"Even if spiritual pressure can barely hold up appearances, this kind of surface-level stalemate won't deal even the slightest real damage to me."
From the fake Kyoraku's teasing tone, Yamamoto caught a faint hint of bluffing beneath the bravado. Instead of anger, he actually felt a trace of relief.
He did not fear death. He had never feared any powerful enemy.
What worried him was that his own Bankai, which even he could not fully control, might truly evaporate all of Soul Society if maintained too long.
Now that this strange Katen Kyokotsu domain was offsetting it, he could unleash his power without restraint.
"My, my, since when did you become so talkative, old man? Is it old age making you crave conversation? Or are you deliberately stalling for time?"
Though cornered, the fake Kyoraku still strolled along the edge of the sea of flames with twin blades in hand. His lazy, carefree tone made it sound less like a life-and-death duel and more like afternoon tea in a courtyard.
"Heh! A brat who only knows how to run his mouth."
A cold killing intent flashed in Yamamoto's aged eyes as he drove the charred blade into the ground.
"In that case, let the souls of the dead keep you company."
"Zanka no Tachi, Minami(South): Kaka Juman'okushi Daisojin!"
Rumble!
The earth ceased to be solid ground. It became a boiling swamp of the dead.
As the crust split and trembled, countless charred skeletons clawed their way out from the cracks.
They had once fallen to Yamamoto's blade. In death, they were summoned by his inextinguishable flames, forming a terrifying legion of the undead.
Like a tidal wave of bones, they surged forward, carrying resentment and frenzy, rushing toward the fake Kyoraku.
Faced with this overwhelming tide, the fake Kyoraku did not retreat.
He grinned, madness in his eyes.
"Well now, old man! You even pulled this one out. Looks like you still remember that little secret I once told you about my Bankai."
Before the words finished, he charged straight into the skeleton sea like a crazed shark plunging into a school of fish.
Slash! Rip!
Blades cut through bone and flesh.
He abandoned defense entirely, letting blackened skeletal hands tear at him, letting phantom weapons pierce his body, seeking only the bloodiest exchange.
And with every wound carved into him, an identical injury appeared on Yamamoto's body in the same place.
"Hey… Kyoraku."
Watching from afar, Ukitake felt his scalp go numb. He glanced uncertainly at his friend.
"I know your Bankai reflects damage. That part is nasty enough. But the damage caused by these summoned undead can't possibly reflect onto Old Man Yama's real body too, can it?"
That would be ridiculous.
If that were true, you could win just by getting beaten.
"Reflect?"
Kyoraku scratched his head helplessly.
"Jushiro, how did you even get that idea?"
"My Bankai, Katen Kyokotsu. The first act is called Tameraikizu no Wakachiai(The Sharing of Pain). Within the domain, all injuries are forcibly shared. In theory, it's a mutual suicide attack."
"It's not that only attackers take damage. It's that as long as my real body is injured, no matter who caused it, that pain and damage are reflected in full to every living being inside the domain."
He sighed, "If I'd known, I would've dragged the old man into more sparring matches back then, even if he scolded me. That one time I showed it, I almost took him down."
He understood his Bankai's nature better than anyone.
It was a death game that measured spiritual pressure and life force.
His old weakness had been inferior pressure and durability compared to Yamamoto.
But now… That fake body, controlled by Rosse, inherited the mechanics of his Bankai and filled in his greatest shortcoming.
It was like giving a character with damage reflection an endless health bar.
That combination was a bug.
"Then why weren't I hurt back then? And why aren't we hurt now?"
Ukitake asked in confusion.
"Because…"
Kyoraku took a deep breath and looked at the black pine sky.
"Back then, my control wasn't refined. You weren't even included in the domain. Even now I can't precisely filter targets. I risk hitting allies. But that fake..."
"Right now, the domain is compressed precisely within that hundred-meter fire wall. That's my Bankai's wavelength. I can feel it clearly."
"As for what we're seeing, someone is manipulating our senses. We're watching like it's a hologram, from a god's perspective."
"What?"
Ukitake froze. He glanced at the small ring of fire, then at the massive black pine canopy.
"So the Katen Kyokotsu covering Seireitei is fake? The actual domain is compressed to the limit?"
The control required was terrifying.
