Facing Akira, who descended like a demon god, all four opponents fought at full power but were beaten to a pulp without landing a single blow.
Whether provoked by Lilynette's words or simply feeling playful, Starrk abandoned his usual lazy deanor and imdiately deployed his newest superweapon.
⤫ Cero Bomba Nube ⥤ Cloud Bomb of Hollow Flash! ⤬
A massive mushroom cloud rose in the endless desert, its brilliant light transforming deep night into day.
Then Akira suddenly closed in, knocking Starrk unconscious with a single punch. For a naturally-evolved Arrancar Vasto Lorde, Starrk's ability to last this long demonstrated his exceptional talent.
In contrast, Szayelaporro, who engaged Akira in close combat, was torn to pieces — countless tentacles ripped away and half his body destroyed. If not for his High-Speed Regeneration, such severe injuries would have forced "His Majesty" to retrieve him from Hell.
Ulquiorra managed to survive a few more seconds by dodging with his demon wings.
Baraggan surrendered imdiately, showing no will to fight. In his words, rank ant nothing — if injuries prevented him from reading, that would be the greatest loss.
After the battle, Akira stood unscathed while his generals lay defeated.
"I apologize for failing to make His Majesty use full power." Szayelaporro said with a fawning smile as he regenerated, "So, if His Majesty desires a proper fight next ti, might you fulfill a small wish? I've detected the potential for perfect life within you..."
This wasn't the first ti the pink-haired Arrancar had made such a request. Whenever his power increased, he would find ways to ask for blood or flesh for research.
Given Szayelaporro's unwavering loyalty, Akira always obliged.
Then, to everyone's amazent, he drew Kūkan Mukai, wrapped it in Reiatsu, and his arm muscles bulged as power surged forth.
⤫ Tenrin Ryūjin ⥤ Celestial Dragon God Blade! ⤬
BOOM—
An earth-shattering explosion erupted. While Akira's arm remained unhard, several notches appeared on the sharp blade.
Everyone: "..."
Following the God-King truly broadened their horizons. Using one's own Zanpakutō to cut oneself and ending up with a chipped blade — in Soul Society's million-year history, this was like a scorpion's dropping:
One of a kind.
Fortunately, damage to an unreleased Zanpakutō had little impact. With sufficient Reiatsu, it would heal quickly.
Akira rged black flas with Kurohitsugi patterns into Kūkan Mukai, greatly enhancing its destructive power. After trendous effort, he managed to cut off a small piece of flesh and handed it to Szayelaporro.
"Treasure it well. Next ti you want more, you'll have to beg Yama-jii."
Szayelaporro's mouth twitched, leaving him speechless.
He knew exactly who "Yama-jii" was.
During their invasion of Soul Society, he had planned to capture and contain this person for future experints. But a Reiatsu as fierce as the sun had terrified him into retreat.
Even now, rembering that terrifying, abyss-like Reiatsu made Szayelaporro tremble. Though his current power was more than tenfold what it had been, the feeling remained unchanged.
He admitted to himself that facing Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto would an certain death — he didn't have even the slightest chance of victory.
Perhaps only monsters could deal with monsters.
Like his own God-King...
⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬
1st Division.
Genryūsai savored the premium tea sent by Jūshirō Ukitake, letting the lingering fragrance dance across his tongue as a smile creased his aged face.
Soul Society had been peaceful lately — no troubleso nobles stirring up problems, no nos Grande wandering into Rukongai. After he'd shared intelligence about the Wandenreich during the Captains' Council, every division had shown remarkable growth.
Officers now trained an extra hour or two beyond their daily duties. The Gotei 13's overall strength was steadily rising.
The 11th Division deserved credit for this surge in activity. Their fierce internal competition had motivated other divisions to step up their training. Though none could match those battle-hungry brutes, the improvent was substantial.
This progress gave Genryūsai greater confidence in facing the Wandenreich threat.
Perhaps soon, the current Gotei 13 would surpass its founding incarnation and truly beco Soul Society's steadfast protector.
A satisfied expression crossed his face at the thought.
Speaking of which, his unfilial disciple had been unusually quiet lately. Had he finally changed his ways?
As Genryūsai pondered Akira's recent low profile, an inexplicable sense of foreboding crept into his heart. His instincts warned that his disciple was plotting sothing significant.
Just then, a bold, cheerful laugh echoed from the corridor.
"Chōjirō-senpai, when do you think I, Akira Kisaragi, will beco number one in Soul Society?"
Chōjirō: "..."
What nonsense was this kid spouting now? How could he possibly respond?
You might have skin thick enough to withstand Ryūjin Jakka, but this old man still wants to live a few more years.
Before the Lieutenant could answer, Akira declared:
"Today! It's happening today! Overthrow Yamamoto's tyranny, the world belongs to Akira!"
Whoosh—
The tea room's wooden door slid open, releasing a wave of scorching heat into the corridor. Though it was barely spring, the air suddenly felt like midsumr.
Master and disciple exchanged a glance, a wordless signal passing between them before they headed toward the 1st Division's back mountain. Like old friends heading to their favorite bathhouse, they needed no words — a single look conveyed everything.
Watching the two figures leave, Chōjirō sighed helplessly.
They really were like old children.
Since taking Akira as a disciple, his Captain's deanor had grown increasingly youthful. In the past, he would have imdiately struck with full-power Ryūjin Jakka. Now he showed such restraint?
He should follow and watch, lest they get carried away and destroy the Seireitei.
⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬⤫⤬
On the barren back mountain.
Looking at the proud young man standing opposite him, Genryūsai grinned as surging heat rose from his body, making the surrounding air distort. He pulled off his Captain's haori and loosened his Shihakushō, revealing a muscular body covered in scars that emanated ferocious intent.
