Rise/Fall

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Burning Rage

Beyond the Rukongai. Evening.

"What is this place? Why have you led me here?"

Approximately a single day had passed since the announcement of the so-called "Original Sin of the Soul Society", and Teruo Akui's rather negative reaction to that event. Upon the insistence of a mysterious man he later met in the Rukongai they moved to a remote area far beyond its borders. Even though the current world order was revealed to be an elaborate ruse, even though its balance was becoming increasingly unstable, even though enigmatic enemy forces were preparing something vile. Rested and healed, he was in the middle of nowhere, confused, enraged, devastated, a Shinigami Lieutenant who had all but abandoned his duty.

"This place is a mausoleum to my past", replied the man known as Tōsō.

He did not even turn to address his captive of sorts directly. Rather, his gaze was fixed at the landscape that stretched before them. A vast valley, with distant ruins protruding from within a sparse forest, framed by a mountain range and illuminated by the orange glow of the slowly setting sun. Teruo scanned the area with slightly narrowed eyes. Seemed to be ruins of a medium-sized settlement. He could recognise multiple derelict buildings and, somewhat interestingly, a large crater in the centre. There were more craters scattered across the valley, though barely visible owing to vegetation. More intriguing, however, was the mountain range; from where they stood he could easily perceive a sizeable "gap", as if some of the mountains had been removed by an unknown force.

"Why are we here?", continued Teruo his inquires, only a slightly tense vibe to his otherwise steady voice implying that his patience was wearing thin. "I'm afraid I fail to see what is the purpose of this without any sort of explanation. There are many things I don't understand any more, and I certainly do not need another one."

The stranger did turn to face him that time. There was something unsettling to his face expression. No sign of anger or frustration, nothing of the kind. Rather, the countenance of a middle-aged man at worst displaying the experience of a wizened sage, pensive yet somehow piercing stare of his single grey eye. One of the reasons the young Lieutenant decided to follow him at all. Given the man's tattered and torn clothing, prominent stubble and dishevelled hair, it would have been easy to mistake him for a random lunatic. However, Teruo saw with his eyes of a young but well-trained martial artist that he was a fellow warrior.

"I want to help you, Lieutenant Akui."

"How is sightseeing supposed to help me?", asked Teruo with a mixture of subdued exasperation, resignation and... curiosity.

Tōsō beheld the landscape again. He had not visited this place in a very long time. Now that he was here a peculiar phenomenon occurred. Old memories emerged from the dark abyss at the bottom of his mind, rising toward the light of conscioussness, gaining prominence to the point that they began superimposing images of bygone events upon the reality of the current world. The forest receded, craters vanished, the buildings restored to their prime... no, not their prime. Ruins, but recent ruins, with billows of smoke extending toward the blood-red sky of an impending night. The signs of a recent battle; a blaze, puddles of water, glimmering ice crystals, upturned earth and a network of scorched ditches... blood, and bodies. And the body. Resting on a pile of corpses, the body of...

"This place used to be the Akui Family estate", revealed Tōsō after a moment of heavy silence. "Before its destruction it belonged to Hitomi Akui", he added quietly.

At first Teruo glanced at him with mild surprise, soon amplified more and more with every consecutive realisation. Akui. That was his family. Hitomi Akui. That was his paternal grandmother. He had never met her; she died when his father was only a few years old during some tragic event. Kenshin Akui was later raised by her younger sister, the only other survivor of the family at that time. None of them ever told Teruo who was his paternal grandfather, though, despite his inquiries.

Evidently, the man called Tōsō knew something about the events concerning that tragic turning point in the Akui Family's past. That much was blatantly obvious. How much, however, and why? How? What role did he play during said event? The young Captain gazed at him with renewed intensity... then staggered. His eyes widened, his mouth opened. No word was spoken aloud. Everything happened within his mind. The familiar profile, the colour of his hair and complexion. More stern, darker but the resemblance was undeniable. But that man was not Kenshin Akui, who had died fourteen years ago during the Quincy Blood War. He was...

"My name is Kentarō Akiyama. I am the Founding Captain of the Third Division, a Grandmaster of Hakuda... and your grandfather."

---

"Traitor!"

Kentarō leapt to the side, his unkempt, waist-length hair fluttering like the tail of a jet black comet. Not a full second later the ground beneath his previous position erupted to release a giant pillar of roaring flames. He jumped backward from his new position to avoid the subsequent attack, and right afterward propelled himself high into the air to escape another one. There was no respite, however. Loud staccato as if a series of thunderclaps announced the following assault - several volcanic bombs the size of a house each were launched into the air. They did not scatter haphazardly. All of them pursued their target even as the Hakudaka continued to manoeuvre mid-air in order to dodge them. Instead of attempting to outrun them, he stopped to confront them. Focus. He lifted both of his arms in a seemingly lackadaisical guard, index and middle fingers extended but bent somewhat, as if he were holding imaginary teacups in them.

The projectiles were approaching him at a tremendous speed. And as they were about to consume him in a fiery explosion, Kentarō spun his forearms. The air around them undulated visibly. One, two, three, the big burning boulders were deflected in spite of their size. Akiyama rotated forward to kick the next volcanic bomb down as his right leg descended upon it, then swiped at the last one with his left leg. All in a matter of moments. Shortly afterward there was another series of thunderous sounds when the projectiles impacted the earth below. Each one of them boasted power sufficient to eradicate a town, although condensed to a significantly smaller radius. Yet another testament to the extraordinary skill of Kentarō's opponent.

"Is that all you have got to say?", he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"There is no need for more! That is everything you have become!", was the immediate response.

There he was, standing firmly on the ground. A tall, fairly athletic but first and foremost, elegant man in an ornate robe. Medium-length blond hair with embedded delicate hairpieces, thin eyebrows, high cheek bones. Intense stare of the sky blue eyes. Elegant yet deadly, a noble warrior wielding a rather cumbersome Bankai with unusual grace. An immense battle axe with a long, curved blade and a miniature furnace constituting the head, roared with an infernal fury which it released in plumes of white-hot flames, time and again. That man was Daiki Akiyama: the heir of House Akiyama, a powerful and experienced warrior, as well as Kentarō's foster brother and best friend.

Formerly.

"We could accept abandoning us for the sake of the Gotei 13, although you must have lost your mind when you joined the Unfettered King and his warband! You are nothing but a renegade, a traitor, a murderer!", yelled Daiki over the noise of the blaze he had stirred upon the battlefield. "You should..."

"I did not ask for a lecture!", interrupted Kentarō, clenching his fists. "I do not wish to hear any of your narrow-minded nonsense!"

"Well, then!"

Daiki began rotating his battle axe, plumes of flames emanating from vents on its side and a hole atop its head all the while. Soon, the flames coalesced into a mighty firestorm that burst forth into the air, in the Hakudaka's direction. In the meantime, Kentarō lifted one of his legs only to rapidly swivel himself. Reduced to a dark blur, his spiritual pressure generated an electrified, red-violet whirlwind that clashed with Daiki's firestorm. There was a flash of light, and both were dispersed violently upon impact. With a smirk, the adoptive Akiyama promptly launched himself toward the rightful heir like a cannonball, barely giving the latter the time required to block his powerful punch.

The noble swayed but held his ground. Kentarō's arms extended toward him in a flurry of blows. Finger thrusts, knifehand strikes, backhands, open palm strikes, punches. Even an expert fighter would have been unable to tell them apart, perceiving instead an incomprehensible mirage before being torn apart and scattered in a shower of viscera. Nevertheless, Daiki managed to block the onslaught with his mighty battle axe. He tilted the massive weapon from side to side repeatedly, intercepting consecutive blows with its blade, head, shaft. He knew Kentarō well. They had been brought up together, like actual siblings, and shared many a sparring session. And, more recently, a few hostile encounters on a battlefield. In general, he knew what to expect.

Be that as it may, one of the signature traits of the adoptive Akiyama's fighting style was an astounding level of unpredictability. With no obvious transition or forewarning, the Hakudaka shuffled his left leg so that he tripped Daiki up while maintaining the barrage of physical blows unabated. The noble was thrown off-balance just for a while. Sufficient for Kentarō to exploit an opening in his defences and deliver a fast push kick to his stomach. Daiki groaned, propelled backward whilst carving ditches in the ground with his feet in an attempt to resist the force of the blow. His foster brother leapt at him quickly, although he was met mid-air by a condensed stream of flames. The Hakudaka lifted his guard in the nick of time, then was launched backward himself.

"The world does not revolve around your family, nor the Shinigami! It does not care about law and order determined by a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites!", shouted Kentarō in the aftermath. "Common people deserve the right to decide for themselves!"

"Is the wanton destruction and despair of anarchy your answer to that alleged injustice!?", asked Daiki.

Kentarō glowered at him from beneath lowered brows. He flexed both of his arms, streams of smoke rising from his scorched black robes.

"Change requires sacrifice", he seethed.

