First off, and totally unrelated, holy fuck, what's gotten into me? Writing at 4 in the morning, and a chapter at that, instead of posting a collab. Anyways, disregard that. I just wanted to give a fair warning that if you haven't kept up with Ryoujin's story from the beginning, this may be a bit hard to follow, although I'm trying to clarify as things move along. Basically, I'm bringing back a very old character, dating almost three years back when I first created Ryoujin only because I love making Ryoujin's life more fucked up than it already is. Plus, it's a nice change of pace, but boy do I treat my characters well
As another side note, this takes place directly after Ryoujin returns to the Eleventh and learns Scorched Earth and Lockdown in the Week 280 thread Velum Nocte. If you want more of an insight and backstory behind all of this, refer to the following threads (note: cataclysm ends with a cliffhanger, because there are a series of collabs after it, but those don't relate to the NPC I've brought back)
A familiar vista stretched out for miles on end. Was it Tokyo? Who knew? The sun was just beginning to set; the skies were painted with swaths of purple, navy blue, and orange as if from an artist’s canvas. Birds flew by in flocks, almost guiding the wayward motorists home from a long day of work. In the middle of this hub of activity, a robed figure stood in the middle of an expressway, hundreds of cars passing right through him at great velocities that very well could have instantly killed a human. Unfazed by any of them, the boy just stood there, not a thought or care in the world as to what he was doing out here or how long it had been since he had come to be here. After all, he had no purpose meddling in this realm. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, a dereliction of duty that could very well cost him in the near future.
Rubbing at a nasty, irritating scar that bridged across his nose, the out-of-place youth scanned his surroundings. And in that moment, when his mind seemed to whirl with a myriad of thoughts, something very alarming for someone like him, time seemed to come to a still. A ripple in space appeared not a scant few yards away from where he stood before a doorway appeared, one which he had not intentionally called forth or even recognized for that matter.
Common sense dictated not to enter it, but what choice did he have. As if acting on its own will, his body approached the portal without caution, as if some sort of magnetic force was reeling him in. Before the pink-haired youth could try and veer in the opposite direction, he was dragged right past the threshold, leaving behind the buzz of activity and sights that the city provided, or so he thought.
After his vision adjusted to his “new” surroundings, he realized that he was still in the city, and in the distance, he could make out the bridge he was on earlier. Pushing aside strands of pink hair (which to point out should have probably been cut short by now because it was becoming more and more of a hindrance the longer he delayed it), the reality finally settled in.
Although different from what it had once been, and not quite as appealing of a neighborhood as it once was, he recognized it instantly. Memories of this place. This was the very beginning. His home in his past life as a human... his graveyard... and also the place where he had carried out his first mission after becoming enlisted in the Guard Squads. It was not fear that showed in his facial expression, but rather mild amusement and a touch of curiosity as to whom or what could have brought him here. As if expecting for there to be some sort of ploy behind all of this, or an enemy bound to ambush him, he pretended to feign ignorance, closing his eyes almost completely.
For what could have been a few minutes, he waited for something to happen, but nothing did, making him look all the more foolish and naive for thinking that he was being clever about it all.
Frowning, the shinigami took a few steps forward, now looking at the empty lot of land that once held apartment complexes, one which he once vacated. Kneeling down, he traced his hands along the ground, as if searching for something. A clue... some residue... some trace of another spiritual presence, but again, there was nothing of interest. Instead of investigating any further (he wasn’t about to make himself think he was Sherlock Holmes or anything), he gave up just like that. He already had enough complications back within the White Walls of Seireitei; he didn’t need to add to the expanding list of nuisances.
Little was he aware though, his original suspicions were precisely correct.
“Despair, for you will fall..." a voice called from the umbra, "into your most feared of dreams. Death in the world of nightmares will send your soul wandering for all eternity.”
A voice, a grumble, a blood-curdling roar. All of which never passed through his ears. Unbeknownst to the Eleventh-division officer, there was something overhead in the skies approaching. With massive ebony wings tearing through the wind, a gargantuan being raced downwards. Its entire frame was covered by armor, chains connecting several platings together and rattling all the while as the creature descended.
In one fell swoop, it lunged forward, its outstretched arm already reaching towards the oblivious soul reaper's jugular. Without so much of a warning, the jagged spikes across the ivory-masked fiend’s body protruded outwards. There was no cry, no indication of pain only the squelching of a head being lopped off as blood gushed everywhere.
