Crosscurrent

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Epiphany

East Rukongai. Morning.

Several days had passed since the encounter with Hiromasa Ishikawa, the Zanjutsu Grandmaster who hailed from the period of time when the Gotei 13, the military organisation supposed to protect order in the Soul Society, was founded. The same crucial period of time that shaped Kentarō Akiyama, or rather Tōsō, to be the man he currently was. Or rather used to be until recently, up to the brawl he instigated with another relic of the distant past, fellow supreme Hakudaka Seireitō Kawahiru.

So much changed during the last couple of weeks. Substantially more than during the nearly thousand years of mindless, misguided wander that had preceded them. Tōsō deliberated upon that for some time. Once he had exacted his vengeance he became a wreckage of his former self. While well-intentioned, both his goal and the methods he was ready to resort to decayed over time, turning him into a twisted abomination, a lunatic, a doomsayer, one who hoped to save the world through utter destruction. He had seen the error of his ways already, and he knew he had to change his attitude radically. He acknowledged that he could, and should, let this world be. At the same time, his desire to protect the world from dangers comparable, perhaps far greater than his former self was ignited anew. Mentally, he was ready to return to the Soul Society, to the Seireitei, and become a Shinigami again.

But what about his capacity to protect the world?

Not so long ago he deluded himself with the ability to crush any kind of opposition with the weight of the primordial chaos, the realm of quasi-existence from time before time. However, the two recent battles had proven him wrong. His former colleagues showed they were more than a match for anything he deployed against them. In the many centuries that followed his departure from the Gotei 13 he had succeeded to master Yugameyo, the expression of his true self and greatest asset. Unfortunately, that might have been the only change for the better that occurred during that time. After all, he was too preoccupied with observation and ill-conceived, futile attempts to convince people to his skewed worldview. Any training he did was out of habit, basic and mechanical, barely capable of maintaining his skill, much less so of improving it. If the threat he strove to oppose was as grave as he believed it to be, he would stand no chance.

Instead of relying on pure chaos in combat, yielding control to it and depending mostly on its otherworldly aspects, he had to become a Hakuda Grandmaster once more. With the ability to finely control that uncontrollable primeval element restored he could indeed become a worthy ally to the modern Gotei. He had recognised lately that he was neither a man of order nor an instrument of chaos. He was a bridge between two worlds that held them together and sustained the current state of existence, a perfect balance between order and disorder. Now, he had to reinforce that bridge, tighten his grip, and stabilise them to the best of his ability.

That was time for Kentarō Akiyama to return.

The Foundation

The sun was rising slowly toward the zenith upon the blue sky. There were scarcely any clouds to obscure it. Gentle wind swept across the barren land he had chosen as the location for his latest endeavour. Hills, rocky spires, valleys and canyons. Remote and desolate. The perfect place to train, one that appeared on maps as a big splodge of uninteresting nothingness. No-one would disturb him there. The necessity to avoid any unnecessary collateral damage was a secondary matter this time around, however. With what he had in mind there would be absolutely no effect on the environment, or any occupants. Just an additional precaution... should he lose control.

Kentarō took a deep breath. Then, he took off the grey cloak he had acquired in one of the many Rukongai villages after his recent encounter with Hiromasa Ishikawa. His entire upper body was exposed to the warmth of the sun and the caress of the wind. Remarkably sculpted physique, like a statue of a god of war. Every muscle supremely shaped and prominent even when idle as a testament to endless hours of arduous physical conditioning, covered in scars that served as mementos of countless battles he had fought. He assumed a neutral stance, neither combative nor relaxed, with legs spread slightly and arms hanging slightly to the sides. First, he gazed upon the sky, then the earth beneath his feet. Eventually, he lifted his head to a normal position and closed his remaining eye.

Silence.

One after another, the seals he had habitually placed upon his power were undone. The power that could eradicate whole towns merely through ambient radiance was let loose, coursing through his physical vessels like a river raging during a flood. Only briefly, though, for he was quick to impose some limits, direct the current. Disorderly flow contained within the bounds of order, symbolising his restored status of an intermediary between two opposite states of existence. His body was enlarged, significantly so, expanded proportionately rather than bristling with engorged muscles so that it would better depict the vastness of his physical prowess. Strength, toughness, nimbleness, stamina, reflexes and regenerative capacity were returned to their prime, then bolstered beyond the natural limits of a Soul's body with his spiritual power. That was Mutekitai, the body of a genuine Hakuda master.

But that was far from the only change. His resolve further reinforced the physical vessel. Senses were enhanced, obtaining a truly supernatural degree of focus and clarity. The mind was calmed, excised of stray thoughts and debilitating doubts. Spiritual pressure, the buffer zone between the will of a martial artist and the rest of the world thickened, creating a sizeable sphere of dominance around him. His Absolute Territory. Ultimately, Akiyama recalled the past millennia of his long life, illuminated every significant event that had shaped him with the light of awareness and acceptance in order to draw further power from his immense experience. Whereas little seemed to change externally, at least to the mundane senses, the transformation within was drastic.

This time around the wandering Soul known as Nomad did not become Tōsō, the otherworldly creature of conflict unending. This time Kentarō Akiyama emerged in his stead from the abyss of oblivion to once again protect the world he so cherished. The Founding Captain of the Third Division, the Hakuda Grandmaster from a bygone age.

He opened his eye. Normally grey, it gained a distinct red-violet tint and a subtle glow. The reflection of the union between his body, mind and soul. The area around him appeared to obtain prominent tint as well. That was a mirage, though. The telltale sign that the world around him was now a simulacrum made within his mind rather than the ruthless reality he had to deal with daily. Usually, he treated such tricks and delusions with scorn. However, some of them could prove highly beneficial. Meditation was certainly among those.

For the purpose of mental training he would still need a sparring partner. Not one of flesh but a fictional construct would suffice, based upon the countless enemies he had faced. Shortly a ghastly silhouette manifested in front of him a medium distance away. Human-like, though with nebulous features, a ghost wearing a trailing robe. First, was the opponent to represent the threat that had encouraged him to quit his wander and return to the role of a Shinigami: a Kidō master.

The spectre lifted its hand and a larger-than-man crimson fireball coalesced, ambient spiritual energy tied with the bounds of the caster's will and amassed upon a core of his own power. Swift and silent, yet very strong. Without a warning the fiery projectile was launched toward Kentarō, the heat of its eldritch flames scorching the earth beneath. As opposed to the natural, basic, perhaps primitive martial arts, magic was definitely the most abstract element of the Zankensoki, inherently supernatural. Complex, versatile and a pathway to earth-shaking power, all the while flawed like any other skill.

The fireball crashed down upon the Hakudaka who merely lifted his own hand. Then, the projectile dispersed in a flash, harmlessly, extinguished with a single exertion of will. Wisps of neutral energy faded away soon.

Kidō was an elaborate, intricate construct comparable to a house of cards as far as Akiyama was concerned. Reliant upon the fragments of shattered wills present in the environment, borrowed power that had to be subjugated and directed toward the caster's intended target. What he had to do was to strike the core of enforced intent within the spell, using his resolve directly in order to vanquish a remote fraction of that of a mage. Forever an unequal struggle that would usually see the same victor over and over again.

However, in their typical arrogance, the wizards would double or triple their efforts, use more power, weave a devastating assault to eradicate the nonchalant offender. So did the spectre: with a motion of a hand a bright green ripple formed in the air only to unleash a volley of piercing energy blasts, lightning-fast, twisting about the Hakudaka to cut off any route of escape and strike him from all sides. Immediately afterward another spell was cast, a genuine high-level technique - a veritable glacier with all the massive power of one, yet with speed as great as the natural one's was low. A devastating wave of ice destined to wipe out the hole-riddled corpse of Kentarō, should the magical assault succeed.

But it would not. As far as events transpired within the field of his perception and spiritual pressure, they were constantly within his reach. His body responded accordingly, and while it performed the motions necessary to form a counter-offence, he did not have to physically approach and strike every single spell. The intent was enough. Causality was affected by the sheer strength of it, removing a significant portion of the cause and effect cycle. As such, reality displayed Akiyama's reaction as a number of ethereal finger thrusts appearing out of the blue to intercept every single green blast, reducing them to bits of raw, undirected energy. Immediate, precise, successful.