Suddenly, wild energy exploded from within his body, engulfing him in what appeared to be red-violet fire. Flickering and unsteady like a candle in the wind, yet frighteningly intense, discharging bolts of electricity with reckless abandon. The upper portion of his garments was obliterated, exposing his supremely honed physique marred by a few scars. His long hair rose somewhat with the flow of the energy, spread like wings of a fallen angel. Meanwhile, Daiki rotated his axe several times over his head, then assumed a fighting stance. The weapon bellowed with accumulated power, casting a white glow upon the surroundings together with the now visible, focussed aura of its wielder's spiritual pressure.

He swung the weapon to unleash an arc of extremely hot flames. Kentarō evaded the attack with a motion that in both execution and effects resembled the strike of a lightning bolt. The second wave was avoided with a similar manoeuvre. Then, the two charged at one another only to clash with incredible momentum. Once they rebounded, Daiki attempted to behead his enemy, who crouched to escape that fate. The axe returned to strike him with the back of its head, although the Hakudaka managed to grasp it and use it to support a variation of the butterfly kick. Both feet connected, causing the opponent to stumble briefly. However, with his back temporarily turned toward him as a result, Kentarō abruptly found himself carried upon another wave of flames. He crashed into a nearby hill, engulfed in an explosion of flames.

"Sacrifice, you say!? Just as you sacrificed your love to Hitomi-dono!?", blood trickled from the noble's mouth as he spoke. "Was that worth it, Kentarō!?"

The Hakudaka emerged from the crater, eerily illuminated by the aura of his Yugamekyō. He cast an aside glance at his enemy and wiped his face with the back of his hand. In a hunched position with his legs and arms spread, he seemed some sort of beast rather than man in that moment. His aura expanded, causing the ground beneath his feet to quake, then crack.

"You took her away from me you fucker!", he yelled all of a sudden.

He performed an earth-shaking stomp, which caused a huge boulder to rise from the ground. Then, he channelled his spiritual pressure by rapidly extending his arm. In consequence, the boulder was rendered an impromptu projectile that threatened to crush the noble warrior. But the volcanic Bankai crashed into it beforehand so that the boulder was destroyed, reduced to a shower of debris and a veil of smoke. A veil of smoke from within which Kentarō himself emerged without warning, his fist swung in a curve that terminated at his former friend's face. Right straight, left hook, then a knee kick to the chest. Daiki gasped when air was forced out of his lungs, swayed, but persevered. Kentarō extended his fingers in a strike that was supposed to tear off his enemy's throat. White flames stood in his way, almost consuming his arm in the process. He jumped back immediately, feeling their immense heat even through the shroud of Yugamekyō. Wreathed in them, Daiki counter-attacked. At first, he held his axe high in preparation for a guillotine strike. Seemingly, he tripped, tilting to the side, then the weapon drew a semicircle and rose in a zigzagging arc.

Taken by surprise, the Hakudaka stared at the august face of his foster brother contorted in a frown, so unlike his usual aloof attitude or the occasional faint smile. White, bedazzling light. Extreme heat, overwhelming, piercing all the way toward his core. Pain. For a while all he saw was the crimson and black of a night illuminated by fire, contrasted with a pure white flash. He screamed, but was silenced when the battle axe struck him in the chest. Swept off his feet, he crashed into the ground soon afterward.

"You repelled her yourself!", he heard over the din that now resounded within his head. "Obsessed with your ideology, which you then twisted beyond recognition because of the dissonance between your naivety and the reality of the world we live in! You are a slave to your own delusions!"

Kentarō stood up again, lowered the hand he kept to the right side of his face. He could no longer open the eye - there was nothing left to open. Just a deep, still sizzling vertical wound etched into his countenance, just as the last image his right eye had seen was now etched into his memory. He was shaking, though not from fear nor exhaustion.

"At least I understood her as a person! Saw her for who she was, not just her ideals!", continued Daiki.

"You took away my guiding light and left me stranded in the darkness", said Kentarō in a tense, quiet tone.

He performed an abrupt punch, seemingly without any specific target. Nevertheless, multiple ethereal fists appeared out of thin air to strike the Akiyama heir from all directions. Some of them he blocked, some of them scored direct hits. Stunned, he barely managed to lift his weapon to defend from a spinning jump kick that followed. His feet sank into the scorched earth when the blow connected. Kentarō somersaulted to briefly assume a fighting stance, then continued his assault. Like twin vicious snakes his arms extended time and again in swift poisonous strikes that injected chaotic energies into his opponent each time he was unable to protect himself. Turning around when struck once more, the noble exploited the momentum to power a broad swing. Kentarō deflected it. The weapon extended toward him like a ram, but he deflected it. Quickly gaining some distance, Daiki unleashed another arc of flames. The Hakudaka split the wave with a knifehand strike to emerge unscathed.

Then, the Bankai descended upon him like an executioner's blade. However, Kentarō stopped the strike dead as he caught the blade between his hands. His grasp was firm, although the enemy maintained pressure. They struggled, their combined auras incinerating everything around them all the while casting unnerving shadows on their contorted faces. Forced out by the immense tension, veins bulged out prominently on both of them. Their teeth bared, gritted. The intense gaze of Daiki's sky blue eyes locked with that of Kentarō's grey eye and blistering wound. That was more than just a physical clash, their minds and souls opposed to one another as well. The ground trembled because of their colossal exertion. Reality itself seemed to shriek in terror, unable to contain their combined power.

The Bankai spewed flames. White fire and chaotic energies fought for dominance. Kentarō could feel the heat radiating through his hands, his arms, his whole body. He was shaking, his superior might rivalled by superior control of his opponent. The superheated blade sank into Yugamekyō, his arms very slowly bent inward. Struggle, conflict, strife. He perceived with utmost clarity the perspiration on Daiki's face, an indication of herculean effort. The furrow of his brows, the glow in his eyes, the fury in his grimace. His brother, rival. His ally, enslaver. His friend, enemy. Personification of what was wrong in the Soul Society. But, first and foremost, the one who had taken Hitomi away.

Greater tension in the muscles. Eyes widened in surprise. A sharp sound. A network of cracks in sturdy metal. A shrill, piercing sound. The blade is broken, the weapon and its wielder slant to the side. A moment of silence. One last glance. A clenched fist extends into Daiki's chest.

"Bōkyaku", almost a whisper.

Colourful ripples emanate from the fist. A maelstrom of electrified energy bursts violently from the noble's back. The body is separated in two. The roar of chaotic fury drowns out the final scream. The powerful torrent consumes him, tears him apart and obliterates him as it continues onward, ravaging the area as it gradually expands. Hills vanish, uprooted trees are scattered in all directions. The world trembles. Suddenly, it is all over.

The flickering aura of Yugamekyō subsided. Kentarō stood almost motionless, panting heavily, his arm still extended in the aftermath of the decisive blow. At first, he stared at the giant spiralling ditch he had carved, stretching toward the horizon, the impromptu grave of his former best friend and brother. Then, he gazed upon his clenched fist. Slowly, he straightened his fingers. There was a blistering burn wound on his palm, likely to match the one on his countenance. He was quivering. Not because of pain. Not because of exhaustion. He felt something, although that was not what he had expected. Not what he wanted.

Once again, he beheld the havoc he had wrought.

That was not satisfaction.

Cold Resentment

Beyond the Rukongai. Night.

"How am I supposed to focus right now?"

Teruo kept staring at Tōsō intensely. The latter had led him right into the middle of the giant crater within the ruins of the ancient settlement. Following a rather cursory explanation of the unexpected reveal, the young Lieutenant was simply commanded to sit down, clear his mind and meditate. Suffice to say, he was not in the right mood for Jinzen.

"The Great Noble Houses are vile scum, the Soul Society is a farce, and the stability of the whole world is imperilled", he muttered. "And then it turns out that the infamous Kentarō Akiyama of the Distortion Fist is my bloody grandfather."

"Sit", demanded Tōsō.

His eye widened momentarily. Akui swayed, suddenly gasping for air. He fell to his knees and eventually landed on his bottom, overcome by a severe vertigo. Did his interlocutor just pacify him with a simple exertion of Reiatsu? Astonishing, yet not improbable. After a while he recovered somewhat. Enough to carry on.

"You..."

"Silence. Focus", interrupted Tōsō. "I understand the gravity of the situation, trust me. This is precisely why you ought to restrain yourself. Control your emotions. Clear your mind. If you cannot maintain composure now, how do you hope to achieve that during combat?"

The young Lieutenant stared at him in a less than friendly manner. Still, he decided to listen. Morosity and whining would lead nowhere. He should thoroughly consider everything. Think, only then act. His breathing became more even, the slight frown upon his face relaxed.

"I suppose that is the reason you want to help me?", he asked. "Excellent timing."

Tōsō looked away from him, pensive. There was something ominous, almost sublime about him, a ragged ancient warrior among equally ancient ruins. The ensuant silence was rather lengthy. Teruo raised one of his eyebrows quizzically.

"I was aware of the impending doom, of the grave threat looming large on the horizon. I intended to help the Soul Society as a whole. But then, in the middle of nowhere, I met you. After all those years... Fix your posture", he added abruptly.

Taken by surprise, Teruo immediately did precisely that. Evidently, he was not the only conflicted person here. Very well. Regardless, he still required some elaboration.

"I want you to perform Jinzen. You know what to do."