As the head of the pink-haired Duelist rolled along the pavement, the masked fiend picked it up, its sharp claws piercing right through the shinigami’s brain. However, instead of a look of anguish upon the dislodged head, there was a smirk.
Eyes shooting open in alarm as the Corpse Skin disintegrated before its very eyes, the Hollow reared around just in time to notice the incoming edge of a zanpakutou. If he hadn’t been in a state of frenzy and a stupor, then maybe just maybe it would have been over then and there. Things weren’t so easy, not in the life of Arashi Ryoujin.
Batted back by the devastating force behind the behemoth’s wings, the pink-haired youth found himself staring wide-eyed at the spectacle taking place before him. It took a lot... a whole lot to really shock him. In the countless experiences that a death god had in his tenure, it was almost remotely impossible to witness very supernatural events without having some sort of explanation or rationale behind it. However, this was the icing to the cake.
There was no way. It had been what, three years since he had finished it off for good? This couldn't be a reincarnation either... it looked exactly like it did those years ago.
As if knowing completely that this was a dream and not willing to accept the possibilities, Ryoujin erupted into a roar of laughter.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he exclaimed, “You’re supposed to be dead, or banished, or whatever happens beyond those gates.”
There was no way that this could be true. He had delivered the second-to-last blow that would have killed the demon now facing him once more, and then, he had seen the Gates of Hell drag it into the abyss. Once any spiritual entity found itself through that, there was no hope of return; in fact, it was rumored that the victim was tormented and killed over and over again in a vicious, non-stop cycle on the other side.
This had to be a dream. Last he remembered was returning to Soul Society and then reporting back to Kyuketsu before learning the ways of the new division, and then... nothing. Hadn’t he fainted? Wasn’t he still out of it?
All these thoughts rang through the forefront of his mind, before a defeaning rumble brought him back to reality.
“Don’t fucking space out like that and ignore me,” the fiend from the past began, “Hmph, you haven’t changed.”
“Oh yeah?” Ryoujin replied, flipping the demon off with the middle finger, “Well neither have you. Still too weak, even if this is real.”
Launching forward, this time, more focused than before, the fourth seat brought Kazeoni down with full force, aiming to eviscerate the creature for good. As steel met iron-like skin, a loud clang echoed across the skies, and before he knew it, he found that his katana was lodged into the beast’s hide.
“Your sword is useless against me now,” the beast said coolly, before grabbing hold of the smaller youth’s frame.
Before Ryoujin could even move, he found himself being elevated to higher grounds. Circling around the skies, in the creature’s clutches, he felt the sharp claws of the beast dig into his mid-section.
“You’re not real,” the speedster said, spitting at the creature. As much as he hated to admit it though, the pain was genuine. It didn’t matter what he thought though.
Just as suddenly as he found himself hundreds of feet in the air, he found himself descending rapidly, the wind biting into his new and old wounds that had opened up.
“You will die here, just like I once killed you,” it began, “You may have gotten the better of me when we last met, thinking that the Gates of Hell actually got me, but that was a lie. As long as you live, so will I no matter how many times you are reincarnated. I will find you and end your pitiful existence, you piece of shit."
With each and every word, remark, and insult came more of a headache until finally...
“Fuck you, Kyouran!” he exploded, finally stating the wrath incarnate’s name as he struggled to break free but with no success.
“Ah, but that’s no way to talk to an old friend, now is it? “ it taunted. Upon impact with the ground, a large explosion set off, kicking dust and debris everywhere.
“The score s even child of pride, offspring of fire, but it all ends here for you, Ryoujin!” it exclaimed, driving the shinigami face-first into the ground.
It was over. Just like that. He had not even been able to come back long enough to catch up with all of the changes that had taken place both in hierarchy and current events within Soul Society.
But then, something happened, like it always did when he knew he would die. Within the confusion of what exactly was happening, a voice, suddenly and shakily, stammered, “But how - that’s impossible.”
As the ground below them caved in as if the two were spiraling down towards the Earth’s very core, debris rained down everywhere. The surges of spiritual pressure that moments ago beared down its weight upon the material realm quickly vanished, replaced by an eerie silence. Within that collision earlier, there was movement however, only to be witnessed by trained eyes only. Even the two involved couldn't really explain out in clear detail what had happened.