The last attack was one that should not be underestimated. Nevertheless, Kentarō felt no fear or apprehension. All that was required was an appropriate response, nothing else. He shuffled one of his legs forward and impaled the spell with an extended knife-hand as it was about to immerse him. Two tides clashed in a titanic, yet brief struggle. The tremendous, incredibly focussed power and resolve of a martial artist penetrated the elaborate construct with little resistance. Split in two, it did no harm to Kentarō. Meanwhile, in the closure to an exchange that lasted a couple of seconds at most, his strike reached all the way to the caster, cleaving him in half. With both the core and the mage gone, the spell crumbled, only to fade away into nothingness.

The next spectre appeared: a Hohō master. An otherwise nondescript simulacrum in tight-fitting clothes. It was in front of Kentarō, then to the side, then behind him and suddenly up in the air. Sometimes there was one, or two, none at all or a whole group in a variety of poses and locations. An intriguing spectacle of supernatural agility to behold. Numerous afterimages overlapping or phasing through one another, vanishing abruptly or emerging from existing ones. The mundane senses were confused, whilst the spiritual pressure of the opponent was spread all over the place in an attempt to trick the Reikaku as well.

However, Akiyama knew how to deal with such enemies. True, superb nimbleness could reduce the impact, or outright negate other traits under the right circumstances. What good was high attack power when no hit was able to connect? What good was high toughness when the opponent could strike with impunity time and again? Whenever a potential disparity in terms of spiritual power was of no concern speed and dexterity had a tendency to skew the outcome toward the faster of the fighters involved. Unless the slower one deployed the proper countermeasures, that is. With the total of his Hakuda knowledge accessible to him Kentarō was a martial artist supreme. Once more he could distort, or contract, causality itself. The cause was the enemy attack, the effect - his defence. He did not need to consciously track the movements of the spectre, he did not have to consider the best way to react to a particular attack. The opponent acted and he reacted immediately.

A one-two punch dodged with a slithering motion of the torso. A kick blocked with a forearm raised in a guard. A finger thrust deflected to the side. Even though the spectre was faster than him, Akiyama was able to block and parry every single strike. He was like the eye of the storm. Calm, concentrated. He perceived the intent of the enemy clear as day and reacted instantly, always in time to defend from a blow. Attuned as such, and with the ghost within his Absolute Territory, he was capable of enduring indefinitely, mocking the elaborate high-speed manoeuvres with a stable stance, intercepting each strike as if he knew where and when it was set to occur. In a way, he did know, after all.

A roundhouse kick evaded by rotating the torso like a pendulum. A rapid chop simply sidestepped. An impetuous punch caught into a hand lifted in preparation. Then, a swift thrust with two fingers outstretched, their force combined with the momentum of the enemy sufficient to cut cleanly through its chest. The cyclone of fast movement illusions dispersed just as abruptly as it had begun, and the nimble spectre vanished as well.

The third was a Zanjutsu master: a featureless ghost clad in light armour and with a simple katana held in an opening stance. Those were no simple sword and no simple swordsman, though. In the spiritual realms most outwardly mundane things were in truth as supernatural and astonishing as said realms they occupied. The spectre advanced immediately to mount an assault. Akiyama was ready. The two were quickly locked in a feedback loop of sorts. First was a volley of thrusts, so fast that it would have shredded any lesser fighter in an instant. However, Kentarō was no lesser fighter. With the appropriate mindset guiding the total of his being in this confrontation, he reacted without lethal hesitation. Every single strike was evaded promptly, resulting in a man-shaped blur phasing harmlessly through a hundred eight nigh-simultaneous thrusts.

Naturally, that was only the beginning. With the extreme speed of the attacks insufficient to compensate for their small footprint, the swordsman changed its approach. Next were sweeping slashes, upward and downward. Some of them involved several quick rotations, some of them drew serpentine marks in the air, others curved or otherwise transitioned in the least predictable of ways. Supposedly, at least. Physical confrontation between a swordsman and a martial artist in the Human World would have an obvious victor. In Soul Society, though, the conflict was more of an ethereal nature. Skill against skill, will against will, spirit against spirit. Akiyama slanted, crouched or hopped to the side to avoid deadly blows. Every now and then he swatted aside the impending blade with an open palm, or blocked the sharp edge with a simple knifehand. That was his resolve, time and again more than enough to stop the enemy, acting as his defence. The seemingly impossible action of a bare hand stopping a tempered blade was merely a peculiar audiovisual representation of such an intrinsically metaphysical clash.

But, as it had been mentioned, scarcely anything was ordinary in the world of the souls. The Zanpakutō was no mere bar of metal attached to a handle. The Zanpakutō was a shard of the wielder's being in the shape of a weapon, one where a distinct shard of the wielder's very soul dwelled. Since time immemorial the katana of Soul Society served to focus the efforts of its warriors, offering succour in battle and unleashing their latent potential. Nearly every Zanjutsu expert had more than a blade to rely upon, but also a specific special ability that frequently added a unique aspect to their fighting style. Where simple physical strikes were found wanting, the spectre would release that power in order to overcome the opposition.

As such, even though the blade did not reach Kentarō, the next strike scored a hit. A potent gust of wind blew the martial artist away, followed by another potent shockwave. While it dispersed upon impacting his risen guard, the man was still suppressed. Then, razor wind threatened to tear Akiyama apart. Every blow had to blocked or parried, but with their greater number, greater power, the effort required to succeed was significantly greater as well. That was because the spiritual swordsman was now committing a larger portion of his whole being to the fight. Whereas the fighting style of a Zanjutsu master, especially one employing a Kidō-type Zanpakutō, was often highly reminiscent of a proficient wizard's, there were some crucial differences between the two that rendered the former more difficult to face for Akiyama. Where a Kidō master formed elaborate constructs consisting of borrowed power the Zanjutsu master would deploy one's own, and where a wizard preferred overwhelming spectacles of metaphysical might the swordsman would rather fight with lethal focus.

Albeit that was a double-edged sword. The tactical versatility of a Kidō master made it difficult, most of the time, to find a specific flaw or vulnerability to exploit. On the other hand, the single signature power of a Zanjutsu master boasted impressive magnitude and concentration, as well as an inherent weakness that was the hefty price for that power. Kentarō had his own signature power, an otherworldly one that countless times had proven to easily overcome any single element of the present world. Nevertheless, recently his peers had managed to oppose and overcome that very power respectively. As a supreme martial artist, Akiyama did not have to rely upon that single ability, though. He had mastered numerous disparate styles that together formed a vast arsenal of martial art techniques. That would be a waste and foolishness to disregard them altogether, even in favour of his unique, extremely potent natural talent.

Benefitting from the restored connection to both his history and this world, Kentarō picked a weapon from that arsenal. His passion had yet to achieve full power after it had been rediscovered during his latest battle. But there was another important trait of his being, perhaps the defining one, that he could use to manifest and empower that technique. Perseverance. Even as his family, friends and comrades died, even as the whole world around him crumbled, he endured. Damaged, bitter, half-insane at the worst of times, but he survived. Just like the earth he was treading. Just like the ground beneath his feet that he alternately sought to protect and destroy. The present world, the new world, that formed a half of his being. Thus, he assumed a simple, stable stance, with his bent legs spread apart and both arms lifted in a guard. The hurricane struck him again - but to no avail.

For all intents and purposes, he was now one with the earth. The Zanjutsu master, the wielder of air suddenly found itself at a disadvantage. When born one had bartered for great power, and now one had to pay the price for it. Akiyama took a step forward, and the earth trembled. Gusts of wind lashed in futility against the martial artist, like a gentle breeze did no harm to a mountain. The next step, followed by a quake. The currents of razor wind struck at him countless times, unable to chip the rock-solid defences. Another step, the earth shaken in its foundations. Growing desparate, the spectral swordsman resorted to one of its most valued assets. Reflecting the magnificent bond with the spirit-shard inhabiting its weapon a metaphysical slash burst forth from the metal blade, one that would outright ignore physical defences in order to strike at the very soul of its target. However, Kentarō easily recognised the threat. He braced himself and when he was hit, it was not his soul but the whole of his being that was attacked. Once again he was like a mountain, the immense mass and perdurability focussed within the humble vessel of a man. He prevailed, as stalwart as ever.