"Why, though? From what I have learnt in the history class, and my own experience, idleness is hardly ever the best course of action."

"That is one of your flaws", said Tōsō. "All you can see is the immediate threat. You fail to recognise the full scope of the situation, and the measures required to achieve an ambitious goal. There is a schism within your strained soul, one that both empowers and enfeebles you at the same time. As you are currently you would be little more than a liability, unable to affect the world in any significant manner."

Teruo was about to respond but contained himself. That was true. Even after training arduously day after day for over a decade he had yet to recognise himself as worthy of the position of a Captain. And what someone of such status could hope to accomplish anyway? All of the effort and sacrifice basically in vain. He used to be determined to fulfil his duty, to protect the Soul Society... but was that a promise he could actually keep? Was that something worth fighting and dying for? So he did not say anything. Unsheathed, he placed his Zanpakutō on his knees and closed his eyes. Frankly, he used to spend little time on meditation during his many training sessions. It did not yield the same results as strenuous physical conditioning. Not that they turned out to be satisfactory in the end.

Tōsō remained silent as well. The Moon and countless stars upon the clear night sky illuminated them gently. No noise or activity to distract them. Just quiet whispers of the wind, and distant chirping of crickets. Silence. A lengthy silence.

"Tell me about your father", requested Tōsō quite unexpectedly.

"I was supposed to meditate", remarked Teruo.

Silence.

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what is his name. Anything."

Silence.

"His name was Kenshin Akui. My grandmother died when he was very young, so he was raised by my grandaunt. I always thought he was a strong, virtuous man, but not much of a warrior. That simply was not his nature. He died fourteen years ago, during the Quincy Blood War."

Silence. There was a hoot of an owl, then nothing. Teruo sensed something emanating briefly from his alleged grandfather. A minor leak of spiritual pressure that carried many emotions.

Silence.

"What about the rest of your family, then?"

Teruo frowned slightly. He struggled to maintain composure.

"Most of them died during the war. Only my younger brother and I survived. His name is Yuji. I think he's still somewhere in the Seireitei. Probably baffled and unsure what to do."

"We will reunite with Yuji and decide together", declared Tōsō.

Silence.

"We will."

---

Light filtered through the leaves, which rustled in the morning breeze. Birds were chirping. There was also the occasional splash of a small object falling into water. But by far the most pleasant sound among them was the cheerful laugh of a girl. At least, to Master Senpū's ears. The sound of his granddaughter playing in the family estate's sizeable garden. There was a lake nearby, and the girl was throwing flat stones across the water. Time and again they bounced off the surface multiple times only to disappear into the forest on the other side of the lake. Quite impressive for a preadolescent child, and a subtle sign of the potential to become something far greater than a mere Human phantom.

The wind stopped. Rustle of rapidly flapping wings. The old man had been resting on a veranda but stood up instinctively. He turned his head toward the garden.

"Grandpa! Akiyama-san has come!", he heard the girl exclaim in joy.

Truly wonderful was the mind of a child, ignorant to the grim and violent complexity of adult life. Master Senpū walked somewhat hurriedly in the appropriate direction, his kimono fluttered. And when he walked around the corner of the expansive house, he did see a phantom. The phantom of his former student. Tall and muscular. Dark and ragged. Fluffy white clouds populated the blue sky, reflected in the equally blue water of the lake. The forest and tall grass were vividly green, interspersed with a variety of colours provided by abundant flowers. But the man was black, brown and grey, a dark stain on a beautiful painting. A pang of horror in a pleasant dream. A grim reminder of the outside world and its many, many problems.

"Hello, Akiyama-san! Long time no see!", Sora said. "Uh... what happened to your eye?"

Towering over the girl, Kentarō slightly tilted his head toward her. The stare of his remaining eye was empty. The second one had been long gone, destroyed by white-hot fire and then sealed with a prominent scar. He extended his left arm to pat the girl on the head with a hand wrapped in a dirty piece of cloth.

"I was playing with fire and got burnt", what was supposed to be a joke sounded unsettling owing to its sombre delivery. "You've grown, Sora-chan... a little."

"Hey, I've grown more than a little!", the girl protested. "Grandpa promised he'll teach me martial arts soon!"

"You'll be a fine warrior, I am certain", remarked Kentarō, his arm now dangling idly to his side.

"Speaking of warriors, fine or not fine... welcome, Akiyama-kun", said Master Senpū from a distance.

His former student squinted at him, his blank face expression shifting momentarily. Was that embarrassment that he saw? Difficult to tell. As perceived through Reikaku, the warrior was virtually invisible. Only Shingan could reveal his true shape, like a black tear in the fabric of space. Even though it was the middle of summer, Master Senpū felt streaks of cold licking his body through the kimono.

"Master", the Hakudaka replied with a respectful bow.

"What is the reason for your unexpected visit, if I may ask?"

"I want to talk."

Their stares met. Senpū could almost see the reflection of a blaze, smoke and ashes, crumbling buildings and sprays of blood... Just how many atrocities had that eye seen? Just how many of them Kentarō had performed with his own hands? The old master was heavy-hearted. To see his former pupil in such a state was a harrowing experience.

"Very well. Sora-chan, tell Mum to prepare some tea for our guest. And for me. Go, go, grown up men need to talk about their boring matters", he said calmly to his granddaughter.

"Alrighty! On it!", the girl exclaimed.

The two martial artists followed her with their eyes, then gazed at one another once more. Kentarō appeared reluctant to move from his spot. Undecided. Like a confused child. The coldness subsided.

"Come here, boy. Sit next to me and let's talk."

Kentarō accepted the invitation in total silence. Soon they both perched on the edge of the veranda, a forest wall in front of them split only by a narrow path.

"When was the last time you paid me a visit, Akiyama-kun?", the master inquired.

Kentarō responded with a downcast glance. At any rate, that was what Senpū assumed to be the case owing to the tilt of his head. With the former student seated on his left he could only see the right side of his face. The old burn scar started about halfway through the cheek, carved into the eye socket and left a small dent in the eyebrow ridge. The wizened martial artist looked also at his long, wild jet black hair, tattered robes of a similar colour, the pieces of cloth wrapped around his hands.

"I do not know. I lost track of time."

There was silence for some time.

"Tell me, what do you see in front of you?", asked Master Senpū eventually.

"A winded path. Surrounded by thick vegetation. I have no idea where it leads."

"Yes. And what do you see if you gaze into the distance? What about your vision?"

Kentarō took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

"I see debris. And mountains. A giant massif that reaches all the way to the dark sky above. There is no sun. Thick clouds veil the vault of heaven."

The old master shook his head.

"In your embitterment and indignation you strayed from your path. You thought you had been deceived. In truth, you rejected reality because it diverged from your conception of the world. You charged forward through the ruins and corpses of your former life, and only now you realise that you have lost sight of your goal a long time ago."

"I don't know where to go", whispered Kentarō.

Suddenly, Master Senpū slapped the back of his head. The Hakudaka turned toward him, shocked, so that the former could finally look into his eye.

"Foolish boy. Always so selfless. Always thinking about others, striving to save the world. But you cannot purge that little selfish thought at the back of your head, that intense feeling burning bright in your very core. Like an anchor, it hinders the progress of your selfless endeavours, holds you back, and in your denial you have almost torn your soul apart. Between an emotion and your goal."

Kentarō lifted his hands, repeatedly bending and straightening his fingers. Master Senpū knew he was listening very carefully, though. That was not indication of a lack of attention, rather a familiar symptom of chagrin.

"Are you an idea given form? Or a man? Are you not a part of the world yourself? Are there not special people that are a part of that world as well? Akiyama-kun. You are an extraordinary warrior. Your skill is exceptional, your power tremendous. But there is a reason that a portion of your latent potential remains dormant. There is a reason that your life is full of misery. Accept yourself. Think about yourself. Be Kentarō Akiyama. Cherish the purity and goodness buried deep within you, project it upon the whole world if you truly wish so... However, do not do so because of a forced sense of duty and justice. Do so through the prism of the genuine feeling of love that you harbour."

"Tsk."

Akiyama slanted forward. He covered his face with his hands, and his hair formed a curtain around it. Silent and motionless. Nevertheless, Master Senpū could still perceive that light glowing within him, despite the darkness that surrounded it.

"Here I am! I've brought the tea."

Sora arrived with the warm beverage, two ornate cups served on an equally luxurious tray. Senpū smiled, thanked her with a nod of the head, then quietly urged her to return home. Sora replied with mild surprise and a hint of dismay. She turned to the hunched Kentarō. With a bit of hesitation, as if afraid to startle a wild animal, she placed her hand on his head. The girl tousled his hair, then ran back home.

"Here, have some tea. Relax", said Senpū.

Moving with the sluggishness of an incompetently controlled puppet, Kentarō managed to get a cup of tea for himself. The old master did not wait for him to sip the drink. Delicious.

"Forget about the ugliness and flaws of your immediate surroundings and the people who oppress you", he continued. "Lift your head again. Do not be discouraged by the pall of clouds. Pierce through them. Remember the warm glow of the sun. Find your guiding light, the beacon that will lead you out from the darkness."