In those few seconds, the phenomenon that took place was impossible to truly discern. Not even he himself could describe the feat. It was as if his body knew how to naturally react, how to survive when faced with such situations, as if he had been in a similar scenario once before when he couldn't even recall a time in his life when his skull had quite literally been feet away from smashing into the ground from a body slam from hundreds of feet in the air.
With confusion, he stood relatively unscathed by the suicidal tactic. As the pink-haired Duelist brushed aside the dirt and dust that had clouded his vision for a moment, the memory returned as he inspected the fruits of his endeavor.
Had he not used his superior agility and the beast’s large frame as leverage and a cushion for the fall, he wouldn’t have been here now. Having slammed the Hollow’s head right through the ground and making it kiss the very soil that lay below, there was no doubt to any spectator that the deed was done. Such an optimistic assumption did not cross his mind though. He was after all not a very lucky man; nothing ever came easy although from the sight of it, it was easy to think otherwise.
Across from him, where the hollow should have been, there was nothing, except the outline of the beast’s frame in the crater the fall had created. Yet, despite not being able to sense anything, the tainted presence remained hanging over him, taking away from any admiration that he could have gained from the artistry that he had produced.
“...Ryoujin," the reverberating voice of the Hollow growled within his mind. He couldn't tell where it was physically, but the exchange of words was enough for him to pinpoint exactly where it would show up next.
“Ah, so there you are, fat fuck,” he said, not turning in time to completely lock gazes with Kyouran. Part of its mask and body showed signs of wear and tear from what he could see, but unfortunately, hollows did have a tendency to regenerate, some more acceleratingly than others. In this case, at a far more rapid pace than what he was so accustomed to witnessing.
By the time he had in fact turned around, its massive hands were already slamming down on him. Without so much as flinching or even attempting to move, their advance, to the hollow's dismay, was halted by a large broadsword floating in mid-air.
It was not his doing, but rather the wind demon within his own soul cutter once again proving to be a reliable asset. He had almost forgotten for a split second when his life was in peril of just how easily he was able to wield Kazeoni now, and at how quickly he was able to call upon the powers that it granted him. Such control and finesse was one of a good number of perks that he had picked up from his month-long comission outside of Soul Society. Had it not been for the strict measures that were in place by the damned Central Forty-Six though, then he would have been able to reveal the full extent of his soul slayer. Still, this was more than enough for the time being.
Realizing that the beast didn’t recognize these foreign abilities, Ryoujin smirked. “Oh yeah I forgot, it’s been that long, hasn’t it,” he stated, more than asked. Turning towards the beast as it attempted to bat away the weapon, Ryoujin extended his arm outwards. His true blade, now blood-red in color and lodged into the thing’s hierro, vanished, reappearing in a flash in his open grasp. “God, sometimes I wonder why I struggled so much against you.”
Snapping his fingers, the broadsword disintegrated before Kyouran’s eyes. Assuming that the course was clear, Kyouran mindlessly snapped its maw open, trying to sink its fangs into him. As its razor teeth came close to finding purchase, four scythes, each coming from different directions, pierced right through the beast’s sturdy exterior, forming an almost perfectly-aligned crucifix.
Noticing the religious symbol, Ryoujin scoffed. Wrapped in his own crimson aura, the embedded weapons exploded, releasing a shockwave that sent Kyouran crashing through the street.
That’ll surely be taken off my paycheck, he thought, grimacing. It was already enough that he lost most of his kan to the amount of debts that he owed back in the Eleventh; the last thing he really needed right about now was a deduction in pay from his own carelessness.
Sighing, he said, “That one’s gonna cost me, but this one is on the house!”
With adrenaline guiding his every move, Ryoujin flash stepped, his movements erratic even to Kyouran. Was this the sort of ravenous sensation that he felt upon learning Lockdown and Scorched Earth? The same sort of feeling, which had helped him survive every time he cheated death, that had enabled him to hang on desperately towards a future whilst in the outer districts of the Rukongai, and the one that Tsubaki had tried so well to control up to this point.
Not denying it, Ryoujin allowed himself to be guided by it. Noticing what it would warrant and entail, his zanpakutou spirit was quick to add.
Tone it down, boy. All of that training is going to go down the shit hole if you don’t restrain yourself a bit more properly. It is one thing to enjoy yourself at the prospect of battle, but it’s another if you forget your purpose.
What are ya on about, Kyouran? Now's not really the time... he began.
Didn’t you say you wanted to be the pillar of the Eleventh? What good is a pillar if it can’t stand correctly? If it shakes, even just a bit, need I explain what’ll happen next? the spirit interjected.