Then, was the time to counter strike. A single punch, abrupt yet perfect in execution, so much more than a simple motion of the arm. The clenched fist carried the power of a meteor crashing down upon the enemy, the weight of the whole world Akiyama wished to protect. Action and reaction. The wind formed a thick defensive bubble around the Zanjutsu master, the sword was held in a guard. But the victor of that struggle had been already decided. The meteor-fist busted through the ward, shattered the blade and punched a hole in the swordsman's body, so big that it was separated in halves. Shortly, the spectre dispersed in the wind without a trace.

The last opponent was a Hakuda master. Tall and broad-shouldered, yet faceless silhouette in a simple white kimono. The figure straightened up and bowed in a formal manner. So did Kentarō. And then, the following instant their fists collided with a thunderous roar, a shockwave sweeping across the area and vibrations shaking the ground. The silhouette followed with a straight right in the aftermath, the fist almost scratching Akiyama's cheek when he dodged at the last moment. The martial artist retaliated with a left hook, although the enemy ducked. A rising uppercut punch shot toward Kentarō's abdomen like a cannoball but it missed the mark as he swiftly sidestepped the attack. Continuing the move he spun about his own axis and transitioned seamlessly into a sweeping roundhouse kick. The spectre lifted its arm so the two limbs clashed with another ensuant tremor.

Where a Hohō master relied upon nimbleness, elaborate manoeuvres and deception, a Hakuda master was frequently much more robust and direct in one's approach, trading speed and agility for power and durability. During the final confrontation the velocity of strikes was almost of no consequence. Instead, the latter two aspects rose into prominence, with skill and resolve compensating for any potential disparities between the two martial artists. Two outstanding warriors of the same specialty mirroring each other, striking, blocking and defending in a swift, endless dance of unarmed combat.

Kentarō jumped backward to avoid another punch targeting his head. In the process, he rotated horizontally so as to force his legs against the opponent's chin in a potent kick. He supported himself on his hands, then performed several hops to build some distance. Nevertheless, the enemy was stunned only briefly and already hard on his heels. A simple charge Akiyama intended to anticipate with a debilitating blow. However, his strike phased through an afterimage. Shortly, it was the opponent's fist that sunk into his face and caused him to slant to the side. But his resolve was unwavering. Suddenly he caught the spectre's hand as it was retreating, then performed a lightning-fast side kick. Only afterward he let go, allowing it to fly backward a short distance. Relentless, he pursed with a piercing jab immediately yet the blank martial artist swatted it away with a well-timed motion.

That fight would last forever. The fighters were simply too similar to each other. Any pertinent differences they had were compensated for in another area, their skill, willpower and fighting style originating from similar sources. In consequence, their only choice was to reveal their dissimilarities. After all, every warrior worth one's salt had a distinct specialty, an underlying principle or technique that allowed them to remain unique amongst the hundreds of experts. It was the nature, magnitude and expertise in the employment of that unique aspect that would decide the result of that battle. Kentarō had already defeated three formidable opponents without resorting to his forte, without depending too much on its properties and raw power to alleviate his shortcomings. In this fight, however, it was a necessity. And he would not let chaos control him, rather, he would harness the chaos of time before time with the order of the present world. Deftly he shifted into the peculiar opening posture, seemingly unbalanced, slanted, with arms held in an inward guard whilst his fingers imitated a gesture of holding a cup.

Yugamiken.

In the meantime, the spectre flexed its whole body, then straightened up and lifted its arms toward the sky with radiant energy emanating from its body. Kentarō felt the heat of its passion manifesting externally in the form of plumes of fire. The same flames that he intended to eventually rekindle within himself. Suddenly, the enemy attacked with a bright lance of piercing energy directed with a finger thrust. However, Akiyama let his arms fall loose, redirecting their energy and focus toward the rest of his body. As such, it was easy for him to evade the strike by pivoting his torso. A volley of lances threatened to incinerate him yet he was undeterred. More than that, he slithered between the jabs toward his enemy, twisting his form like a snake rather than muscular man. When he was about to punch the enemy in the face a lance finally pierced him, only to reveal a spatiotemporal afterimage in his place. The real Kentarō was behind the spectre's back, seamlessly finishing his counter strike. The heat spiked substantially in an instant, though, deflecting him before the hit could connect.

The Hakudaka spun backward to land a moderate distance away. Immediately, he assessed the situation to discover a giant fireball crashing down upon him. That was no magical construct, however, but the opponent's metaphysical fist, the heat of its passion and the magnitude of its resolve manifesting that spectacular form over the mundane shape of a human's fist. Truly debilitating strike that Akiyama had no intention of receiving the full brunt of. Instead, he countered with a strike of his own, channeling the erratic energies of chaos into his own fist. The two ethereal blows clashed somewhere in the middle. The fireball held for a short while, then dispersed violently when primordial chaos overwhelmed a mere fragment of the current world.

Kentarō launched himself toward the enemy, spiralling in a ground-shattering windmill kick. The spectre defend itself with a two-handed guard. The flames subsided, but were not quenched. Afterward, the enemy countered with an incinerating knifehand strike, causing Akiyama to spin out of the strike's way. Swiftly the Hakudaka transitioned into a whirdlwind kick, like a human-shaped spinning top, showering it with multiple strikes as he passed by. Once he landed on the ground he performed a punch, then another one, and the next, each time the blows multiplying significantly. Not constrained by the general laws of physics, they struck from a variety of angles, sometimes overlapping, sometimes anticipating each other. The enemy was briefly pinned down. Infuriated, it let the wrath externalise in a potent eruption of heat and flames, pushing back the latter portion of the peculiar assault. In retaliation it performed a powerful blow, as if a shooting star was about to engulf Kentarō to eradicate his body.

Unfortunately for the spectre, with so many aspects of the fighters either comparable or compensating for each other, primordial chaos would always prevail over fire. The action had its immediate reaction, the matter was whether said response would prove adequate. And so it did. Rather than confront an attack of such devastating power directly, Akiyama sunk his fingers into the dimensional plane only to cast it aside like a wet rag. Together with the potent technique within, compressed and contorted beyond recognition, rendered harmless with just a moderate exertion on his part. His own retaliation was instantaneous as well. The true strike, a direct hit despite a distance of several metres separating the two. The ethereal fist of chaos bore into the flame-clad ghost warrior. The fire dispersed, the body was twisted horribly together with the very spatiotemporal fabric around it. Within a moment the spectre was obliterated as it was excised from the current world and cast into the incomprehensible depths of primordial chaos. The existential distortion remained for a short while, a dimensional maelstrom suspended mid-air, then relaxed back into the normal state.

In spite of the effort Kentarō felt stronger. He had reinforced his connection with the past and the Soul Society. No longer he was a pawn of chaos, for he succeeded to harness it with the power of order from which he had been born. The myriad invaluable aspects of spiritual martial arts he had mastered were once more readily accessible to him. Soon, his full, unimpeded power would return in all its otherworldly glory. There was one more essential goal to accomplish, however. He had restored his skill, but technique alone would not win any fight without proper guidance. He was as resolute as ever, but endurance alone was too passive a trait to let him act with appropriate force. In order to cleanse this world from unspeakable evil he had to regain the flame of his bygone passion.

The calm, almost tranquil expression of his otherwise grim face transitioned into a frown. Silent fury mixed with apprehension. He knew what he had to do. Recall the last fundamental aspect of his past, the very events, the very man who had set him on a course toward catastrophic self-destruction he barely escaped from. The single man he could not simply defeat neither through words nor combat. The man who destroyed everything he held dear. The man who even in death cast a permanent shadow on the person that was Kentarō Akiyama, reducing him to the half-insane monster known as Tōsō. He had to summon one final opponent.

It had to be done.

"Hellooo, Kentarō-chan!"

Nemesis

"Long time no see, my dear friend", spoke the newcomer in a laid-back manner.