Kentarō remained broody for some time. Then, he hurriedly finished his tea and put the cup back on its tray. He stood up, stirring a gentle gust of wind.

"Thank you, Master. Again."

"Remember", Senpū lifted his index finger in a warning gesture. "I cannot lead you by the hand forever. You are a mature man, Akiyama-kun. A Master... no, a Grandmaster of Hakuda. Act with the responsibility that prestigious title entails."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, and good-bye."

"Farewell, Akiyama-kun."

With those words the Hakudaka left just as abruptly as he had earlier arrived, fading away into nothing in the blink of an eye. Master Senpū sighed. He finished his own tea, then brought the tray with empty cups to the house. He put it on a cupboard and slowly walked through the hall.

"Aww, he's gone already?", he heard his granddaughter's voice from somewhere inside the building.

"Yes, Sora-chan. He had to go."

"What about you, Grandpa? Will you teach me something?"

"Maybe later, darling. Old man has to take a nap."

He had trained many disciples, though Kentarō Akiyama was a unique case. Such colossal potential. A blessing and a curse in one. A young, noble-minded boy thrown into a cesspool of war, politics, conflicting interests and thinly veiled, base human desires. Such a pity. But as long as he lived nothing was final. As long as he breathed he had the potential to overcome those hardships and eventually achieve his goals. Yes. There was always hope.

There was a smile on his wrinkled face as he laid on his futon. That was a positive thought. After all, in spite of the deeds that he had committed, Kentarō realised the error of his ways. Sought help in time of need. He was lost, so Senpū showed him the way. The rest depended on him.

The birds were chirping. Covered by a thin duvet, Senpū's chest rose and fell unhurriedly. On the outside, Sora once again went to the garden to play. Soft thumps of her bare feet meshed seamlessly with the pleasant ambience. Master Senpū sighed.

Then, his chest fell one last time.

Hope

Beyond the Rukongai. Morning.

His son was dead. He had two grandsons. One of them he found wandering aimlessly in the Rukongai. The other one was left behind in the Seireitei. What should he do? What should he do after giving up on this world? What should he do after thinking he was alone for over 900 years? Tōsō could fight, and he could philosophise, though interactions with other people were certainly not his forte. Ironically, he used to be amiable and sociable. But that was long, long ago, before he saw through the veil of lies that concealed the ugliness of this world. Before he stopped merely listening to what people said and began suspecting what they actually thought.

But things had changed again.

So, what could he do?

"You are ready. Rise... Akui-kun. I want to train you. First, I need to determine your current level", he said, averting his gaze from the scarlet sun suspended low above the horizon.

"A sparring session?", the young Lieutenant hazarded a guess. "How many times do I have to remind you that we can't afford to dawdle like this?"

Tōsō slightly narrowed his eye. The similarities were astounding. As if he were watching his younger self through a rift in time.

"Wars are rarely fought and won in the course of a day or two. However, battles are often lost when you charge in unprepared."

"I understand", replied Teruo after a moment's hesitation, in a tone that indicated resignation rather than acquiescence.

There was a blaze of intense emotions raging deep within him. Fortunately, extended meditation helped him regain composure and quench that firestorm somewhat. Tōsō took off and tossed his cloak to the side, revealing a simple white vest upon his muscular torso. He spread his legs slightly, his arms hanged to the sides.

"Come at me with your full strength. Do not hesitate and do not hold back", he demanded.

Skeptical, Teruo nonetheless did assume a fighting stance and grabbed the hilt of his Zanpakutō. The two warriors remained like that for a while, sizing each other up. Giant crater, ruins, forest, then a mountain range even further in the distance. Complete silence. Not even a gust of wind.

Akui pounced on Tōsō, the blade of his wakizashi casting sparks as he unsheathed the weapon mid-air. His muscles flexed, the momentum caused him to rotate like a spinning top. First, the blade swung toward his designated opponent's face, then a clenched fist followed right afterward... but both of them missed. There was no block to hamper them, no parry to deflect them, no evasion to escape their trajectory. The young Lieutenant passed his target by and landed shakily. Immediately, he turned around. Extended to form a tip of a spear, the fingers of his right hand joined the weapon held in the left one in a shower of thrusts. Eye, throat, solar plexus, heart, were some of the vital points that each and every blow was aimed to pierce. Was supposed to pierce, for none of them connected. Time and again, somehow, they veered off course. Teruo swayed again, briefly losing balance, only to withdraw hastily a few steps.

Tōsō remained almost perfectly motionless. His chest rose and fell, his eye blinked now and then. Other than that, he did not move an inch. So how? That was not the first time his spiritual pressure caused some sort of imbalance. Could it be that he was capable of passively deflecting the strikes in a vein similar to Hierro? Teruo frowned.

"Fade away, Shūrei!"

Wisps and plumes of orange energy emanated from Akui's body to spread across the area like tendrils of some tentacled horror from another dimension. Meanwhile, the wakizashi was momentarily wreathed in thick smoke. The Zanpakutō's true form manifested: an armoured gauntlet and a vambrace on Teruo's left arm, both covered with sharp spikes and curved blades. So did the power of his spiritual weapon as well; his form began shimmering as if he were a mirage rather than man. A wraith straight from a nightmare that invaded the waking world. He slanted to the side, leapt forward, then swivelled his torso to power his clenched fist in a broad left hook. The fist impacted Tōsō's face with force that generated a small shockwave. The ground beneath their feet cracked. Be that as it may, the ancient warrior remained utterly undisturbed. There was a faint sound, and a blur when the young Hakudaka repositioned himself, sliding through the air with unnatural weightlessness. What followed was a very tangible, potent roundhouse kick to the side, similarly with no effect.

"Ora-ora-ora-ora-oraaah!"

A flurry of lightning-fast punches to the chest, accumulating their energy to unleash all of it in a single moment. Another outburst of explosive spiritual pressure. No reaction from the opponent. In fact, he felt like a child punching a wall. With no warning he swung his weapon arm in an attempt to tear Tōsō apart with the curved blades of his Shikai. Then, failing that, he thrust the claws of his armoured gauntlet into former's chest. Despite the piercing nature of the attack, it was stopped dead as if it collided with solid rock rather than flesh.

Akui retreated a moderate distance. That hypothetical "Hierro" of his opponent was no longer sufficient to outright deflect his blows, although they remained ineffective no matter how strong or focussed. As such, he closed his eyes, and a slight furrow appeared on his forehead. A nightmarish aura of visible spiritual pressure once again enveloped his body, became more intense, expanded. Fists clenched, muscles flexed.

"Shunkō!"

Calling upon the plentiful particles of fragmented wills present in the atmosphere of the Soul Society, the young Shinigami asserted his dominance over them. With that, he temporarily rendered their power his own as he fashioned them into a shroud of shimmering spiritual energy to wreathe his body in. Owing to that power, borrowed from the very world around him, his strength, defence and agility were all augmented beyond their natural limits.

Finally, his actions incited some sort of reaction from the man called Tōsō. At first, he narrowed his eye. Then, he slanted forward, his arms hanging limply to the sides. Understandably puzzled and unable to recognise a genuine fighting stance in his opponent's ostensibly lackadaisical posture, Teruo nonetheless decided to press on. He launched himself toward the target like a cannonball, only to abruptly change his trajectory in a somewhat surreal manoeuvre. As such, his first blow came from a side rather than the front. No matter, for his estranged grandfather merely tilted his head in a fluid, almost nonchalant motion. The Lieutenant followed up with a one-two punch, the two of them deflected with twisting motions of Tōsō's wrists after the latter had apparently turned around to respond face-on, in a move that Akui failed to notice.

A jab aimed directly at the face, evaded by slightly slanting the torso. The next punch had been already swinging in a right hook, but passed through sheer air when the target leant backward a little. A knee kick rose to hit nothing when the veteran martial artist literally stepped aside. Invigorated by the surplus energy Teruo continued the rapid assault, jabs, thrusts, hooks, straights, knifehand swipes. He attempted to predict the opponent's next move, force him into an uncomfortable position, outpace his dodge or bypass his guard. To no avail. With fluent, controlled, deceptively swift, one could say nonchalant moves, Tōsō evaded or parried every single strike, time and again. All the while he maintained pretty much the same position. To try to hit him was tantamount to grasping a billow of smoke, a tantalising, increasingly aggravating experience no doubt.

Akui disengaged briefly to gain some distance. Afterward, he swung his Shikai in a broad arc, and a crescent-shaped wave of energy extended the attack all the way to his target. Still, all it did was disperse as Tōsō blocked it with a simple guard. The latter was subsquently engulfed by a howling wave of visible spiritual energy, this time an extension of Teruo's punch. With the side of a palm risen in a knifehand shape, the wave was split harmlessly into halves that were swept to the sides. And then, Tōsō immediately retorted with a projected blow of his own.

Thanks to his sharp instincts, Akui did not hesitate. Instead, he lifted both of his arms to shield himself. He heard a thunder, felt a torrential gust of wind. The ground shook beneath his feet, he himself swayed somewhat, but stood his ground. Nevertheless, a bit stunned, he realised shortly later that the strike, performed with assistance from an exertion of spiritual pressure, had completely blown away his Shunkō cloak. And there he was, Kentarō Akiyama, merely standing in his outwardly languid manner, no worse for wear.