"You think I like admitting it?", Kyoraku gave a bitter smile, "Even if I tried my hardest, I couldn't control it that finely, let alone distinguish friend from foe. Rosse uses my Bankai a hundred times better than I do."
"You're not the first to say that. And you won't be the last."
Masaki commented calmly.
"Oh, what an honor."
Kyoraku joked, but his heart sank.
Her casual remark confirmed something huge.
The Shutara who defeated the Captain-Commander had also been Rosse's puppet.
It explained how Kyoka Suigetsu could affect not only Yamamoto but even remote viewers in Seireitei.
Because Rosse was behind it.
Yet one thing still puzzled him.
Even if Rosse could summon projections, there had to be limits.
If it was unlimited summoning and control, the ability was beyond broken.
"Enrakyoten."
Suddenly Azashiro Soya spoke, voice trembling with realization.
"The Rosse you saw earlier. Did he carry one sword or two?"
"One."
Kyoraku answered instantly, then froze.
"I observed him for years in Muken," Azashiro said, "He always wore two Zanpakuto. Completely different in design. Not a pair like yours."
"He gained the second blade after his first mission in the human world."
That was when the Tsunayashiro clan was wiped out.
Rosse and Aizen had handled it. Enrakyoten was never returned. It was assumed the wielder defected to Hueco Mundo.
But now, Rosse was the king of Hueco Mundo.
The threads connected instantly.
"So the other blade was Enrakyoten."
Kyoraku felt bitterness flood his mouth.
"Right hand using his own Bankai to summon infinite-pressure projections. Left hand using Enrakyoten to copy and combine any Zanpakuto abilities."
"With that setup. That power. That brain…"
He closed his eyes, pale.
"How are we supposed to fight that?"
The more they understood, the more helpless they felt.
A gap in strength could sometimes be closed with tricks.
But a gap in tricks and intelligence too?
That was despair.
Inside the fire circle, red and black intertwined violently.
The fake Kyoraku carved through skeletons like a madman, wounds opening across his body.
Deep to bone. Through organs.
And hundreds of meters away, identical wounds tore open across Yamamoto's body.
Blood stained his haori.
He did not even frown.
Pain?
After countless wars, this was nothing.
To him, this was just the flailing of a trapped beast.
Their physical gap was immense.
Even sharing wounds changed nothing.
Even if Kyoraku bled dry and died, it would not shake a body tempered over a thousand years.
He did not rush.
The manipulation of the five senses clouded everything.
He had only one true chance.
If he wasted his final strike, he would never catch this traitor again.
So he waited, like an old lion.
"Old man, just watching? If you don't come at me, I'll move to the next act."
The fake Kyoraku wiped blood from his face, tone flippant.
"Hmph!"
Yamamoto's snort was cold.
The skeleton army grew even more ferocious.
"Acting disdainful while secretly speeding up. Not very honorable, teacher."
The fake Kyoraku twisted aside, letting two bone blades pierce his shoulder and ribs.
Blood burst from both him and Yamamoto simultaneously.
The real Kyoraku's heart pounded as he watched.
This was not mutual sacrifice.
It was trading Yamamoto's life for a disposable puppet.
Even if they won, Rosse would lose only some spiritual pressure.
Yamamoto would lose life.
Then the fake Kyoraku's smile turned eerie.
"As you wish! Sandanme: Dangyo no Fuchi!(Third Act: The Severing Abyss!)"
Splash!
Not splash of water, but condensed spiritual pressure.
The sky changed again.
A dark, endless abyss swallowed the last light, covering Yamamoto's blazing sun.
They fell into deep sea darkness.
No light. No air. Only crushing pressure and draining spiritual power.
Yamamoto remained calm.
His Bankai was pure destruction, not rule-based domination.
The previous sky change had been a side effect.
Now this abyss suppressed his heat, freeing him from holding back.
"Heh! Skipping the second act and going straight to the third? Your confidence hasn't changed."
Feeling his pressure drain, Yamamoto did not blink.
He knew the abilities well.
Act One: The Sharing of Pain!
Act Two: The Pillow of Shame!
Illness born of regret. He had no regrets so, it would not work on him.
The third act was the true blade. A forced spiritual pressure duel. Inside the abyss, both sides would be drained until one suffocated.
"Trying to outlast me in spiritual pressure?", Yamamoto thought silently.
The battle had only just reached its climax.
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