During his most recent battles, especially the one with a fellow Hakuda Grandmaster, Kentarō began to recall the events of his long, arduous life. Partly in a misguided attempt to become selfless and act solely to protect others, partly because of his inability to fully cope with the many horrors that had befallen him, he had suppressed and distanced himself from the memories of his earlier life. He had dissociated himself from his own invaluable, if tragic, experiences. As a result, he had drastically reduced his own power. His myriad skills and techniques, his passion, determination and sanity slowly succumbed to the madness of chaos.

Now, he had to face the opponent who most closely embodied that madness.

"My, my, look at you. You look like your own corpse, y'know? Old and weary and stuff."

The man was tall and lanky, although wiry muscles were exposed briefly as his unbuttoned white trenchcoat fluttered with every abrupt motion of his. Light, almost elegant and inappropriately pure leather clothing wrapped around one of the most heinous creatures in existence. A young man with long platinum blond hair and light green eyes. His complexion pale, with four pink stars on his left cheek. He seemed almost an angel if not for the bone-mask adorning his countenance on the right side. A physical symbol of his innate evil, one that resembled an opera mask with a single small horn. The mischievous devil. A putrid soul. Criminal, rapist, sadist, tyrant. Murderer.

"Sakaala", seethed Kentarō.

"Oh, so you do remember my name, old man?", the Arrancar sneered. "I was afraid you'd forgotten about me completely. We sure had a swell time back in the day, didn't we? That's not really something you could erase from memory", he added with a grin.

Akiyama did not respond. Instead, he seemed frozen in place, like a statue of an angry god.

"Of course, you did kill me in the end... but did you actually win that one final battle?"

At first standing a short distance away, Sakaala now began pacing about the martial artist casually, even humming to himself for a short while.

"You poor thing. Forever bound to this miserable world with chains of morality and responsibility. You only kept adding more of them as time went by until they started to strangle you", he said as he cast a side glance at Akiyama in the middle of his lively march. "And I tried so much to help you break loose. All the effort in vain, no matter what I did."

Kentarō still did not utter a word. However, the frown on his face became noticeably more prominent. The atmosphere around him seemed to thicken as well, his motionless body emanating an increasing aura of crushing weight.

"And then you killed me! Preposterous, eh? The selfless hero consumed by petty, misguided revenge... rather pathetic if you ask me. Hypocritical. After all, I listened to all your talk about saving the world from delusion and tyranny. You wanted to break free of constraints imposed upon you by others, right? And what greater fetter there is than love?"

"Silence", Akiyama growled.

It was more an automatic reaction rather than conscious decision. Just like one was inclined to flinch when somebody made an abrupt motion. A threatening motion. One that would hurt, deeply. He anticipated what was to come. He needed that but certainly did not want it.

"No, no, no, you're not getting away with this, Kentarō-chan. You confided all your secrets and insecurities to me, I wanted to help and then what? You killed me! All the while shitting on your own so-called principles, no less. Selfless but selfish. Honest yet hypocritical. A tyrant to destroy all tyrants. Wanting to replace order with the chaos of new order. A walking paradox of sorts, don't you think?", the Arrancar continued, now moving away from the Hakudaka.

"You killed me... and then what? You lost. You lost everything. You killed me only to assuage your grief, satiate your bloodlust. But that wasn't enough. You destroyed yourself. You were torn apart between your self-contradictory goals and principles, forever unable to fully commit to either extreme of that jolly rollercoaster of a moral spectrum you rode. So you chose to crash and take the whole thing with you. In fact, you became worse than me which is, I must admit, quite an accomplishment. At least I've never pretended to be the saviour, the chosen one to protect the whole world. You did, though, all the while murdering and destroying wantonly just as I used to do. Judge, jury and executioner in the lovely form of a deluded maniac."

Then, Sakaala stopped to look upon the sky. He narrowed his eyes slightly. He mused briefly, only for an unsettling smile to outstretch on his face. Afterward, he turned toward Akiyama and stared at him with his head tilted slightly to the side.

"You know, I wonder what she would think about all this. About you", he remarked.

"You... you are not allowed to speak of her", the voice of Kentarō appeared to drop an octave, grim and menacing.

"Of whom? Etsuko Akui, your cute sweetheart? Why is that?", the Arrancar lifted his index finger to the face in a gesture of mock confusion. "She was the ultimate shackle upon you. You could not keep thinking solely about all those noble goals of yours and shit for too long. She always kept interfering with your grand vision, right? A beautiful, kind woman. Difficult to focus on all the "save the world" business when you simply want to bang that chick. She had her own ideas too, didn't she? I mean, she kept distracting you so much I thought she was the main reason for you being so undecided. That was the reason I decided to help you. That was why I..."

He was not allowed to finish the sentence. There was no need to hear him spell that out, anyway. Kentarō knew full well what happened. He knew full well that he had dragged his own beloved into a bloody, merciless conflict. He knew, as well, that she was the victim of his own shortcomings. But he did not kill her. The perpetrator was right in front of him. The man responsible for his downfall, the personification of evil, the symbol Kentarō had come to associate with everything wrong that he had experienced in his life.

The image of that single body slumped across a pile of nameless corpses returned to him, as vivid as ever. The gaze of his mind's eye met that of those of the body, so beautiful but now blank and lifeless. That was enough to create a spark. A spark that triggered not a flame, but the explosion of a supernova. Wrath, righteous indignation, unstoppable rage. The body acted on its own, fuelled by the colossal killing intent, so Akiyama launched himself toward the Arrancar rapidly. His fist burst forth toward the despicable monster's face, about to obliterate his head... however, a curved sword appeared out of the blue to intercept the strike with a loud clang. The shockwave of the impact cracked the earth beneath the two fighters' feet and swept across the area, causing a cloud of dust to rise toward the red-tinted sky.

"Not this time, Ken-chan", sneered Sakaala.

That was no small feat, to stop a furious punch delivered by an exceptional martial artist like that, especially considering that Akiyama had already bolstered his physical fitness with the use of Mutekitai. But just like he was not making use solely of his raw physical power, so was the Arrancar exploiting an incredible level of mastery of a supernatural skill as well. A lord of space supreme, he instantly erected a barrier of spatial fabric thick enough to absorb the majority of the attack's power. Unlike during their previous, and the last real encounter, the blow was blocked almost nonchalantly.

But that was just the beginning. Immediately another khopesh manifested itself only to swing toward Kentarō with extreme speed. Enraged, yet not the point of blind fury, the Hakudaka evaded the retaliation with a spinning motion, then performed a backfist. Once again a blade rose to intercept, however, this time the impact was much more potent and Sakaala was pushed back somewhat as the ground beneath his feet was shattered. A jab and a thrust, a slash and a knifehand, countless swings and punches erupted into a chaotic volley as the two warriors seamlessly transitioned into a fast-paced exchange. Some of them were dodged with a sway or sidestepped. Some of them were blocked with a guard. Some of them deflected to the side. Others, in turn, phased harmlessly through a portion of distorted space or a semi-physical afterimage. One after another, time and again. A thunder, a swishing sound, a clang. Every glancing hit cast a bolt of lightning born of incredible energy, every direct hit caused a veritable explosion to shake the area. With every following second, a number of blows traded equal in amount to the total of many a historical battle fought between opposing armies.

And then, the stalemate came to an end.

With an exertion of will, an otherwise simple left straight was transformed into an instance of Bōkyaku, a world-shattering blow weaved skilfully into a flurry of various strikes. Unwilling to risk the consequences of being even grazed by such a blow, Sakaala hopped into the air to evade it. Right afterward he swung the right khopesh to decapitate his rival. Kentarō leant backward rapidly, transitioning into a rotation that saw his left leg launched toward the enemy's chin. The strike connected. The Arrancar flew backward, briefly stunned. Meanwhile, Kentarō continued his manoeuvre with a short series of backflips, then assumed a stance and charged forward. Sakaala recovered in time to unleash two spatial rends toward the advancing Hakudaka, who evaded both of them. Subsequently, Akiyama propelled himself to perform a rapid spinning kick. However, whilst he was approaching his target the Arrancar rotated as well, moving past the attack and managing to inflict a long scratch across the martial artist's side.