"I admit, you are far stronger than I expected from a Lieutenant", he said calmly. "However, is that truly all? Is that the full extent of your power?"

For the first time since they had met, Teruo smirked. That tone carried an obvious implication. That was not an honest question but more of an encouragement. He should know better than attempt to hide his potential from someone who was the former Hakuda Grandmaster of the Soul Society, especially in the midst of battle. Well, a quite intense sparring session, but still. As such, he fixed his posture before he replied. He was not smiling any more, though.

"There is something that I've been working on for years", he said.

With no further comment he lifted his armoured fist, the back of his hand facing Tōsō directly. The latter narrowed his eye.

"Bankai."

A single thin line appeared spontaneously on the gauntlet. Then, it opened to reveal a blank eye, the orange iris of which slid into view shortly afterward. Its slit-like pupil was fixed at his opponent. The gaze of Teruo himself was equally intense and unsettling. The aura of his thick, ghastly spiritual pressure flooded the whole area at short notice, a cold and milky fog with a distinct orange tint. And, soon, not just the ground but reality itself seemed to flake away, bit by bit, patch by patch, scattering like autumn leaves in an icy wind. Nebulous forms of bone-like structures emerged from the now unseen ground, and a featureless vault of heaven replaced the evening sky.

"Shinshūrei."

The sombre voice reverberated across the area but from no direct source. Tōsō could still perceive the presence of his grandson, but his mundane senses were no longer able to do so. He had sensed, and hoped, that the young Lieutenant was a formidable warrior. However, he did not expect such a thing. Bankai were rare, but not unheard-of among the deputy commanders of Gotei's Thirteen Divisions. But that was no ordinary Bankai. For the first time he leant backward, his legs bent slightly, and lifted his arms in an inward guard. Instead of clenching his fists, his fingers imitated a gesture of holding a cup. That was the opening stance of Yugamiken, the legendary Distortion Fist.

Nothing. Nothing, but silence and coldness. A barely audible sound, a dark shape seen with the corner of the eye. The veteran warrior slanted and parried the abrupt blow, and only then realised that it was solely Akui's arm that emerged from the thick mist, outstretched and unnaturally flexible as if made from rubber, only to promptly withdraw. And to be followed by the other one, now with its owner emerging from obscurity as well in a charge. Feet shuffled, arms were lifted, fists and forearms collided. He evaded an open-palm strike that threatened to decapitate him, braced himself for the flurry of blows that commenced later.

His torso kept swivelling like on a pivot, his forearms spun, evading and deflecting multiple consecutive strikes. Teruo attacked with an elbow strike to push him back, then used a low kick, but the experienced Hakudaka quickly hopped just over it. A quick punch was aimed straight at his solar plexus, yet with a twisting motion he not only avoided it, but managed to grab the Lieutenant's arm and toss him right afterward. Once again, Akui vanished somewhere within the foggy forest of unsettling rock pillars.

His reappearance was as sudden as the previous one. He ran, or rather slid around his target, halted, then began flickering again. Several ethereal copies of the Lieutenant performed a variety of manoeuvres whilst approaching Tōsō, the real one hidden among them. Several different, ethereal strikes were performed, and the real one among them. Be that as it may, the veteran expertly deflected the thrust to the complete ignorance of the visual tricks, which merely phased through him. At last, he attacked himself. Teruo avoided the first two-finger jab which could have rendered him one-eyed just as his grandfather, then narrowly blocked the next one with a hastily risen guard. Suddenly, he was tripped by sweep kick, which caused him to fall to the side. Tōsō was about to exploit this lack of balance by punching him in the chest, although Akui managed to support himself with one hand on the ground and rotated to retaliate with an upside-down butterfly kick of sorts. Having forced his opponent to withdraw a little, he gained the time required to return to a more standard position.

No respite. A heavy blow rattled his bones when it impacted with his guard. A volley of crippling jabs ensued, although rather than confront it the young Hakudaka decided to employ his special ability. All the while an afterimage of his was being pelted with multiple hits, within a fraction of a second he spun to find himself behind the opponent. Who had already been turning to face him anyway, and successfully parried a strike intended for his spine. Surprised, Teruo swayed when Tōsō's fist impacted his face. He retreated a single step. However, he quickly regained focus. Just in time to deflect a strike with a sweeping motion of his hand and respond with a leopard punch aimed at the ribs. The veteran warrior intercepted it by grasping his wrist, though. Unwilling to give up, Akui leant backward to deliver a knee kick, only to be blocked by a lifted leg of his opponent. Locked in such an uncomfortable position, the two struggled briefly. Tōsō's strength proved superior in the end, and he once more tossed the young Lieutenant to the side.

The nightmarish realm swirled around him. Then, he crashed into one of the bone-like pillars and bounced off before he finally landed on his feet in a crouched position. With the back of his hand he wiped off a trickle of blood coming from his nose. His grandfather, as befit a Hakuda Grandmaster, had already assumed the opening stance of his personal martial art, calm and unscathed. Just as if he were exercising in a leisurely manner. Teruo scowled. For someone who wielded no Zanpakutō at all to overpower the might of a Bankai, even an immature one, was incredible. Was Kentarō Akiyama that strong, or Teruo Akui that weak?

The omnipresent fog engulfed him, bore down upon his opponent, obscuring everything with a thick veil. Without a warning the Lieutenant's hand emerged from the ground to grab Tōsō's ankle, then the second one extended from within the pall of mist to strike him. Unperturbed, the veteran parried the attack. With a rapid motion of the leg he forced the elongated arm out of the ground, grabbed it himself, and pulled. Nevertheless, Akui decided to exploit the momentum to power a scissor kick. His opponent ducked, which at least allowed the young fighter to pass by rather than receive the brunt of a blow. Unfortunately, it did not allow him to escape, and he was swung in a circle right afterward. One, two, three, like a wrecking ball he demolished some of the nearby pillars, and only then he was let go. The manoeuvre dispersed the mist somewhat as a side effect, so that the two sparring warriors could see each other from where they now stood.

"This can't be all...", muttered Teruo to himself, panting. "This can't be all."

Focus. He clenched his fists, flexed his wiry muscles. Condensed his spiritual pressure, increased the flow of spiritual energy. More, he needed more than that. Faint glow outlined his body. If he wanted to meet that challenge he had to endure, improve, become stronger. Adapt in the face of a stimulus. Reminded of how powerless he felt 14 years ago, casually defeated with literally one finger by one of the Sternritter, and especially the tragedy that followed, he unleashed all the power he could muster. Not in a display of unbridled fury, but controlled and focussed. Tōsō smiled.

The world was distorted. One moment they were more than 20 metres apart, another Teruo was already right in front of his opponent. The young fighter feigned a kick only to snap the leg back and employ the resultant momentum to power a devastating blow. The punch crashed into the veteran's guard, propelling him into the air. Naturally, Akui pursued him without a hint of hesitation. Still gliding through the air, Tōsō was pelted by a plethora of physical strikes, narrowly blocking or parrying them with noticeable effort. Then, he evaded a mighty overhand which blew the surrounding fog away, and jumped to the side. He rebounded from a rock pillar that was shortly destroyed by another near-miss from Teruo, who kept following him.

One, two rotations of the torso to dodge even more strikes. The veteran retaliated with a shovel hook to pass below his grandson's relentless offence, but his own attack was evaded as well. A thrust was parried, a straight blocked. Thus began a lightning-fast exchange of a wide variety of punches, the two fighters deflecting or defending from every single one, and occasionally shuffling around in the meantime. Erratic but remarkably fluent motions of Yugamiken contrasted with twitchy, ferocious moves of Teruo's fighting style. A contest of resolve, strength, and skill. With every impact a thunder of a miniature shockwave of unleashed spiritual pressure.

Then, Tōsō noticed something. Teruo became a blur, like a wraith. His guard was showered with physical blows, but they seemed sluggish, almost limp, and barely had any impact. For some reason, the veteran felt as slow as molasses. Was that the effect of his grandson's Zanpakutō? Probably. Nevertheless, he pressed on. And, abruptly, with a sally he transitioned into a powerful uppercut punch to circumvent the guard altogether... only for his fist to phase through a flickering afterimage. Having stepped to the side, Teruo responded with a punch of his own, and a left hook crashed into Tōsō's face.

The veteran swayed to the side owing to the force of the blow, slightly stunned. He wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth, still with a faint smile on his countenance, and calmly resumed his fighting stance.

"Do not hold back either", urged Teruo. "Show me your true power. I need to know!"

And, immediately, he charged into yet another assault. Tōsō lifted his arms, exhaled, and a faint aura enveloped him, red-violet in contrast to Teruo's orange. How could he ignore a fervent request from another martial artist, let alone his grandson? So that at that moment he wielded his true, unbridled power, not suppressed in order to allow him safe interaction with the fragile world and its equally frail inhabitants. So that when an enlarged, as is if through a trick of perspective, yet very palpable armoured fist descended upon him, he stopped it with but a palm risen in anticipation. Deflected a finger thrust with his wrist, parried a hook with his forearm. His knee abruptly struck the young fighter in the abdomen with a loud thud, and as Teruo slanted forward with his eyes widened, an elbow strike to the back forced him to crash into the ground. The mist dispersed, and Akui laid there, twitching slightly.