Always the concerned parent, aren’t you? I can handle it, it’s fine. Relax mom, Ryoujin replied, brushing away any forthcoming rebuttal and the connection between him and Kazeoni.
“Hah, one lucky blow, and look at how arrogant you become. How many times do I have to say it?” Kyouran cackled within the rubble of the building that it had smashed into. Flapping its wings to push away the stone that buried it, it too launched forward, as if unfazed by the battering that it had just taken.
“Your sword can’t touch me, no matter how much you’ve improved!” it bellowed within the heat of the battle. Aiming to get rid of its vocal chords first, Ryoujin veered straight at the beast, who with alarming reaction time, caught him mid-shunpo, interrupting the usual series of flash steps that led to his Senka. Had it been any other strike, he wouldn’t have been so vexed, but no one had been able to disrupt his Flash Blossom.
Visibly shaken, the pink-haired youth could do nothing as he was tossed about aimlessly. Calling upon more torrential energy from his reserves, the Duelist attempted to craft more weapons, in the hopes of overwhelming the scoundrel. For some reason though, every time he tried, a searing pain burned him and prevented him from even so much as mustering even a lackluster tool. It was almost as if his soul slayer was refusing to grant him any more power.
It was a strange thought indeed but definitely not a far cry from a likely possibility. There was no way that he was exhausted, especially not this early, and he had not even been pushed to resort to his final release, but yet despite his efforts, his shikai release seemed to have diminished, as if there was some other unknown power or entity besides Kyouran acting against him.
Distracted by his locked abilities and unaware of the incoming cero, Ryoujin was blasted back, in the same fashion that Kyouran was earlier, except the difference being that his body was much more fragile compared to a hollow’s dexterity.
As he landed squarely onto a jagged pole, he cried out as it pierced right through him. Forcefully prying it out, Ryoujin fell to one knee.
Clutching the wound gaping from his chest with one hand and using the other to cover his mouth, Ryoujin unconvincingly stared back at Kyouran’s smug visage. In an uncontrollable fit of coughing, the fourth seat doubled over. Staring down at the liquid now streaming down his hands, he noticed the blood that had spewed forth from his mouth. He had no time to concern himself over such a small development though, as true dread lay ahead.
Overhead, the Gates of Hell, unmistakable even in his ragged condition, creaked open, the thick ropes that kept them sealed beginning to unfasten themselves. The two skeletons, on each side of the door, glowed with malice. Their mouths slowly creaked open, ancient dust and residue spilling out as thousands and thousands of wicked and visceral voices wailed in unison. Knowing exactly what would transpire thereafter, he didn’t need another second to gawk. Any show of bravado at this point was stupid, but even then, there was that one temptation, a guilt of thinking for a fleeting moment that he would be able to stand his ground against forces unimaginable.
Fortunately, it was only that, a fleeting thought.
Turning to try and flee, Ryoujin found that his legs wouldn’t budge. Kyouran had grabbed onto him, clutching onto him with an iron-like grasp. In a frenzied rush to escape, Ryoujin extended his hand outwards.
"Destructive art thirty-one, Shakkahou," he chanted, the spell enveloping Kyouran from point-blank. Although it struck directly, it was not enough to shake off the persistent beast.
“What’s the rush? Join me in the Underworld. This is retribution for the Hell you put me through,” it screeched, not resisting even a bit as a hand came forth from the gates dragging both of them in.
Before he could completely see the result, everything once more faded to black, something that was oddly becoming the norm these days.
Splat.Or so, that was supposed to happen as he once more found himself falling. Except this time, there was nothing to cushion his descent. The realm, he found himself in now, could be none other than the Underworld, the very place where hollows, humans, and spirits alike were sent for being wicked whilst they were alive. Trying to find a ledge or really anything to hold on to, he found that there was nothing. As he made contact with the ground, his body phased right through as if he were nonexistent, funny considering shinigami were practically ghosts of their own right to begin with. Regardless, despite how much physics they defied, there were certain things that not even they could hope to escape from without being harmed, and this should have been one of them.
As he passed through different floors, he could make out certain things, despite how blurry and distorted everything appeared. From the looks of it, the whole place was divided into floors like a staircase leading to different chambers or floors. The farther underground one went, the more severe the extent of the crime was for the victims that found themselves imprisoned here.