Then, the two quickly moved away from one another as a result of their combined impetus. Sakaala was the first to turn toward his opponent and perform another attack. This time, a wide beam of impossibly black spiritual energy swept across the area with a gut-wrenching hum. As it was about to engulf Kentarō, the man vanished abruptly, his intent to evade sufficient to transport his physical vessel out of the harm's way in an instant. The wave proceeded onward, vapourising a hill behind his previous position. Immediately he delivered another Bōkyaku. Even though he was rather far away from the enemy, his spiritual pressure channeled the strike regardless of distance. Possessed of incredible reflexes, the Arrancar escaped nigh-certain death by sinking into the dimensional plane. With no hard target remaining on its path the blow obliterated a nearby rock formation.

Suddenly, an increasing number of warriors sprang into existence from two disparate sources, although both the result of supernatural abilities that twisted and violated the laws of physics. Dozens of semi-tangible copies of Kentarō Akiyama and Sakaala confronted each other in a mid-air battle. A punch that cracked the skull. A blade piercing the eye. A limb torn off. A torso cleaved in half. A flying kick that crushed the chest. A barrage of thrusts that left the torso ridden in holes. A back-stab anticipated, countered with a reverse roundhouse kick that disconnected the would-be ambusher's head from the rest of the body. A leopard blow sidestepped and countered with broad vertical slash that cut the body in two. An army of phantoms fought a brief but intense battle. Each duel won meant the beginning of another one, victors combating fellow victors, their victims fading away into nothingness.

And then, a tremendous impact, a single fist against two blades. Superficially a mundane action, in truth the collision of two vast spiritual powers, two demigods locked in a contest of strength and resolve. Even the universe itself was unable to withstand the ensuant friction unharmed. Potent spatial ripples erupted in all directions to the accompaniment of a defeaning thunder, razing the rocky formations to the ground only to punch a giant crater into the previously flattened surface. Devastation worthy of a Bankai's ultimate technique yet resulting from merely their blows connecting in the midst of battle.

"Are you mad?", asked Sakaala following a short snicker. "At me? Don't shoot the messenger!"

"I am furious", replied Kentarō bluntly. "I shall forever bear the burden of my grave mistakes."

The Arrancar was the first to break the lock. Swifly he performed a shearing motion with both of his swords. However, the martial artist blocked them, then pushed back with knifehands only to follow up with an abrupt upward kick. Sakaala leant backward to avoid another strike to his chin, a crooked smile still present on his face.

"But I have never been the sole perpetrator!", added Akiyama with indignation.

He extended an open palm toward the opponent. The resultant shockwave did not boast high attack power, but succeeded to momentarily suppress him. Pinned down, he had no choice but to confront the subsequent strike. Unwilling to stay passive, Sakaala swayed slightly and thrust one of his swords forward to anticipate the fist that had burst forth toward him. Unfortunately for him, the superficially straightforward punch began to twist about his own arm like a snake, distorting dimensions to crash into his face virtually unimpeded. Blood gushed from the nose, and the signature smile devolved into an agry grimace. Meanwhile, the protruding blade inflicted a shallow cut on the Hakudaka's cheek.

"It is monsters like you who corrupt the most noble of people!", exclaimed Kentarō.

The Arrancar swung one of his blades to unleash a small, spherical projectile. Imbued with the power of spatial manipulation, a dimensional ripple erupted upon impact to blow Kentarō away. In that short moment of respite Sakaala retreated hastily to gain some distance. Then, he quickly mounted an assault, a volley of dozens if not hundreds of Púlsar travelling toward the martial artist from all directions due to their master's guidance. Nevertheless, the former remained vigilant. Similarly to his fight with the Kidō spectre, he stood his ground and proceeded to intercept every single projectile, dispelling them with one jab each. All within a blink-and-you-miss-it moment.

"Monsters like you who leave only despair and destruction in their wake!"

In spite of the increased distance between the two, Kentarō had no trouble to reach his enemy. Without moving an inch from his current position he performed a flurry of punches. Those were no simple punches, though, for space bent and twisted about them to extend his reach drastically. Sakaala found himself suddenly surrounded from all sides even though his opponent was far away, a shower of ethereal fists raining down upon him relentlessly. So he began his sword-dance, sweeping motions of the curved blades blocking and parrying the strikes for a while. Then, one powerful blow erupted from the barrage without a warning, straight toward the Arrancar's torso. While cushioned somewhat with the shroud of Urdimbre, the blow proved strong enough to cause not only air but blood to escape from his mouth as he was launched into a backward flight. Only after travelling over a hundred metres did space about him distort like ripples on the surface of water to halt that uncontrolled motion.

"In order to atone for my own mistakes I shall forever protect this world from harm and injustice!", proclaimed Akiyama with renewed zeal.

"Is that so?", asked Sakaala snarkily shortly after he wiped the blood from his mouth.

The lanky man straightened all of his elongated limbs and flexed his muscles, his face contorted in a sudden exertion. First a faint outline of hot pink tint enveloped his body. Then, the aura transitioned into a rapidly expanding, flickering sphere. Electric currents emerged from within, wind began to blow with ever increasing strength. The world trembled whilst the power emanated by the Arrancar skyrocketed. For what one would be excused to think already a high-level was merely the base for him, the default, casual state he employed to protract many a battle for his entertainment. However, the opponent in this battle was a special case who warranted special treatment.

His muscles swelled. His legs contorted into an animalistic shape. Blades merged with his forearms as bony white substance excreted from his skin proceeded to form a natural set of armour. Two empty spaces emerged in his abdomen. A tail sprang from above his rear, long, fairly thick, with a sharp, blade-like tip or stinger. The features of his angelic face distorted in a dark grimace as his mask sank into the skin and its horn twisted higher toward the sky in a spiral. Kentarō braced himself when several potent shockwaves swept across the area, briefly expanding and contracting space with each passing. Such was the power of his opponent that even sheer emanations of his might could affect the environment on the most fundamental of levels.

"What makes you think you can do that alone?", sneered Sakaala, his wounds healed and his power increased tenfold.

Then, there was... an event. An eye-watering blur, a defeaning screech. Attuned as he was Akiyama immediately rose his guard, in time to block the attack. Once again, it was much more than mere flesh and bone protecting him, for every aspect of his existence had influence on both his offence and defence. Nevertheless, this time around a timely block did not mean escape from damage. The spatial rend unleashed by Sakaala in a faster-than-light slash carved into the right arm and parts of the Hakudaka's torso. An immaculate, perfectly clean cut, marked and then ruined with trickles of blood. Kentarō's enlarged body became tense, resisting the oppressive aura of his empowered nemesis.

"You fucking worm", the Arrancar snarled.

He waved one of his hands, a casual gesture. However, the result was far from trivial. The motion triggered a veritable dimensional tempest. The fabric of space undulated like hot air, with force more than enough to eradicate a whole city from the face of the earth. Caught up in that storm Kentarō nonetheless maintained his position. That was only the opening move, though. What followed was another storm - a storm of blades. Two curved, fang-like wrist-swords drowned the area around him in drastically extended strikes. Thrusts and slashes, horizontal, vertical, abrupt or sweeping, straightforward and meandering assailed him from all directions at once.

"You were unable to convince your alleged peers to help you, much less defeat them", remarked Sakaala.

Akiyama knew that at present, because of the sudden disparity in the power the two wielded, his defences would have been rent asunder in a matter of moments should he attempt to block or parry the onslaught. As such, he focussed solely on evasion instead. Not just his body but his whole being was immediately attuned to that singular purpose. His muscles relaxed for added flexibility only to contract in lightning-fast bursts to power a motion necessary to avoid yet another sword strike. He swayed, ducked, hopped to the sides, swung his torso in a peculiar, life-preserving dance. Still, every once in a while one of the edges grazed him, or one of the tips left a small, crimson point upon the scuplted physique ere it was able to withdraw completely. Soon most of his body was covered in shallow wounds, his torso immersed in blood and his trousers almost torn apart.

"You weren't even able to protect your own woman back then."

