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Chapter 49: Sip Of Blood
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Akashi went on his way, and just as he'd predicted, the Eleventh Division welcomed him back with open arms; and open swords.
The sun was beginning to set as Akashi made his way through the bustling barracks of the Eleventh Division.
Familiar voices called out to him, some with cheerful teasing, others with wonder... Is he here to suffer again?
He had barely stepped into the main training yard before several Shinigami rushed up to greet him.
"Oi! If it ain't the little ghost back from the dead!"
"You've been hiding out in the quiet divisions too long, Akashi! Come get bruised proper!"
Akashi gave a small, quiet smile; an expression of expectations they seldom saw from him. He had missed this.
There was a certain purity to this place, despite the blood and bruises; raw ambition, love for the blade, and a certain degree of masochism.
"I thought I'd remind you all how much I enjoy wiping the floor with overconfident seated officers," He said calmly.
Laughter erupted all around.
They were used to such banter, and it's funny because it isn't true. It's Akashi that usually ends up in the fourth division at the end of the day.
But this time, it wasn't the seated officers who stepped forward. It was Ikkaku Madarame himself, bald head glinting in the light, smirking as he shouldered his zanpakutō.
"Had a near death experience or something?" Ikkaku asked, eyeing him like a hawk, "You look stronger."
Akashi's fingers instinctively curled around Kurayami's hilt, "Hollows haven't been kind to me." He lied as naturally as he breathed.
Without another word, the two stepped into the center of the training yard.
A crowd gathered quickly, forming a circle. Bets were shouted, and cheers echoed.
The spar began with a blur of movement; Akashi vanished into flash step and appeared at Ikkaku's side, blade arcing upward, but Ikkaku parried easily, his own blade sweeping downward like a hammer.
Akashi spun to deflect it, but the sheer force of the blow numbed his arm, forcing him back.
"Tch." Akashi's brow furrowed. He'd closed the gap, but Ikkaku's technique hadn't dulled a bit, and he was at least a few dozen years older than him.
"You're faster," Ikkaku said, lunging with a brutal flurry of strikes, "Sharper. Your footwork's tighter; your eyes are clearer. I fucking like it! Come! Give it your all!"
Akashi focused. His Reiatsu gathered subtly, coating his blade with a thin layer of darkness; not a Shikai transformation, merely a refined flow of spirit energy to enhance his blade.
He wasn't here to truly kill but to learn, thus using something like Kurayami's transformations would only hinder his improvement.
He parried Ikkaku's next blow and countered low, a slash that forced Ikkaku to step back.
It didn't last long.
Ikkaku's pressure began to mount, each swing heavier, each footstep cracking the earth beneath him.
He wasn't toying with Akashi anymore. He was fighting seriously.
Still, Akashi endured. He wasn't winning, but he wasn't losing nearly as quickly as before.
He dodged by instinct, redirected strikes, and even grazed Ikkaku's shoulder once; a feat that earned a grunt of approval from the Eleventh's third seat.
Unfortunately, he didn't get to utilize the opportunity as Ikkaku forcefully stepped back, his Reiatsu overflowing like a raging current.
"Much better, Akashi," Ikkaku grinned, his eyes burning with excitement, "We should do this more often... Now, I can let go."
"Ready," Akashi replied between breaths.
But the ground trembled.
A heavy voice called out from behind the crowd.
"Ikkaku. Step back."
It wasn't a shout. It was an order. And it carried the weight of a thousand swords.
The crowd parted instantly. Some flinched. Others stepped away entirely. Most were lost in admiration.
The man was very much loved by his own underlings.
Zaraki Kenpachi had arrived.
His imposing form towered over everyone, eyepatch in place, bells jingling faintly with each step.
The sheer pressure of his Reiatsu warped the air. Akashi felt it like a mountain pressing down on his lungs.
The Captain scratched his chin lazily, then grinned, eyes falling on Akashi.
"Mind if I cut in? I've been bored."
Akashi blinked. This... this was far beyond what he expected. Sparring with seated officers was one thing. Ikkaku was already a challenge. But Captain Zaraki?
This wasn't sparring. This was surviving.
Still...
This was an opportunity.
Even if he had no chance of winning, facing someone of this caliber was a lesson in itself.
Akashi exhaled slowly and nodded. "I don't mind at all."
Zaraki's smile widened. "Good answer."
He stepped into the ring and dropped into a loose stance, blade on his shoulder.
"Well then. Come on. Cut me."
Akashi unsheathed Kurayami fully, its long, dark blade humming with restrained energy.
There was no hesitation. No doubt. The man's words may sound crazy to the ignorant, but his division members, they weren't surprised at all.
Zaraki Kenpachi wasn't putting up a fight at all, giving Akashi a sliver of a chance to let him bleed.
He dashed in.
His blade moved like lightning; slashing downward, then spinning to strike at Zaraki's ribs, then stabbing forward. Each strike was precise, infused with as much power as he could muster.
And each time, Zaraki stood still, unmoved, unbothered.
The blade bounced off his body like it was steel, even scratches dared not intrude upon Zaraki's skin.
Kenpachi didn't even flinch. His bored eyes followed Akashi's movement lazily.
"Come on. Is that it?"
Akashi frowned. Soul battles were ultimately battles of Reiatsu. When the gap was this wide, no technique in the world could bridge it.
The moment he understood that, it both frustrated and liberated him. He couldn't win, but he could still learn.
He pushed more Reiatsu into Kurayami. Sharpened it. Refined it. His dark Reiatsu flowed up the blade like mist, trying to manifest killing intent.
All he thought about was making a cut, no matter how small it is. The thought was slowly turning into obsession as he tried again and again, each strike more exquisite than the previous.
Zaraki watched, slightly more interested.
"Mm... Now you're trying. Keep going."
Akashi struck again and again, sweat pouring down his face, arms aching. The experience of hitting something seemingly indestructible wasn't good at all, but it had value.
He was lost in the rhythm of combat, the joy of pushing himself against the impossible.
His mind emptied. The Voices in his head dimmed.
But Zaraki's patience wore thin.
He lifted his blade slowly.
Akashi saw the movement; but not the strike.
A slash of pressure tore through the air.
Blood sprayed.
Pain exploded in his side as Zaraki's blade bit deep into his ribs and shoulder.
It wasn't a fatal blow; Zaraki had restrained himself; but it was still too much. Akashi staggered, his vision darkening.
"Not bad," Zaraki said, eyes half-lidded, "But still too weak. Bit disappointing."
Akashi hit the ground, his consciousness flickering out like a candle flame.
The next time he opened his eyes, everything was white.
The sterile scent of medicinal herbs filled his lungs. Soft murmurs echoed in the background.
His body was heavy, but the pain was gone—replaced by a strange warmth, a deep, soothing light flooding his veins.
He recognized the feeling.
Kaidō.
But it was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.
The precision, the grace, the sheer potency of the healing... This wasn't the work of any ordinary healer.
His eyes opened fully, and for a moment, he thought he was hallucinating.
There she was. A graceful figure leaning over him, hands glowing with warm light.
Her dark braid hung over her shoulder, her expression calm and composed.
"Captain... Unohana?" He murmured, surprised.
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