After finally turning his attention to his new surroundings below, he finally took note of the white blocks lining the series of blue pathways. It was almost like a city in its own right, the pathways intersecting, leading to more and more white blocks floating about. The only aspect missing was the fact that there didn’t seem to be a living soul roaming around. Upon closer inspection, it became abundantly clear that he was far from being right. Indeed, there were tenets lurking around aimlessly, their heads lowered dejectedly as if there was not a shred of emotion or resistance left in them.
They were all alike with light-bulb shaped faces and draped with the same sort of garb with matching boots and gloves. It was almost sort of reminiscent to a shinigami’s shihakushou except for the fact that it was more of a black cloak with white rectangular buttons. The only thing that could truly distinguish them were the shapes and sizes that they came in.
After finally landing without phasing through, Ryoujin found a large Sinner towering over him. Assuming that it had noticed him, the pink-haired soul reaper jumped back into a battle stance.
“Huh? Can’t it see me?”
Waving his hands frantically in front of the prisoner’s line of vision, he watched as the hulking Sinner stalked right past him. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he noticed that a swarm of the Offenders had now gathered in congregation, each of them not exchanging any words, just walking about in a route that they must have trudged on for millions of times already. Like the first one that he had encountered, they too didn’t notice him, as if he weren’t meant to be here in the first place, which was true, but he quite clearly remembered being dragged right through those Gates along with Kyouran.
Kyouran! he thought, looking up to see another figure crashing onto the white blocks. Unlike him, the winged creature made contact with the ground, grimacing and howling in pain.
As if that had sparked animosity amongst all of the dreaded prisoners, they all turned to stare daggers at the newcomer. It was an intruder, and until it was configured into one of them, it didn’t seem like Kyouran would be able to go about doing things its way.
While it became surrounded, Ryoujin watched both with mild curiosity and interest at the spectacle taking place. How come they noticed Kyouran, and not him? And why hadn’t Kyouran noticed him either?
Mulling it over, he finally realized exactly what this was or more specifically, when this was. The Kyouran he was staring at now was not the one that he was fighting against only moments ago. This one seemed to be more battered, and held traces of wounds. Melted flesh riddled its body, and its armor was practically reduced to a single fragment of a plating stretching across its mid-section. This was exactly what it appeared like before the Gates claimed it those three years ago, and for some reason, he seemed to be watching Kyouran’s life being replayed over and over again, more specifically its time in incarceration.
He should have figured that Kyouran would have lied about not being dragged through. But if that was so, then did that mean that the prisoners here were capable of escaping if they were crafty enough? How long could they possibly escape their restraints before being captured again?
Not knowing the answer to any of these queries nor believing his sights and covering his ears as if it would drown out the wailing and cries that suddenly sprung up, Ryoujin attempted to ignore it all. With his mind already corrupted and scoured through by a recently deceased rogue shinigami, even the slightest intrusion may as well have made him lose any shred of sanity that he had left. To mitigate things, it didn’t help any either that the atmosphere had suddenly becoming choking. It was not the sort of overwhelming spiritual pressure that bore down on him from Captain-class shinigami - this was perhaps leagues greater than that so much so that even Kyouran was becoming frantic.
As chaos finally erupted amongst the ranks of Sinners, Kyouran unleashed multiple ceros, as it thrashed about trying to forge an escape route from the growing wave of enemies. It was almost enjoyable to see the son of a bitch squirming for its life, and had he not been in danger of being detected if he got any closer, he would have joined the little fracas himself. As the place soon teemed with the prisoners, Kyouran clawed his way, creating just enough space and leeway to become airborn to fly upwards, as if there was some sort of doorway that would lead him back to the surface, back to where he still had unfinished business.
Unfortunately for it, there was no way to escape. Chains sprung up from various white blocks, bounding every inch of the beast’s body. Crashing once more onto the ground, it tried to bite its way through its bindings, but the chains would not shatter.
“What the hell is this place!?” it asked incredulously.
As if the sudden mass of activity had garnered the attention of a special task force, new beings emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. Unlike the Sinners, these things were larger, and walked on all fours. Their masks were skull-shaped, and across their shoulder, they had armor, almost like Kyouran itself.