The battle was over.

"Although you fought well, Akui-kun, you lost. Let this be a lesson for you. Not to lose hope and despair, however. Learn from mistakes. Learn from your failures. Strive to improve so that they never repeat again."

Teruo sniggered quietly after a failed attempt to stand up. That was harsh. A hopeless man teaching him about hope. Preposterous, right? He did not voice his concerns, though, as he lost consciousness right afterward. The nightmarish realm faded away, leaving behind ancient ruins under a clear morning sky.

---

Birds were chirping. Blessed were animals for the inability to perceive the inherent complexity of the world. Spared from myriad abstract concepts which perpetually drowned mankind in sorrow and despair of a self-imposed Hell, their lives led instead by basic instincts. As a result, their existence was far simpler... and shallow.

Kentarō reached toward the stream. Water splashed on his face. He gazed at the palms of his hands, as well as the reflection of his countenance, both scarred by intense heat. Intense heat born of solidarity and love turned into hatred and wrath. No matter how many times he attempted to wash himself, he forever felt profoundly sullied. He tried to look forward, toward a brighter future, yet the rotting stench of his past accompanied him at every step.

Fish. Largely unaware of the world outside of the narrow river bed. Unable to survive beyond its boundaries. Carried by the current. Whether what awaited them was sharp rocks, a lake, dry land, another river, a waterfall or a swamp. They did not know what fate had in store for them. Akiyama was like a fish out of water. His turbulent life stranded him on a shore. Should he return to the stream? Adapt to this situation, learn to breathe air and carry on?

Or should he suffocate and die?

"Kentarō-kun."

That voice. Another spectre of the past. An echo of the good old times. Dragged his psyche from within the abyss of bygone days into the uncertainty of the present. Hurled him on the shore.

"You have come, Hitomi-chan. Alone", he said whilst standing up and turning to face her directly.

Hitomi Akui. An angel. Tall and lithe. Slanted hazel eyes, dark purple marks upon shaved eyebrows, and a round face of fair complexion. All framed by cascades of long, dark brown hair with embedded floral decorations. A light dress that was both regal and somewhat subdued at the same time. And the hilt of a Zanpakutō protruding from behind her sash.

"I see you have come prepared", remarked Kentarō in a sombre tone.

At first, she seemed aloof and cautious. The moment she heard his words her mask faltered; she cast a glance to the side and momentarily bit her lower lip. Akiyama felt some sort of warmth surge within him. A surprising sensation. What was that?

"I... was not sure... what should I expect", she explained.

"Me", replied Kentarō in a voice that indicated awareness of just what that exactly entailed.

He took two steps toward her, then stopped abruptly. Hitomi looked at him with a heart-wrenchingly solemn face expression. She was not startled.

"I have been preparing to talk with you for a long time", the dark warrior spoke eventually. "And now that it can finally happen I am at a loss for words. How can I even begin to describe the depth of what I have done and what I feel with but a sequence of sounds?"

He had been shut off from the outside world, figuratively and literally. After all, he could not allow anyone to sense his spiritual pressure, especially so close to the estate of the Akui Family. Their meeting place was a very deliberate choice - the willow tree they used to spend spare time under, observing the stream and the valley in front of them from a comfortable vantage point. One of the several ways Kentarō wanted to connect with the better part of his past.

"We were never able to truly understand each other, were we? That does not mean we should stop trying", said Hitomi. "I... highly appreciate that you decided to... consult me."

Another step forward. Slow, hesitant. The woman remained where she stood.

"I... I was so preoccupied with my vision that I lost sight of the simple yet fundamental matters", said Kentarō with a slight drawl, in an attempt to properly convey his thoughts through speech. "I wanted to save the world and make it a better place. But I realised just how horrible the world is. And that I could not achieve my goal in a hundred or even a thousand years. At the same time I denied my more... human desires, thinking that they should not distract me from such a noble endeavour. I deliberately suppressed my feelings, despite their intensity... but they lingered deep within my mind. So, when I lost both my vision and you... the result was inevitable."

The birds were chirping. Leaves rustled in the wind. A fish jumped in the stream with a splash.

"Nothing is final, Kentarō-kun", declared Hitomi after a while. "We are still here. I am here", she added with a faint, tearful smile.

Step. Akiyama's arms rose slowly. Shaking, they extended toward the woman. Inch by inch, anxiously. As if he were afraid to disperse a mirage with a motion too sudden.

"You are not the only one to blame, Kentarō-kun. You are not the only one who can save the world and you are not the only one who has failed. You are not alone, Kentarō-kun. In victory and defeat. For all it is worth, I forgive you... but, please... forgive... me."

The time and space between them vanished without a trace. Overburdened, Akiyama fell to his knees. Hitomi wrapped her arms around him, pressed his head against her chest. An embrace. Both were trembling. Warmth. Was it always so cold in the dark? Now... such a pleasant sensation. Warm light, light warmth. Hitomi was the anchor to ground his ambitions and the rope to pull him out of the abyss of despair. She was his guiding light.

"I love you", she whispered in a quavering voice.

"I love you", replied Kentarō with unwavering certainty.

He stood up slowly. Gazed into her eyes as she lifted her head to look at him. Then, their lips met. Long, ardent kiss. Eventually, Hitomi withdrew slightly. She grabbed Kentarō's scarred hand with her own seemingly delicate one, pulled him as she spun in a dance-like motion. With the other one she reached for the Zanpakutō that she subsequently cast to the side. She led him to the willow tree up until her back pressed against the rough bark. They kissed again. Overcome by emotion Akiyama lifted her, pressed against her. Hitomi sobbed quietly. Both her arms and legs wrapped around him. She clung to him, forced her fingers into his back. Her head rested on his shoulder.

Longing. Passion. Love.

They were together.

***

The birds were chirping.

Hitomi and Kentarō rested under the tree, their clothes strewn haphazardly about them. Akiyama laid on his back, with Akui clinging to his arm. With the index finger of her free hand she idly followed the contours of his hard, extraordinarily sculpted muscles.

"Will you come back and stay with me?", she asked.

"I will, but this cannot happen overnight."

Hitomi sighed. She changed her position and sat next to him. Their wistful stares met.

"How long before we can be finally reunited?", was her ensuant question.

Kentarō winced, as if in pain.

"We are not alone in this world, Hitomi-chan. There are things that need to be done, words that need to be said. You cast light on the path that I should take... but there is still some distance to travel before we can meet."

The woman was pensive for a while. Eventually, her arcane face expression gave way to a beautiful smile.

"Very well, my love. Just remember. No matter what happens, I will be waiting here for you. I promise."

"And I promise I will return", replied Kentarō.

Promise...

Despair

Beyond the Rukongai. Evening.

"Do you know how did my Grandmother die?"

It had been several hours since their fierce sparring session. Teruo was used to strenuous physical conditioning, not to mention that through striking vital points Tōsō could not only cripple but also heal. The young Captain was tired, yet in a good overall shape. Following another period of meditation he was able to finally rest. His mind continued to be somewhat restless, though.

"Yes", the older Hakudaka replied with a noticeable delay. "I did not see that happen. Just the aftermath."

Akui shivered. As usual, his relative appeared outwardly calm. The tone of his voice was grave. Teruo was curious to discover more about the story of his family. Tōsō was a part of that very story, however, directly involved with people who had been gone for centuries. They must have continued to live on in his heart, for better or worse. Prominent to this day, scars of the distant past.

"Come with me."

The ancient warrior stood up, then began walking toward the edge of the decrepit settlement. Akui followed quietly. In the meantime, he observed the ruins that surrounded them. Bathed in the orange glow of a slowly setting sun. Eerie. He could almost hear the din and clamour of that final battle, a massacre that had claimed the lives of its many inhabitants. This place used to thrive long ago. Now it was just a half-buried memory, like a part of a bone sticking out from dried soil. It reminded him of his family estate in the Seiretei, just after that fateful skirmish...

They left the settlement and entered the forest that had been gradually, yet shyly reclaiming its territory. As if bygone atrocities discouraged nature from spreading to this territory. The two began walking up a mildly inclined slope. The trees, mostly conifers, were scattered relatively sparsely across the area. In consequence, Teruo saw the evening sky clearly, and everything was illuminated by that unsettling orange glow. Such silence. Where were the birds? Bugs? Other animals? Just the occasional gust of wind. Nothing more.

No, there was another sound. Barely audible at first. The babble of flowing water. Soon, they arrived at the destination point. There was indeed a stream nearby, with a willow tree growing apart from the rest of the forest. Large portion of the valley could be seen in the distance, all the way to the mountain range. The sun was descending toward the mountain peaks.

"Here."

Teruo approached the willow tree. He noticed that his grandfather was staring at the ground at the foot of the tree. There was an elongated mound, covered in grass but visible. And a single yellow flower, a marigold perhaps, laid in the middle. The flower was still fresh.