All of a sudden, a single attack emerged from the deadly hail faster than Akiyama's reflexes could react, piercing his abdomen and erupting from his back. A slight frown appeared on his face but he remained relatively composed as it retreated. The omnidirectional assault ceased as quickly as it had begun.

"You're but a single worm in this festering corpse called existence", the Arrancar continued, glaring at his opponent with obvious contempt. "You can't do anything to change it."

In that brief moment of respite Kentarō reached inward, to the source of his tremendous power. The gate to primordial chaos, the realm from time before time, was opened. The eldritch energies incomprehensible to the vast majority of modern beings coursed through his wounded body, invigorating him. Quickly the amount increased drastically, spilling from its physical vessel into the environment. A wild aura not unlike a red-violet plume of flame enveloped the Hakudaka, and currents of crackling, slithering energy extended in all directions. Sakaala unleashed a volley of Púlsar whilst Akiyama plunged toward him with great speed. The spheres detonated all around him, sending concussive shockwaves and attempting to confuse his sense of direction. However, firmly locked onto his nemesis, the martial artist reached his target nonetheless.

Empowered by chaos and sheer momentum, he swiftly transitioned into a rapidly spinning assault. A constant, seamless barrage of physical strikes, a suppressive cyclone of kicks and punches. Chops, jabs, punches and open palm strikes, knee kicks, side kicks and roundhouse kicks, one after another. The Arrancar was slowly moving back as he was blocking the blows with his two blades, seemingly overwhelmed yet eerily laid-back at the same time. Kentarō pressed on in a ferocious attempt to get past the enemy's defences with a flurry of strong attacks so fast that hardly anyone would be able to distinguish their exact nature, much less every individual strike. Unfortunately, all of them were stopped, a vicious cyclone bumping in futility against a mountain.

"Why bother? Why struggle so much? You should just let loose and enjoy the world for what it is! A vast fucking playground!", exclaimed Sakaala.

A leopard blow finally overcame the barrier of blades. Thrusting with two of his fingers extended, Akiyama tore through his opponent's throat. He had noticed an unsettling grin on the latter's face before... his body vanished without a trace. Instantly the Hakudaka swiveled his torso, with a raised arm prepared to block an oncoming slash. However, the bone blade seemed to skip the limb only to reappear in the right position to cut his head in half. Kentarō leant backward to avoid sudden death. He retaliated with a push kick that phased harmlessly through an afterimage. Then, he performed a backward elbow strike to anticipate a thrust from behind, yet once again he hit a mirage. Suddenly, the world disappeared, immersed in a humming blackness that consumed him whole. A wide beam composed half from spiritual energy, half from spatial distortions threatened to extinguish the cloak of chaos that enveloped his body. Shook the very core of his being with vibrations that affected body, mind and soul. Blown away, he nonetheless survived. After a short while he regained his mid-air footing to re-assumed a fighting stance. Wounded and weary.

"Nobody cares about your vision. Nobody wants your protection. The world you love so doesn't care about you", Sakaala's speech continued. "The only single person who did is dead... because of you."

Order and Chaos

"Huh?", the Arrancar suddenly glanced at his hands.

He realised that the large, curved blades embedded on his wrists were warped, and small cracks appeared on them. His arms were trembling uncontrollably. Partly confused, partly irritated he gazed back at his opponent.

"But I care. I want to protect this world. Always, forever. Despite all of my mistakes...", replied Kentarō with a quiet, yet strong voice.

He was enraged. However, the intense, slow-burning fire of tranquil fury was not enough. For as much as he had recovered during his recent battles there was still a profound disconnect within him. The wall between his past and modern selves, a barrier of denial and anxiety was cracking, yet still stood. He had recognised his dangerous obsession, extreme single-mindedness and ferocity. He was furious at his bygone allies, too naive or selfish to help him in those dark times. He could not stand the sight and voice of the one who personified the worst of humankind standing before him. But that was not enough.

The only person who understood him.

The only one who genuinely did, whether he was an idealistic hero or a disillusioned villain.

She always did.

And she was dead.

Because of him.

---

Finally, he was ready to return.

He had realised the folly of his so-called new way. In an attempt to free himself from the tyranny of avaricious and power-hungry people he became a tyrant himself. He wanted to break the shackles placed upon the innocent, yet brought only ruin and destruction. Death. Despair. He was a fool who had traded one lie for another. However, he had recognised his mistake. Instead of focusing upon a far-fetched vision, where it was far too easy to tolerate despicable methods in order to achieve a distant goal, he would become the saviour he had always wanted to. He would return to the Soul Society to repent for his crimes. He would no longer listen to anyone else but his own conscience... and her.

Etsuko Akui. The woman he loved. So deeply. He wanted to be close to her yet distanced himself in pursuit of his grand vision. Was that not the reason they had betrayed and hurt each other in the end? But she still loved him, and his feelings toward her never changed. Her forgiveness would grant him absolution. And peace of mind. Together, they could work toward a better future and a safer world. His determination tempered, guided with her gentle disposition. Together, they would defeat the real villains. Together, they would bring justice born of love and understanding. Together, together, together...

But she was dead.

Her mansion was ruined. Cracked walls, fallen pillars, billows of smoke, red aura of fire. Her guards and family slain, their corpses strewn across the debris, dismembered, torn apart. And there she was, slumped on a pile of nameless warriors who had died in a futile struggle to protect her. A deep cut marked her throat, so deep that her head had been almost disconnected from the rest of the body. So deep that it carved into the eyes of Akiyama as he stared at her in utter disbelief. Her eyes were open. Beautiful, clear eyes. Lifeless. And so was Akiyama's remaining eye as he gazed into hers. The woman he loved and respected. A stellar example of nobility. A powerful warrior. The last anchor for his existence in this insane, cruel world.

She was dead.

Because of him.

---

"I! AM THE SHIELD! OF HUMANITY!", he roared in a voice that resounded across the whole world, an expression of determination and fury.

His risen fists clenched. His enlarged body flexed. The flame-like aura of Yugamekyō exploded in all directions, triggered by his emotions, then began swirling like a whirlwind of eldritch fire. Higher and higher, toward the sky, the clouds parted rapidly in its wake. The currents of lightning wrapped around him reached toward the world, spread in all directions, cracking the ground, obliterating forests and shattering mountains. The whole universe seemed to tremble as the red-violet glow of Kentarō's power coloured everything with its eerie tint. The fabric of space expanded and contracted alternately, unable to maintain its normal form under such tremendous, otherworldly pressure. That was no mere release of power, no simple transformation, but a world-shaking calamity.

The wall within Akiyama was broken. His old and new selves converged. The experiences of over 3000 years of existence combined into a single total. An idealistic child, a brisk hero, a disenchanted villain, a roaming monster - all were united into a single being. The power of primordial chaos and the universe. The prowess of an exceptional martial artist and the understanding of a man who had witnessed everything life had to offer. The glow of his colossal power invaded every aspect of existence. The currents of his energy formed an intricate network within the contorting dimensional plane. However, this time around the current world did not fade away into nothingness, replaced by the primeval madness that had preceded it. No, this time those two aspects of broadly defined existence were united as well, in a constant flux that formed the basis of a tenuous balance.

Meanwhile, Kentarō himself no longer resembled a mortal, or even a demigod of war. His form was now that of a muted shadow, a wraith with nebulous features and the cycle of existence contained within its ethereal frame. The stare of his remaining eye, now with a slit-like pupil in the centre of a grey sclera and bizarre, curved lines framing it, fixed at the Arrancar. More than that - where the right eye used to be there was unmistakbly a peculiar glow, like a miniature grey star burning in the empty socket.

Sakaala flinched. The power of his opponent was so vast that it was impossible to gauge it. His reaction, though, was caused by something else. Resolve, wrath, killing intent. Emanated by Akiyama, so potent that they managed to pierce his inhuman indifference to trigger actual fear. In front of him was a single man, a warrior with the strength of a thousand. The beginning and the end.