Thinking that they were guards and that they would immediately silence Kyouran once and for all, Ryoujin watched as they suddenly turned their attention towards the fleeing Sinners, who wasted no time in trying to escape while they still could. It was then when it became clear why they would react with such apprehension. In almost no time, the guardians were upon the fleeing prisoners, grabbing a handful of them. With swift motions and a ravenous appetite that never seemed to be appeased, the beings swallowed and consumed every last Sinner, some toying with the limbs and enjoying them as if they were bones and others digging into flesh hastily like a predator would. Before he could so much as come to terms with the bloodbath taking place, all of the Sinners had been consumed... only to reappear once again.
”As long as you live, so will I no matter how many times you are reincarnated.”
That was what it had said. So that’s what Kyouran had meant. This was the modus operandi of the Underworld. There were two classes of beings here. There were Sinners, and then there were Overseers to maintain the law and order of the land. Should the Sinners try and escape or do anything to resist, they would be killed or consumed instantly in an endless cycle of death, rebirth, and regeneration. While it certainly was immortality per say, it was not the sort of endless life that one would normally wish for. This was an existence worse than death, dare he say probably even worse than the dreaded sands of Hueco Mundo. In here, in the vast reaches of the Underworld, death and passing onto the afterlife seemed like an escape, insignificant in comparison to being condemned here. This was more of an everlasting torment.
“If you think for a split second that-” Kyouran began, before an overseer grabbed the seemingly impervious chains and snapped them like a twig. Like a trigger, the breaking of the chains initiated a sequence. As to what exactly was going on, he couldn’t quite tell from the distance, and with things becoming shrouded, it made it all the more impossible.
As darkness enveloped the Hollow’s form, Ryoujin, who was now practically frozen and rooted to the spot, viewed its last moments before its entire body contorted into the shape of a Sinner. When it seemed like Kyouran would try and speak, nothing came forth. The annoying and incessant voice of the man that had once murdered him was now long gone, replaced by a mute prisoner to add to the ranks of those that were doomed to walk the length of the Underworld. And before he quite knew it, he couldn’t even recognize Kyouran at all, as it joined the endless number of other revived Sinners that had shown up once more.
And as if someone were rewinding and fast-forwarding time, everything replayed over and over until finally Ryoujin realized that overstaying his time here would be the end of him.
“...Fuck fuck fuck. I don’t know this place well enough to get out of here,” he muttered, although no one seemed to have still registered his presence, a fact that he prayed would last long enough for him to survey and scout the Underworld long enough to figure out how he could possibly escape. If Kyouran had somehow accomplished the feat, then surely he could, especially considering that he had not turned yet.
If those chains were a symbol of imprisonment here in the Underworld, then that meant that he still had time, especially since he still seemed to have retained his human features.
Lowering his hand instinctively towards his zanpakutou, he unsheathed the katana. For some reason, it had sealed back to its original form, no longer blood-red as it had been. In fact, it almost felt foreign wielding the weapon, as if he had never used it before. Normally, he would sense a strong spiritual presence channeling itself around the blade, but there was nothing.
Kazeoni, he called. Yet, there was no response, like the times before he had gained a release when he tried countlessly to try and contact his zanpakutou.
With his options becoming even more limited, Ryoujin fished into his shihakushou for something, anything that would give him a clue as to what he could do. His denreishinki was out of the option; how could he possibly get any reception here? Anything else that he found within his pockets were practically useless as well. Empty gum wrappers, candy, and a pair of silver dragonfly sunglasses? Since when did he have this?
Shaking his head and breaking away from his momentary lapse, Ryoujin stepped forward, knowing that it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell here any longer. It was perhaps not the brightest idea to venture deeper into the unknown, especially knowing that there were perhaps more levels of floors that awaited him far more threatening than this one. But if here were to learn anything else about this place, then what other option did he truly have?
After making it towards the edge of the platform that he now stood on, the speedster peered over at the abyss below. There were strong energies radiating from it. Perhaps this was his exit, or a trap that would lead him to the floor below. As he inched his way even closer, his footsteps seemed to have become louder, until finally he was recognizable.
Tilting their light-bulb shaped heads towards him, the Sinners made their way towards him, encroaching him just like they had Kyouran. As chains seemed to spring forth, the pink-haired youth reflexively jumped back, not realizing that he had hopped off the platform in doing so. As the chains came dangerously close to following him through the abyss, they retracted finally to his relief. Unfortunately for him, things didn’t seem like they would turn for the better just yet, making him hope that this was some sort of illusion and he had taken some strong dses of medication back in the Fourth’s wards.