"Like every other person in existence, she was flawed", said Tōsō sombrely. "But her resolve was greater than mine and her vision remained crystal clear until the very end. Ultimately, she died because of her connection to me, in a battle I should have prevented. All I could do was to avenge her."

He strained his clenched fist to the point it started shaking.

"You know that feeling", he said whilst turning toward his grandson.

Teruo nodded, ruminative.

"You have lost something irreplaceable because of your weakness... That is an extremely important lesson. There is still hope in this world. However, in order to rise... one has to fall to the lowermost bottom first."

---

A couple of years. Such a short period of time to powerful Souls who lived for centuries and millennia, sometimes outliving whole civilisations of the Human World. The time required for a transition, recuperation, for bad memories to fade. The time required to consider everyone and everything before choosing a new path and embarking on a new journey. The final minutes before dawn breaks.

Wrong. He was so wrong.

Kentarō assumed that what he had experienced was the darkest night of his life which, inevitably, would be followed by the warm light of a new day. Wrong. The burning rage, the deep sorrow, the profound despair he had endured were all but a premonition. A portent of things to come. Sinister shadows that extended from the horizon, twisted and coiled about him, their searing heat and freezing cold seeping into his constricted psyche. The last rays of a setting sun faded away. All that was left was the pitch blackness of a starless night.

Hazel eyes. Unseeing eyes. Long hair dishevelled, decorations absent. Elegant dress tattered and torn, singed and bloodied. Spiritual weapon nowhere to be seen. And a big, gaping wound in the chest, black abyss with crimson outline. Physical hole where the heart should be, mirroring the mental one that appeared in Akiyama's mind. Hitomi Akui, a high noble woman, a great warrior, his beloved. Lifeless, slumped on a pile of bodies composed of her family, soldiers and servants. A mountain of corpses in the middle of a ruined town.

Ashes. Ashes in the air. Carried by the wind, the particles scattered. One of them descended slowly toward the pile. And, in a twisting motion, fell on Hitomi's eye. No reaction. Her eye did not close, open forever. She did not wince, her face frozen in an expression of anguish and despair. She did not say anything, her slightly parted lips unable to produce any sounds any more. Cold, motionless and lifeless. Kentarō watched the particles of ash, spiralling downward in the air. Gradually, inevitably descending toward the ground. Round and round, to the bottom.

Everyone that had ever been dear to him, was dead.

She was dead.

Kentarō whimpered. Fell to his knees. That lifeless stare. To no avail, he attempted to see her in there. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. A vast, bottomless void.

There is no such thing as a hero, Kentarō. You should have known by now. There are only winners and losers.

Do I have to spell this out for you? You can't see it, can you? Of course. You can see the whole world but not the people right beside you.

Monster? Am I a monster for embracing my flaws and human desires? Am I a monster for being human? What does it make you, then... puppet?

Hmph. Foolish boy. Let us see how long can you shoulder the burden of the whole world.

You are a slave to your own delusions!

Deception, you say. Funny. The only thing I did was to tilt your head in the right direction. You saw what you wanted to see there.

You thought you had been deceived. In truth, you rejected reality because it diverged from your conception of the world.

We were never able to truly understand each other, were we?

Until the very last moment he had, sincerely, believed that nothing was final. That even though he could not turn back time, he could mend the damage he had done. That light awaited after a period of darkness. But the night had ultimately fallen. The light was extinguished. There was no hope.

He had been wrong.

A mighty roar resounded across the ruins. His fists crashed into the scorched ground.

***

He came to the willow tree. Slowly, very carefully, he laid Hitomi on the grass nearby. Supported her head with his hand as he placed it on the ground. He had closed her eyes, so she almost seemed to be asleep. If not for the gaping wound in her chest, and the coldness of her limp body.

Kentarō straightened up. He came closer to the tree, then crouched. His fingers dug into the moist soil. He threw a portion to the side. Again and again. With utmost solemnity. His countenance frozen in a blank expression. His eye wide open, staring into the distance. Dig, scoop, throw. His hands and the pieces of cloth wrapped around them were dirty, though he did not pay any attention to that. Eventually, he was done.

He lifted Hitomi in his arms for one last time. Glanced at her face. She did not seem just asleep, more as if having a nightmare. Shiver. Step after step he approached the elongated pit right under the tree. Time slowed down. For countless aeons, his knees were bending slowly in an endless descent. His arms extended, increasing the distance between him and his beloved. He slanted forward, gazing into the black abyss of her impromptu grave. Then, ultimately, he placed her body within.

Few drops of water fell on her, even though it was not raining. Next was a small pile of earth. The earth consumed the body in stages, first devouring her legs, later the torso and, inevitably, her beautiful face. Hitomi Akui vanished, consumed by the world. However, whilst her soul faded away and her body disappeared from the earth, the memory of her lingered etched in Kentarō's mind, like a searing hot brand. Her words resounded within his psyche, he remembered her smell and touch. But that was everything he had been left with. Just one bright memory in a boundless ocean of sorrow.

He was drowning.

Time passed. How much, he had no idea. Eventually, he stood up and gazed into the distance. The setting sun was approaching the mountain peaks on the horizon. Closer, much closer, billows of smoke rose from the ravaged town. Black tendrils reaching toward the dark blue sky. And complete, utter silence.

The world collapsed. The people, his foster family, friends and colleagues, mentors, brother and sister, his beloved. Everyone and everything was consumed by darkness. Mountains shattered, cities crumbled, earth sank. There was nothing and no-one to fight for. There was nothing. Thoughts were stopped, words were silenced. Ideals decayed, festered, disintegrated. There was nothing.

Except for one thing.

Akiyama's leg rose with the momentousness of an executioner's blade in preparation. Silently, he left the grave of his past, of his own identity behind. Kentarō Akiyama was dead. His soul incinerated in an inferno of white-hot flames. He was no-one. No-one but a vessel for a singular emotion. Descending the hill like a marionette. Not controlled by the orders, wishes and desires of others. Not controlled by his own will. Just that single emotion.

Step after step. Bathed in an unsettling orange glow. Overseen by mute conifers. Leaf litter rustled beneath his feet. Small stones rolled down the slope. His breath deep and rhythmical. His arms swinging like a pendulum.

Step after step.

The setting sun was descending. The mountains formed jaws eager to devour it whole.

Step after step.

Shadows were extending all around Kentarō, his own one expanding to encompass the entire hill behind him. Inclination gave way to a flat surface. Soon, he would reach the town's outskirts.

Step after step.

Toward the precipice.

***

He was a ghost. A phantom haunting disturbingly silent alleys of a once thriving settlement. A patch of blackness that hopped from shadow to shadow, overseen by the ruins of a bygone era. Little stones were scraping beneath his shuffling feet. Piles of rubble stood on his way. Half-consciously, he meandered through a maze of fallen walls, corpses, craters and ditches, fire. There was a single large building among the many that remained in almost pristine state. That was where he was headed.

A palace. The seat of nobility and justice or a source of corruption? He did not know any more. Words, words. Rules, codes, beliefs and outlooks. They were all a ruse. Thin veil upon the face of insanity. A feeble attempt to make sense of something that was incomprehensible. Hell? Hell was just a word. Reality was far worse. It did not have to be agreed upon. It did not have to be acknowledged. It did not disappear nor stop when you looked away. It was there, all the time. Sublime in its relentlessness and finality, well beyond anyone's control.

Step after step. Circle after circle.

He reached stairs at the foot of the palace. Was he ascending or descending? That was all a matter of perspective, really. Everything could be described and depicted whichever way was the most suitable at the moment. All it took was the ability to persuade oneself and others. Weave a sufficiently convincing web of lies to place it upon reality, just like some sort of ridiculous decoration. As long as it was possible to use or abuse it according to one's whims.

Paintings on the walls. What was their purpose? To immortalise pivotal events? Instil a sense of beauty? Glorify mundane lives of mundane people in an attempt to help them feel special? Occupy some space on the walls so it was not empty? Bodies strewn across the floor. Broken swords, smears of blood. All guards had perished in the battle. What for? Had they fought to protect their respectable masters? Had they followed strict orders? Had they fought tooth and nail to stave off their inevitable deaths a few more seconds? The door in front of him was broken. What used to be its purpose? Provide security? Offer some privacy? Conceal events and block out words not meant for others...?

It was a matter of perspective.

But that was enough.

Kentarō had no perspective any more. The last vestiges of the pretence of a meaningful life had been torn away. All that was left was sheer reality, in all of its austere, unfathomable glory. That, and a single emotion. Everything that used to be Kentarō Akiyama was burning as fuel to its searing white flame. A single emotion that animated his body and focussed what remained of his sanity on a single goal.

Another broken door. Another hall. Complete silence transitioned into a murmur. Voices. And a voice. A familiar, booming voice that drowned out the others. That voice. The voice.

Him.

The Scourge of Soul Society. The Unfettered King. His nemesis, rival and counterpart. The one who had cast a shadow upon Kentarō's life, ensnared him with deception and delusion to gradually drag him into the pitch blackness of despair.

