The cavern lay cloaked in silence, save for the rhythmic hum of layered illusions and barrier spells that shimmered faintly over the mouth of the hideaway. Aizen knelt beside Akira's body, his hands pressed against the stone as threads of reiatsu flowed from his fingertips, reinforcing the protective field once again.
Akira sat still in the lotus position, eyes closed, brow damp with sweat—not from pain, but from the immense pressure building within.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Spiritual Threshold Exceeded. Full Inner World Immersion Initiated. Physical body entering dormant state. Protective subroutine: standby.]
Aizen's gaze flicked to the system projection hovering above Akira's chest, translucent and flickering.
"Foolish," he muttered, though his voice lacked heat. "You could've warned me first."
The spiritual pressure in the cavern had settled, but Aizen knew better than to relax. One fluctuation—one patrol in the wrong place—and Akira would be completely defenseless.
With swift precision, Aizen began laying down new Kidō traps in the narrow cavern approaches. He summoned a pocket field using Kyōka Suigetsu's illusion, masking Akira's presence entirely. Still, it wasn't enough. He had to stay alert, watching for ripple patterns in the air, ambient reiatsu shifts, anything.
Akira's Inner World
Light.
Darkness.
He opened his eyes to a sky that split into two. Half of it shimmered with dawnlight, gold pouring across calm rivers and reflective plains. The other half was veiled in storm, starless and deep, where shadows moved like breathing things.
He stood at the edge of a massive stone bridge arcing across a void, each step echoing with both certainty and uncertainty. Ahead, standing at the center, was Zhuoyin.
The Zanpakutō spirit was radiant and terrible—a dual-formed being whose upper body burned with golden threads of divine light, and whose lower half flowed into cloaked, nebulous dark. He carried no weapon this time.
Only judgment.
"You have come," Zhuoyin intoned. His voice was no longer a whisper in Akira's head—it was real, surrounding, resonant.
Akira stepped forward. "I didn't have a choice."
"You did." A faint smile—was it approval or amusement? "The path of Bankai is not walked by force. It is invited. You answered the call."
[SYSTEM INITIATING: Bankai Trial – Phase One: Manifestation of the Core Self.]
[OBJECTIVE: Face the fractured embodiment of your inner imbalance. Progress: 0%.]
Zhuoyin gestured, and the bridge beneath them split. The sky churned. From the divide emerged another figure.
Akira stared.
It was himself—but twisted.
His mirror image wore a cold expression, his eyes void-black and glowing faintly gold at the edges. Veins of raw spiritual energy pulsed along his arms, and his Zanpakutō was corrupted, jagged, oscillating between shadow and light.
"Your strength," Zhuoyin said, "is not your mastery of techniques. It is your will. But even that is fractured—guilt over your power, fear of what the fragments make you, and doubt that you can control it. This—" he nodded toward the doppelgänger, "—is your first trial."
Akira exhaled slowly. His fists clenched. "And what happens if I lose?"
Zhuoyin's gaze darkened.
"Then you will never reach me again. And the power within you will not stay dormant forever."
In the Physical World
Aizen sat beside his brother, still and focused. The pressure outside the cavern fluctuated—two faint reiatsu signatures passed nearby. Patrol.
He held Kyōka Suigetsu in hand, ready to strike or conceal.
"Whatever trial you face," he said quietly, not expecting a response, "come back stronger. Because when you wake up—we'll have to move."*
And far away, deep in the heart of Soul Society, a flare of unidentifiable reiatsu was noted by sensors—but lost just as quickly.
Somewhere, Yamamoto narrowed his eyes.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: Bankai Trial Progress – 4%.]