Falling through the abyss of the First Level of the Underworld. Now surely, that only meant plunging down to the second and third levels, heaven forbid the fourth. With all of the Sinners and Overseers earlier, who knew what he would stumble upon below? Fortunately, for Arashi Ryoujin's case, it didn’t matter what might have awaited him below, because his fate was different. Had any of that actually been happening in reality, he would have been doomed. That was the only good news that awaited him on the other side though.
This time, a new setting came into place. A citadel loomed overhead, a narrow pathway leading towards it. Down below, lay ruins with thousands and thousands of weapons embedded into the ground, still polished despite the amount of battles that they had endured. Some were unknown to him, whilst others he could clearly remember. How could he possibly forget after all? Yes, the very weapons that were hundreds of feet below him were none other than the ones that he had forged with the powers that Kazeoni granted him. And this... this was his inner world. It was certainly a marveling mystery as to how he had managed to wind up here, but after his recent experiences, it was probably better not to question things so adamantly.
As if to remind him of that fact, the winds picked up, almost buffeting him off the peak of the mountain that he stood on. Although they were unsuccessful, they managed to graze his cheeks, blood spilling forth from new cuts.
"How boring."
That voice.
"Kazeoni!" Ryoujin exclaimed, gritting his teeth as he tried to stand up only to be pinned to the ground by a blood-red blade. Attempting to grab hold of it, he was stopped once more, except this time dark serpents slithered around his body, constricting him from making so much as a movement. “The hell? What’s this about? Wasn’t I in the Underworld only a few seconds ago?”
“No, that was an illusion,” came the reply.
“Then Kyouran was fake, too?” Ryoujin asked.
“I can’t honestly say. The Kyouran that you saw was not tangible. I don’t know how it managed to enter your mind to begin with, maybe it’s still chained to you somehow from having known each other since you were a human, but whatever it might actually be, it is still out there. I’m certain of that at least. I’m not sure if it’s escaped the Underworld, or if it ever will, but there is a possibility. If I were to guess, then maybe it was a premonition of what is to come,” Kazeoni advised.
“...Is that so?” Ryoujin mused. “There’s still one thing I’m confused about, why’d you bring me here?”
“Why indeed. If I were you, I wouldn't move, fool of a wielder," it piped up again, its tone much more harsh than what it usually was when it tried to reproach him about something, "Every time you try and break free, those snakes will leech off of you, until they completely drain you of every life force that you have left in you. And right about now, that's not a whole lot."
"Tch," the pink-haired boy scowled, gritting his teeth. "Answer the question. Why're ya doing this? If I didn't know any better, you wanted me to get killed back there when Kyouran showed up. It felt like you were purposefully refusing to give me power."
As the words were left hanging in the air, already answered by his own suspicions, an armor appeared out of thin air, exuding cerulean flames before finally Kazeoni, the wind demon, revealed itself.
"Unbridled power is better left sealed for those that can't even control it. It’s like kidou. If you can’t use it the way it’s designed, it will explode in your face.”
“What’s this have to do with me though? I’ve improved my arcane abilities greatly since the Academy. Sure, I might have detonated them on myself and those around me more than your average record, but I’ve gained some semblance of control.”
“You were always an animal, but just when I thought you would no longer need a leash, you once more proved to me how wrong it was for me to even take a gamble on you to begin with," Kazeoni said, his tone holding a form of resentment for not foreseeing it. The winds had picked up quite considerably now, stabbing into his skin and conveying exactly what Kazeoni wanted to tell him.
It was not anger that fueled the zanpakutou spirit right now, far from it. There was disappointment, and most of all pity for its wielder.
"You broke my contract, and for that, you are not worthy of even so much as a shikai release let alone my Bankai," it continued.
Eyes shooting open in alarm, Ryoujin bolted upwards, forgetting the ensnarement, only to feel his breathing growing shorter and shorter as the serpents constricted his blood flow all the more.
"Worth? You're the last one I'd expect to bloat on about that. You know I could give a rat's hat about honor," Ryoujin finally shot back, throwing accusations that accomplished nothing, "Yeah, maybe I did get a little riled up and carried away, but you underestimate me too much. My way of thinking will probably be my downfall, but isn't that why you bothered to even put a wager on me? Because it wasn't the mundane, same old viewpoint."
