearing out of his head with a sickening squelch, and the chains restraining Akira shattered. The teen stood up, and watched his Zanpakutō spirit collapse to the floor with a blunt stare, their positions reversed. The mask covering Tasogare no Dorobō's face cracked, before melting to white dust and reforming in Akira's hand.
"… Very well. Thou hast bested me for now." The Zanpakutō wheezed, eyes returning to a baleful red. "But the foundations of thy conviction are built on unsteady grounds. Lest you remember why thou earnt my title, your rehabilitation will never be complete…"
…..
Goro leapt into the air, laughing wildly as his blade crashed against the Hollow Kurusu's. It had been a while since the boy had first entered his inner world, but Goro didn't care. Why would he – this was great! Goro pressed down on his opponent's sword, but Kurusu didn't relent – the Hollow's eyes turned into slits as he flapped his wings and pushed Goro back.
Eventually, the stalemate came to an end when Kurusu finally ran out of patience and headbutted Goro straight in the face. His mask shielded him from most of the blow, but it was still strong enough to dislodge the detective and give Kurusu the chance to slash at his chest. His blade struck Goro twice, cutting his skin and skimming his ribs, evoking an ugly sneer from the detective. The Hollow had forgotten his place. He shrugged off the prickle of doubt Kurusu's blade forced upon him, and charged a Cero in his hand. As the beam exploded through the air, it disintegrated one of the Hollow's wings.
Screeching, Kurusu plummeted to the floor in a broken heap while Goro landed back on the ground with feline grace. The avian Hollow twitched, shuddering, but instead of regrowing its severed wing and re-entering the fray, it twisted and seized, black feathers peeling off its skin. As Kurusu's Reiatsu fluctuated wildly, dark Hollow miasma pierced by a brilliant Shinigami crimson, Goro calmly accepted that his entertainment had reached its end.
By the time he finished strolling to Kurusu's side, the Hollow's carapace had completely flaked away, leaving a pale, sweaty Shinigami lying on the ground in its wake. Sensing Goro's presence, Kurusu's grey eyes slowly fluttered open. As he registered who was standing over him, the brat had the gall to give Goro a thumbs up, a ridiculous grin plastered all over his stupid face. Before the detective could even open his mouth and tell his rival to keep his childish glee to himself, however, Kururu conked out.
Irritating worm. Goro scowled deeply. He didn't have time to be irritated for long, however. Adrenaline finally leaving him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into the detective and he leant on his Zanpakutō like a crutch, finally becoming acutely aware of the myriad of wounds littering his body. His bruised nose and sliced ribs were hardly his only injuries - Goro had been thrown into the testing ground's floor half a dozen times, twisted his ankle in an attempt to avoid one of Kurusu's cursed winds, and a large swath of his abdomen had been scorched by Kurusu's Cero. That wasn't even getting into the awful sensation of wrongness that settled over him whenever any of his rival's attacks landed. Regeneration had never been his strong point, and more importantly, he didn't think he'd have enough Reiryoku left for the trip home if he exhausted his reserves even more.
Frowning, Goro analysed his rival. Kurusu was no longer an annoying pest, but a genuine threat. And right now, he was lying at Goro's feet, alone and at his mercy. The detective raised his Zanpakutō. It would be so easy to stab him through the heart and be done with it. While Kurusu's confession would be useful, the detective would probably be able to frame the boy as being both the Phantoms' leader and perpetrator of the Vanishing Incidents regardless – at least until Shido won the election, anyway. Goro had every intention of unveiling his true self at that point and dragging his wretched father straight down to hell with him.
Still, as Goro pressed his blade against Kurusu's chest, he hesitated. Despite everything, the thought of killing Kurusu like this… every part of Goro screamed in protest. As much as Kurusu was a thorn in his side, he was fun. Sure, he was even more of a nobody than Goro was - mere criminal trash who was exiled from his hometown - but… nobody had ever challenged Goro before. Not the boys in his foster home who tried to beat him up, or the students in his cram school who looked at him with envy. Even Shido was nothing but a fool to be manipulated. Goro had never had something even approaching an equal before, and now that he had found one, he didn't want to let go.
The detective sheathed his blade. As good as this opportunity was, the timing simply wasn't right. It was too early, too far away from the election – the public would forget about Shido's part in taking the renowned criminal down. Plus, it would mean they'd have to hold off any more Vanishing Incidents until December, which was currently unacceptable. Not to mention, Kurusu dying in the middle of nowhere in bizarre circumstances… if the Shinigami was telling the truth about his connections to the Gotei 13, Goro couldn't risk the chance of them snooping.
Foolish sentiment played no role in Goro's choice. After all, Kurusu would still die under his hands once the teen upheld his end of their bargain.
(And hopefully, he'd have enough energy to curse Goro's name while it happened.)
…..
When Akira woke up, his vision was bleary and his muscles ached as if he'd run a marathon, but the lingering weight crushing his skull seemed to be gone. His head felt clearer than it had in weeks.
"Finally." Akechi huffed, looking at his phone with clear boredom on his face. "Get back in your body so we can get out of here."
Akira regarded the other teen for a moment. Even though he'd had a moment of weakness, convinced that Akechi had misled him, in the end, the detective had actually upheld his end of the bargain. As a sign of his gratitude, he nodded and followed Akechi's demands without a word of complaint, or even some banter like he'd normally be prone to. Judging by the way the other teen impatiently tapped his foot, Akira could tell he was in no mood for delays.
Unsurprisingly, the second Akira returned to his body, Akechi immediately opened a Garganta. It was a good thing Akira had gotten some practice making his own footholds on the way over – if he'd had to travel through the gap between worlds for the first time while having this little Reiryoku, he'd have fallen into the abyss ten steps into his journey. By the time they exited the Garganta and re-entered Shibuya, Akira felt a wave of relief. He never knew solid ground under his feet could feel so good.
"Thanks for that." He turned to Akechi and tipped his head at the boy.
The brunet merely rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. That's the easy part. You might have subdued your Hollow, but you have no idea how to use it." Turning on his heel, he began to walk away. "I'll contact you soon – I don't have a lot of free time, so when I call, I expect you to be there."
"Don't worry - I will." Akira's expression firmed.
He'd never let himself be so weak ever again.