And he hated that man. He hated the fact that no matter how many times he beat him, the man refused to be broken. The fact that no matter how hard he tried, the man refused to be swayed, never truly succumbed to Sakaala's worldview. So he lashed out at him. His twin blades carved into the fabric of existence, splitting the dimensional plane in two perfectly straight, impossibly black lines that descended toward the martial artist. Kentarō crossed his forearms in a risen guard when the attack approached him. Then, as they were about to cleave him on an existential level, the spatial rends simply warped about him only to fade away harmlessly right afterward. After all, when two demigods did battle their defences had no particular reason to fail, regardless of how astronomically powerful their attacks objectively were. Strike and block, dodge and parry, remained the underlying theme of every cataclysm they unleashed.

Now was the time to test the Arrancar's defences. A single blow was performed in retaliation. In spite of the distance between them, Akiyama similarly did not move a step forward. He did not need to. In a world so profoundly affected by his peculiar power the laws of reality were bent or violated as he saw fit. As such, an ethereal fist manifested right in front of Sakaala to deliver the blow. One that crashed into the opponent with the power of a shooting star, shattering dimensions on impact. What appeared to be shards of broken glass tinted pink spread outward, the shroud of Urdimbre the only thing that prevented Sakaala from being shattered as well. Nevertheless, the punch was incredibly strong. Some of its power had reached him anyway, enough to crack the armour on his chest and cause blood to burst forth from his mouth whilst he was pushed backward.

Then, the martial artist charged at him. The Arrancar launched volley after volley of spatial bullets in order to intercept him. Some of them missed as the man meandered amongst them like a spectral snake. Some of them were burst like water bubbles by a single thrust of extended fingers. None of them managed to stall, much less damage Akiyama. Accelerating backward, Sakaala employed his special ability to extract giant blocks of rock from the land below. Each one the size of a large building, propelled forward with a loud sonicboom. Every one of them smashed into tiny pieces by a rapid hand swipe. Sakaala grated his blades against one another to produce a pink lightning bolt supercharged with his spiritual power. With a loud, thunderous sound the bolt extended toward the martial artist, then dispersed in all directions when met by a jab. With a snarl, he then launched a powerful Grieta, immersing the incoming enemy in ground-shaking gravitational distortions capable of destroying their target at an atomic level.

The sustained blast spread across the area with a defeaning drone. Streams of sweat flowed on his face contorted in great exertion. He poured more and more energy, enough to obliterate not just a large city but the whole surrounding region, an entire landmass, such was the extent of his abnormal power that a single attack of his could eclipse a well-trained Bankai. However, not sufficient to stop his sworn enemy. All of a sudden the ghost-like Hakudaka emerged from within the enormous spatial distortion right before the Arrancar. There was little time to react save for widened eyes and an attempt to withdraw his wrist-blades into a block. First was a jab that broke Sakaala's nose. Then a left cross smashed into his face from the side, cracking his mask. A knee kick to the chest forced not just air but more blood to escape from his mouth. Finally, a swinging kick to the head struck him down. Surrounded by shards of broken space, wraith-Kentarō observed the Arrancar plummet toward the ground and finish his quick descent with an earth-shaking impact.

That was not the end, however.

An explosion ocurred shortly after the impact, substantially greater in scope. Bright light the colour of hot pink shone like a beacon suspended in a red-violet world. Dimensional ripples formed within the already fluctuating fabric of space, emanating from the same source as the light, and the spiritual pressure as well. Sakaala stood up, somewhat worse for wear but very much alive. Thick aura illuminated his body, manifesting his spatial defences in a readily perceptible form, embellished with glittering particles and currents of electricity. Faced by a being whose power or status could not be even properly described using terms devised by humans, the Arrancar, an anomaly himself, resorted to unbridle his full potential.

"And I am the sword that will splinter that shield!", he exclaimed with a wide grin.

The muscles of his arms swelled. The large claws, the remnant of his Zanpakutō, were unexpectedly pushed out of his forearms, revealing bone-like hilts not much different from the rest of the weapons. He flailed them nonchalantly. Once more separate from his body, the twin curved blades would benefit from a significantly greater degree of flexibility again. Every twist of his wrists, every time he twirled them between his fingers or changed his grip had a small, yet noticeable impact on the complexity, and as such effectiveness, of his bladework. A fundamental aspect of his fighting style he intended to exploit fully in the following - final - exchange.

First, he waved one of his arms. So fast, so strongly, and with his already unique Hierro altered slightly to produce tremendous friction whilst the limb moved. In consequence, a giant plume of white flames erupted toward the martial artist. Composed, the man merely assumed a defensive stance when engulfed... or not quite, for the fire seemed to pass by harmlessly around him. However, the Arrancar himself emerged from the torrent of flames with a vertical slash aimed at Akiyama. The latter simply stepped to the side to avoid it. Another slash followed, this time a horizontal one but Kentarō ducked just in time to escape decapitation.

Part furious, part frightened, Sakaala proceeded with a ferocious onslaught. A volley of sword strikes, each one of them potent and quick enough to puncture the plane of existence itself. So fast that their dimensional effects were the first to be seen, only then followed by a blur of the weapons and arms in motion. And all of that occurring only after the attacks had actually transpired, for light was unable to keep up with the Arrancar. Aimed at the eyes, throat, solar plexus, heart. Each thrust a fatal blow, too fast to react to, too piercing to block or parry. Yet somehow, Akiyama was able to tilt his torso out of the harm's way, time and again. Strike after strike, sinking into a distorted mirage rendering his already eldritch visage all the more disturbing. Sakaala struggled in futility. Miss, miss, miss. Out of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, select few were even able to graze the ghastly Hakudaka, leave a shallow cut on his cheek or scrape against an engorged muscle. A flurry of lethal strikes potentially capable of obliterating their target completely reduced to hopeless flailing that could only inflict scratch damage at best.

Increasingly desperate, the Arrancar sought to up the ante further. Swings appeared amongst the thrusts. Their trajectory changed, in the beginning with a slight motion of the wrist, in the middle with a grip tightened or loosened up, then transitioning seamlessly into another strike at the end. Now, he was attacking with his whole body, pivoting his torso, shuffling his feet. Sallied, stumbled in a feint, spun and hopped around. He twirled the blades, switched between standard and reverse grip, changed the sequence of attacks or performed two at the same time, swung his tail to further increase the number of strikes and variety of angles involved. And there he was, the exiled Shinigami Captain, elusive as a gust of wind. He too was participating more actively, swiveling like a pendulum and shuffling his stance alternately. And still, he escaped death countless times, tantalising his opponent as he remained just out of his reach.

The ivory twin khopesh approached him in a diagonal shearing motion intended to hinder a potential evasive manoeuvre. But this time Kentarō did not plan to evade. Instead, his arms rose to intercept the attack, the blades bouncing off almost harmlessly when they impacted his forearms. At the same time he headbutted the unsuspecting opponent, stunning him. Next was an open palm strike that further cracked the armour that protected the Arrancar's chest. With a snarl the latter swayed and turned sideways to plunge the stinger of his tail right into the martial artist's chest. However, Akiyama pivoted in place. He grasped the limb with both of his arms, then proceeded to spin about his axis rapidly. With his footing lost, Sakaala was flailed at an immense speed, unable to act. Only after a short while he was released, his impetus sufficient to carry him kilometres away, passing above grasslands, forests, barrens, bodies of water, until he smashed through a mountain and another one before he finally stopped with an exertion of spiritual pressure.

And the Hakudaka had followed him, burning with the wild, red-violet flame of restored passion and fury fueled by a broken love.

"Púlsar!"

The Arrancar showered him with another volley of spatial projectiles. Kentarō extended his arm, then deflected the whole barrage with a single flick of his wrist. The bullets spread across the area, drowning the air and shattering the nearby peaks with gravitational distortions.

"Grieta!"

Another pitch black beam burst forth toward the martial artist, who crossed his arms in a guard. For a short while the vibrating wave of spiritual energy seemed to coalesce right in front of him instead of engulfing him. Then, the man unfolded his arms quickly, dispelling the attack into bits of neutralised energy that faded away into nothingness.