"Mhmm, yes and no. As a zanpakutou spirit, I have to watch out for you, so you don't stray the wrong path. Although you may wield me, and you are the king of this world, that doesn't mean that you can go about doing as you please. Even a king is privy to certain restrictions and regulations, unless of course he were to become consumed and try to become a divine god. In that case, he will have let himself go along with, and more importantly, the fact that no one will want to follow his rule. In spite of what I have done, to the very core, you haven’t changed at all.
"Sure, you've grown immensely since you winded up in the shitters of Rukongai and joined the Academy, but you lead a new life now. You are the Pillar that helps support the bridge, but didn't you ever once think for a split second that maybe you could become much more than that? You have the potential to go far. Tsubaki saw it, the Central Forty-Six once considered it, and I've seen it as well.
"The unambitious death god, never striving for anything, but a means to entertain himself. You refuse to acknowledge your duties at times, you can't seem to control yourself, and you can't even distinguish between progress and hindrance. To think, that you consider yourself a pillar? Tch, you sure don't act like one. What good is a pillar or a bridge if people can't even trust it enough to pass through it?"
Cold and frigid as the words were, Ryoujin remained passive all the while, focusing on his constraints. Using his bare hands, he attempted to choke the serpents, who seemed to hiss and bite back at him. Before they could sink their fangs into him, he retracted his hands back, making for the weapon nearby. Grabbing hold of the blood-red blade that was Kazeoni, Ryoujin felt the searing pain that came from even touching it dig into his flesh. However, regardless of how burnt his hand was becoming by the second from even holding the zanpakutou, he managed to use it just enough to cleave off the heads of the serpents. Soon enough, they dissipated into the ether, leaving him safe for only an instant before a new form of danger approached, this time in numbers that he could not hope to defend himself against especially now that he could no longer hold his soul cutter. Without warning, the multitudes of weapons that were stabbed into the ground thousands of feet below them spurred into motion, each of them shooting upwards simultaneously. Within no time, hundreds appeared lunging forward towards him, spinning in a vortex-like motion.
Just barely rolling out of the way, Ryoujin took to his feet. The crag in which he stood on, in addition to everything that he passed by, seemed to crumble as he made his way towards the citadel overhead, hoping that he could find something within those fortifications that would act as a defense. Even if Kazeoni would not acknowledge him, he still knew the workings of this place inside and out. Crossing the narrow pathway that connected the part of the mountain that he stood on and the citadel, Ryoujin noticed that the weapons had split apart, now veering in different directions to attempt to block his advancement.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. If he had wanted to, he could have crossed the pathway in a shunpo, but it was too narrow of a space to even so much as try as he could barely even get a proper footing to begin with. With the winds picking up even more, Ryoujin sprinted as quickly as he could, and then it became clear that he wouldn’t make it. Now completely surrounded and with nowhere to go, the pink-haired soul reaper, completely out of ideas, pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
As the destruction of his inner world reached its apex, the revelation finally occurred, as he smirked uncharacteristically for someone in his current predicament.
“Kinda nostalgic, don’t you think?” he said idly, garnering a confused expression from Kazeoni, “Remember when you first brought me here, and took my memories away? Then you quite nearly killed me in a test to see if I was fit enough to learn your shikai.”
“How could I possibly forget?”
“Well, this is no different. You always do know how to make things complicated, you sick fuck, and in that aspect, you and I are alike. ...And that’s why - that’s why you fail to understand one thing. I am not the only one who’s wrong. You’re my zanpakutou first and foremost. By calling me a fool, you are essentially one as well. It takes a hypocrite to know another.
“You know everything about me, and at the same time, nothing. If the flood gates have opened, then you should know how to close them. You’ve done it before. After all, you kept me in check for so long. You are my animalistic nature, but at the same time, you are my restraint. You are me, Ryuusei Kazeoni.”
As all of the weapons came swooping in, one word could be audible amongst the chaos.
”Ban...kai!”
As if answering to the call, Kazeoni appeared before its wielder, rumbling in approval as the swords finally stopped their course before all of them shattered in a crescendo of small fragments.
“You know you didn’t have to do that. I could have-”
“Hah, don’t make me regret it, boy. You are right partially, but in retrospect, you still have a long way to go. The contract that we made is broken now, and there are no more restrictions. Call my name at your own will.”
And like that, the bond, that was temporarily severed, formed a new pact. He had made a deal with the devil, except in this case, it was his zanpakutou, the demon Kazeoni.
[End]
Arashi Ryoujin now knows Kyokyuu Houshutsu - "Permanent Release" in replacement of Skill Focus.