Since his unfilial disciple's skin was itching, he'd better help him scratch it. When it ca to disciplining students, Genryūsai considered himself quite experienced.
He drew Ryūjin Jakka from beneath the tea kettle, slowly unsheathing it as the air temperature climbed. Scorching winds whipped up dust from the wasteland.
"Overthrow my tyranny, you say? Then today I'll purge my own house!" Genryūsai smiled, steam escaping between his teeth, the scars on his exposed skin glowing red like a long-dormant volcano about to erupt.
"Reduce All Creation to Ash..."
⤫ Shikai: Ryūjin Jakka ⥤ Initial Release: Flowing Blade-like Fla! ⤬
Magma burst forth, its scorching heat carrying raging winds that enveloped the entire back mountain.
How terrifying!
From his previous encounters with Akira, Genryūsai knew that only sothing substantial could teach this unfilial disciple a lesson. With his level of talent, re Hakuda or Zanjutsu wouldn't suffice.
Whenever he considered this, his expression grew sowhat dazed.
This kid had only graduated from the Shin'ō Academy recently, yet he had already reached a level that took other Captains centuries to achieve. Even Genryūsai himself at that age had barely begun his journey.
While lost in thought, Genryūsai watched as Akira erupted with powerful Reiatsu, black flas bursting from his body as he cackled with laughter.
Knowing that drawing his sword would diminish his combat power, Akira opted for his peerless iron fist instead.
He gently patted the frantically trembling Kūkan Mukai at his waist, comforting it.
"Brother, I won't let you get hurt again."
With those words, he tossed both sword and scabbard to the battlefield's edge.
Seeing Genryūsai recovered and ready, Akira grinned and struck.
His Shunpo tore through the air as he crossed the distance between them, appearing before the old man like a phantom.
His right arm drew back, muscles bulging with surging, limitless power. In this mont, he perfectly embodied the essence of the Genryū Style.
⤫ Genshiki-ryū: Kūhaku Hakai ⥤ Origin Style: Single Empty Destruction! ⤬
Genryūsai's pupils contracted as he sensed the deadly force behind the punch — and sothing else different about Akira.
⤫ Taimatsu ⥤ Torch! ⤬
Without hesitation, he countered. Explosive flas surged skyward, transforming into a scorching tornado that engulfed his disciple.
But before Genryūsai could feel relief, a figure burst through the flas. Akira's fist, wreathed in black fire, struck Ryūjin Jakka's blade with the force of an avalanche.
From his distant vantage point, Chōjirō's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Lord Yamamoto... was pushed back?"
Indeed, Akira's mighty punch had forced Genryūsai to retreat several ters.
Though a small distance, it marked sothing montous: the disciple could now stand as his master's equal.
Genryūsai furrowed his brow, studying the demon-like Akira intently, "New kidō patterns?"
Akira had previously explained to the old man the principles and thods of engraving Kidō patterns, though for so unknown reason, he had never been able to complete them.
After observing for a mont, Genryūsai said in a deep voice, "This aura... could it be Kurohitsugi?"
Akira grinned, "As expected of the old man who could teach a genius like . That's right, it's Kurohitsugi. If you're scared, just surrender and hand over the Captain-Commander position."
Hearing these unfilial words, Genryūsai laughed with anger, "re Kurohitsugi? I can break it with one hand — what is there to fear? If this is your trump card, you'd better surrender early. I'd rather not send a young one to their grave."
After their verbal exchange, they clashed again, their surging Reiatsu making the earth tremble and spreading throughout all of Seireitei.
But the Shinigami were used to such occurrences. After recognizing the Reiatsu of the master-disciple pair, they paid it no mind.
As the 11th Division Captain would say, "Hitting is affection and scolding is love, with kicking being the ultimate expression of love."
Why should outsiders interfere with master and disciple bonding?
Boom!
Violent flas soared to the heavens, the ground splitting open with grotesque fissures, golden-red colors flowing within like magma.
In his Shikai state, Genryūsai showed no signs of holding back. After just a few clashes, he had gauged his disciple's current defensive strength.
It was unbelievably ridiculous. An unreleased Ryūjin Jakka probably couldn't even break through the boy's defense. Even now at full power, Genryūsai could only inflict wounds across his body.
Yet in the blink of an eye, Akira recovered to full vitality, wrapped in black flas like a streak of light, charging like a falling teor.
Terrifying waves of Reiatsu swept across the battlefield like an iron plow carving through the earth. Fire filled the sky, fierce and brutal.
His scarred body blazed like a sun as he gripped Ryūjin Jakka, his eyes fixed on Akira.
The Demon of the Sword, Shigekuni Yamamoto, had arrived!
Yet even under such overwhelming pressure, Akira remained fearless. Instead, he relished the instinctive trembling of danger, the thrill and excitent surging from deep within his soul.
Lightning-fire wings spread from his shoulders as his Reiatsu exploded outward, forming pillars of light that struck wildly in all directions. In the next mont, black flas erupted into massive waves that blotted out the sky, transforming the golden-red heavens into a scene of impending doom.
⤫ Genshiki-ryū: Sōkūhaku Hakai ⥤ Origin Style: Double Empty Destruction! ⤬
Akira unleashed his strongest attack of the battle, a savage grin on his face as he struck with his black bone fist.
When the peerless iron fist t the fla-wrapped blade, heaven and earth fell silent, as if the world had been reduced to pure black and white.
The two warriors froze in their stance until a faint crack pierced the silence. A vast new Reiatsu burst forth like the collapsing sky.
Chōjirō's eyes widened, struck speechless by the sight.
Then a wild laugh shattered the mont:
"Kekeke, Yama-jii, help train!"
⤫⤬⤫
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