"... celebrate another superb victory! Rejoice, outcasts, for the self-proclaimed nobility has suffered another crushing defeat!"

Lies. Or where they? The verdict would change depending on the judge. So what were the facts? Animals slaughtering animals to satisfy their animal instincts and desires, excusing their animal deeds with meaningless sounds. Abhorrent. Deplorable. Unbearable.

"One more step on the path to Soul Society's liberation. Another bastion of tyranny h-... Hoooooh?"

Kentarō entered the main hall. Spacious, high, luxurious. Paintings, sculptures, golden ornaments. Exactly as superficial as the words used to hide the horrors of reality. There were about a couple dozen people scattered across the room. Vicious marauders, often in tattered drags and with unkempt hair. Standing, sitting, leaning on the walls and pillars. Swords, spears, axes, maces resting nearby, fresh blood still upon them. Just like the man occupying the throne in the centre, they all immediately glanced at the unexpected guest. Some of them scowled. Others remained indifferent or mildly surprised. Several grinned, in a friendly or unfriendly manner. Eyes narrowed, muscles tensed, hands extended toward their weapons. Fists clenched, glistening particles of spiritual energy swirled around them.

"Look who we've got here! Long time no see, my dear friend! You cut your hair?"

They did not matter. They could not exist. There was but a single individual whose presence Akiyama acknowledged.

"I was about to send you an invitation, Kentarō-chan, but you've spared me the trouble", said Sakaala, leaning forward.

The White Devil. A grotesque creature that very much resembled a man but was not quite human. Very tall yet lanky, with wiry muscles and pale complexion exposed by inappropriately revealing, extravagant clothing made from white leather. Long, platinum blond hair, an emerald eye, a perky nose, uncannily white teeth bared in a wide grimace. A bony plate on the right side of his face shaped in the likeness of a horned opera mask, complete with a seemingly empty socket where the other eye should be. A hole right in the middle of his exposed chest so large that one could see what was behind him.

A tainted Soul born of despair wearing the imperfect disguise of a Shinigami, determined to spread despair across the whole world. Deception made manifest. An abomination.

"Why so sullen? Let's t-..."

Time stopped. Kentarō leapt over the men directly in front of him. His clenched fist crashed into the Arrancar's face like a meteor. Gust of wind, a thunderclap, and a shockwave. Caught completely off-guard, Sakaala destroyed his temporary throne when propelled backward with tremendous force.

He crashed through a wall, then another. Rapidly he emerged from within the palace, an impromptu projectile demolishing his way through the already ravaged town. His body bulldozed through a sequence of buildings only to cross the town's limits within an instant. His uncontrolled flight continued. The sheer force extinguished the blaze and uprooted numerous trees as he passed by. Further and further still. Kilometre after kilometre. Eventually, he approached one of the distant mountains. Even the colossal massif was unable to stop his advance, the Arrancar carving through rock at an alarming pace. And then the next one, too. In the end, the third mountain was the one to become the terminus, albeit not without paying a hefty price for that accomplishment. The whole world seemed to quake violently in the aftermath of that one last impact. The rock cracked and crumbled, kiloton blocks pelting the rest of the range in a deadly stone shower. The defeaning noise reached all the way to the Rukongai, and abated slowly.

Such was the fury of a Hakuda Grandmaster.

Meanwhile, Kentarō was standing in front of the throne's remains, his left arm still extended in a literally world-shaking blow. Silent. Grave face. However, the arm was visibly quivering. The internal blaze that had been consuming his very soul grew ever more intense. The void left by love was filled by hatred, and hatred turned to fury. Pure, unadulterated fury. There was nothing just or moral about it. Nothing complex. But a single raw emotion. Mighty emotion that he could no longer contain. The last restraint was undone.

Some of Sakaala's men, in spite of their shock, were about to attack the intruder. They were not given a chance. Kentarō opened his mouth and let out a primal scream. A primitive, yet pure expression of an equally pure emotion. Power erupted from his body. Red-violet light. Blinding light. Unfathomable energy exploded, consuming the marauders and the palace in the blink of an eye. Everything vanished in the otherworldly glow. A pillar of light burst forth toward the sky from the ensuant crater, wreathed in ferocious discharges of electricity. Rose higher and higher until it hit the vault of heaven, spilling its blood-like colour across the world. The ground trembled. Trees bowed down. Clouds departed in haste. Giant ethereal tendrils spread out, as if to grasp and constrict the whole world.

Such was the power of a Hakuda Grandmaster free of moral restraint.

Such was the power of someone who had abandoned hope and embraced despair.

Such was the power of...

Glimmer

Serenity.

It had taken Tōsō a while to realise that. As if invisible shackles had been removed from his head. He no longer felt like a deep shadow was being cast on his mind. The unending drone at the back of the head, the constant whispers and howls, all of that stopped. His mind was crystal clear and his thoughts organised. Focussed. When was the last time he felt like that? Long, long ago. Long before the night fell...

Teruo's armoured fist threatened to decapitate him. However, almost nonchalantly, he swept the strike aside with a twisting motion of his wrist. He ducked to evade the consecutive blow, then positioned his forearm to intercept an incoming side kick.

"I can read you like an open book", he stated whilst blocking a flurry of punches with one hand. "Your spiritual pressure betrays your intent. And while you execute waza and kata flawlessly, you lack flexibility. Even someone unfamiliar with Hakuda could analyse your fighting style rather quickly. Also, you think too much. That slows you down."

With a prominent frown, Teruo swung his left arm in a series of knifehand strikes. Tōsō merely pivoted his torso, avoiding all of them in a single fluid, protracted motion. Suddenly, his own arm extended toward the sparring partner as he struck him in the face with an open palm. There was no warning, no deliberation. Just a natural response. If anything, he had been holding back not to do that each time an opening appeared. They were few and brief, but easily perceptible to him.

Akui groaned and swayed.

"You're toying with me", he grumbled.

"Yes", was the blunt response.

Teruo merely stared at him intensely, not even panting despite the fact they had been training for a few hours straight by then. His fortitude was impressive as well. Probably, in addition to his determination, the main reason his surprisingly powerful Bankai did not destroy him.

"Stop thinking solely about the things you can do. Observe the opponent, analyse moves and abilities, determine attack patterns. Bathe in his spiritual pressure and respond to his intent", said Tōsō, lowering his arms and relaxing to signify a break in the sparring session. "You already know the moves so you don't have to consciously invoke them. Act without thinking."

"How am I supposed to do that?", Akui's skepticism was rather blatant.

"Currently, there is a schism within you. The result of your gruelling training regime, which hinders you more than it benefits you in short-term. In order to become a genuine martial arts master, you have to achieve complete unity of body, mind, and soul. Reinforce your very existence into a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. Only then there will be no delay, dissonance or miscommunication between the various aspects of your being."

The young Lieutenant pondered on his grandfather's somewhat convoluted answer. He gazed at the armoured gauntlet of his Shikai upon his left hand.

"I think I understand", he said eventually, still pensive.

Tōsō almost smiled. Intriguing. That must have been the way Master Senpū felt. Forging a stubborn youth into a formidable warrior. Sharing wisdom and experience to help him avoid known mistakes. Offering succour when he inevitably committed some of his own. More than that, that was no random young man. That was his grandson. Family. The legacy of Kentarō Akiyama and, more importantly, Hitomi Akui.

Just several weeks prior he had been a raving madman consumed by despair and chaos. Not any more. Once again he had a truly noble goal. He did not want to impose anything upon the people. He did not want to deprive them of anything. Rather, he wanted to protect their right to choose. Their freedom to live the way they wished to as long as they did not harm others. However, there was also a more personal aspect to that selfless endeavour. Because he also wanted to train a successor. His own flesh and blood, to eventually assume his mantle.

"Clear focus and unwavering resolve but an open mind. Hard work and patience. Avoid any extremes. Find the perfect inner balance. Only then you might become powerful enough to shoulder the burden you imposed upon yourself", continued Tōsō.

Suddenly, he flexed his muscles and clenched his fists. The exertion of his spiritual pressure was like an ethereal hurricane; on the one hand, not a single grain of dust moved, on the other, Teruo felt as if he were about to be blown away like said grain of dust. Red-violet tendrils of visible spiritual energy emanated from the ancient warrior's body, coiling and twisting about him. The man himself was changed, slightly but perceptibly. Did he grow a couple of inches? Akui was not sure. There was some more... tension to his visage.

Tōsō threw a punch. Teruo observed in wordless awe as the ensuant shockwave swept across the whole valley. Then, he blinked a few times. The mountain range... something was missing. A single mountain was missing. There had been a peculiar gap there before. Now, most certainly, another one appeared not that far away. With just an indirect strike...

"You can do that and you want to tell me you can't protect Soul Society alone?", was the question he simply had to ask.

"Exactly", his grandfather agreed. "But that merely serves to emphasise another important lesson. The world you wish to protect is not empty. The burden of its safety is not for one person to shoulder. There are many people who pursue the same goal. They may have different motives and they may have different methods... you might even clash with them over those differences. However, in the end, remember."

Teruo clenched his armoured fist, stare still fixed at his Zanpakutō.

"You are not alone."

End of Chapter