With a snigger, Sakaala motioned to launch the next offence. However, all of a sudden Kentarō was right in front of him. As incredibly fast as he was, the Arrancar had no time to react - the blows he wanted to react to had already transpired. The mask on the left side of his face shattered, the splintered fragments of bone revealing raw tissue beneath. Only then did Akiyama's punch become visible to the senses. A miniature shockwave erupted from the point of impact, revealing a blue-tinted fist approaching the Arrancar and a red-tinted one retracting toward the martial artist, all seemingly at the same time. The former's chest burst open, blood and splinters of bone followed by a spatial ripple and the ethereal afterimage of a superluminal knee-kick. As he slanted forward, Sakaala tensed abruptly when his back was struck, but before he could plummet toward the distant ground the right side of his face was smashed with a backhand. Only then did he fall, followed by numerous pink shards, like petals of a flower withering down.

Whilst he was descending, what could pass for a grin formed on his ruined face. Where his opponent displayed impressive determination he had stubbornness to spare. Where the Hakudaka fought to protect others, the Arrancar wanted to preserve his own life. There was nothing noble about those primal, egotistic instincts. Nevertheless, for someone of his exceptional power those were good enough to let him endure. Enough for him to strike back in spite of grave injuries. Like a ferocious predator at the brink of death, he would bite and slash at his would-be killer with all his remaining strength. So he vanished without a warning, sinking into space, then reappeared behind his nemesis. The double-bladed stinger on his tail thrust through the martial artist's back with speed that defied description and erupted from his chest. Immediately afterward Kentarō turned to strike back, although the ivory blade of the Arrancar severed his arm at the elbow. Subsequently, Sakaala swung his tail with another burst of highly superluminal speed to cast him toward the ground below.

The earth trembled in the wake of the impact, with the nearby mountainside reduced to debris. The Arrancar was battered, his protective shroud cracked, his stamina depleting, yet he still had plenty of spiritual energy to spare. And so, in spite of the grave damage he had sustained so far, in spite of the undeniable sliver of fear stuck within his mind, he gazed down upon the martial artist, figuratively and literally. He observed, with a bloody, crooked grin as the man stood up, surrounded by dust, a lacerated cripple with a single eye and a single arm.

"Struggle all you want", said Sakaala in a low, raspy voice. "I might be special but I'm certainly not the only bad guy. If you can't even defeat me, there's no chance you could ever save your fucking world. Sooner or later, you will die, an unremembered failure of a hero who has burnt out completely in pursuit of his impossible goal."

Afterward, Sakaala pointed both of his warped, slightly cracked bone-swords toward the man down below. Blood from his numerous wounds was flowing across his armoured body, including the curved blades. He bared his sharp teeth in an even more unsettling smile when a small black orb manifested between the tips of his weapons. A miniature area of collapsed space that began to increase, slowly but surely, inevitably, with a profound vibration that quickly resonated across the whole mountain range.

"You weren't able to protect the world, your friends, your woman, and in the end, you won't be able to defend yourself. You will cease to be, and no-one will even notice. Sink into oblivion", added the Arrancar, still audible despite the noise of his technique. "Agujero Negro."

The orb expanded rapidly to the size of a building. Several spatial ripples swept across the battlefield as reality itself shivered at the impossibility of the event he had triggered. The simulacrum of an undead star appeared within the realm of a simple planet, exerting its overwhelming gravity across the whole of its expanse. Astronomical power at the fingertips of an individual, an abomination, a vulgar being that could well challenge and strike down a god. Destroy the whole world. And so the black hole with a faint pink outline descended upon that world, and the Hakudaka who endeavoured to protect it from harm. Kentarō stared into the eye of that unnatural abyss with his own ghastly one. No matter what his opponent did, no matter what he said, he was ready to fight. That was his power.

Outlined with energies granted by both the primordial chaos and the current universe, his remaining fist rose upward. A giant ethereal representation of that fist manifested right afterward to meet the fake black hole in one last struggle. The two collided with force that sent tremors across the continents, reached deep into the core of the planet and shook its very foundations. A spectacle of might far beyond the reach of any normal mortal, beyond the ability of the senses to fully comprehend, a bedazzling depiction of eternal conflict not between two people but between the forces of good and evil.

The mountains vanished, ground to dust merely by the emanations unleashed by the two attacks pressing against one another. The surface of the earth fractured and sank beneath Akiyama's feet. The sky itself seemed to crash down upon him. Veins bulged out on Sakaala's temples, the arm of his opponent trembled. Inch by inch the sphere of collapsed space seemed to crush the martial artist. His body, mind and soul tensed under the tremendous pressure. In that moment he became the anchor of existence, the shield of humanity, the last line of defence from complete annihilation. Gradually, despite his arduous effort, his arm continued to recede under the colossal weight of that responsibility.

"Does not... matter... what others... think... or how I... feel", he spoke through his teeth. "I shall... use my strength... to protect... the weak... because..."

His legs bent in the knees, his head lowered slightly. The enlarged manifestation of his remaining fist flickered, now just a few metres above the ground, almost consumed by the pitch blackness enveloped by a garish pink glow. What started as a snicker quickly became a full-blown maniacal cackle when Sakaala observed his sworn enemy at the precipice of utter defeat.

However, Kentarō held his ground. He thought of the powerless people that populated this world. Invariably flawed, nonetheless deserving the choice to live that was so often forcibly taken away from them. He thought of the ignorant fools called the Gotei 13, sword-wielding janitors who were evidently willing to let, or even unable to perceive, a grave threat emerge and plunge the whole world down the spiral of madness once again. He thought of Seireitō Kawahiru, a prodigious martial artist who naively believed that those powerless people and their incompetent guardians could fend for themselves when assailed by an ominous organisation or an evil demigod. He thought of Hiromasa Ishikawa, an exceptional swordsman and virtually a deity himself, who refused to help not because of his moral values or a self-imposed code of conduct but out of childish stubbornness and selfishness.

Even at his worst, even when he was almost entirely consumed by primordial chaos, Tōsō, or rather Kentarō Akiyama, never ceased to be concerned about others. He never abandoned the weak. Whether he wanted to defend them, kill their persecutors or even convince them that they were living a lie that should be ended in favour of the truth of death, he never stopped caring about them. His determination to fight for them was forever the defining trait of the person that he was and his greatest asset. The infinite power of heroic resolve.

"IF I DON'T, WHO WILL!?", he roared once again.

Via the combined effort of both the mind and the soul, his wounded body was instantly returned to its prime. Restored, his left arm shone with the power not borrowed but his very own, the sum total of his outstanding potential, immense experience and indomitable will. Second ethereal fist joined the first one in its struggle. The world seemed to vanish upon the collision with the all-consuming sphere of Agujero Negro. Sakaala widened his eyes when the technique was bent out of shape, inflated against his will, only to burst like a bubble and rain down in black-and-pink drops of spiritual energy. For all his unusual power, for all his skill and persistence he was ultimately outmatched.

"The fu-AAAAAH...!", he managed to scream before he was engulfed.

The two ethereal fists dissolved into a blinding flash of light that eradicated the Arrancar in the blink of an eye. Spread across the ruined mountain range, the whole continent, planet, saturated all of existence until there was nothing else left...

New Cycle Begins

Kentarō opened his eye.

The worldwide illumination was gone. The sun was suspended on the blue sky, now moving slowly toward the horizon. The rocky barrens around him were silent. Intact. For the apocalyptic battle he had fought was one inside his mind. Only he was affected. Panting, his muscles flexed and strained, covered in perspiration. But he was satisfied. Akiyama clenched his fists, felt the warmth coursing through his body. The flame of his old passion was lit anew with the fuel of hope. The last mental restraint that had hindered him was undone.

He was neither the young idealist, nor the disillusioned cynic of the past. He was the half-insane vicious monster no more. He was something... new. A man forged by over 3000 years of experience, good and bad, enjoyable and tragic. Tempered, like a masterfully crafted sword. At last, he was ready to return to the Soul Society.

Was he the saviour they needed in the dark times to come? Only time would tell. Despite their incompetence, short-sightedness, stubbornness, Kentarō Akiyama, the founding Captain of the Third Division was determined to help the Gotei 13 and the Shinigami to maintain the order of things in this chaotic world. Where others perished, turned to evil or refused to remain involved, he would continue to fulfil his duty. He would continue to fight for the righteous cause until his last breath.

As always, he would endure.

End of Chapter