Ren stood barefoot on the uneven tatami mats, blood cascading from his body, transforming him into a figure drenched in crimson.
Unohana's mastery of Zanjutsu was undoubtedly leagues above his own. In just a few minutes of ferocious combat, his vitality had already diminished by more than half.
His body was riddled with wounds, some so deep they cut into his muscles.
Still, he stepped forward, slowly advancing toward Unohana, who stood against the wall in the middle of the room. The path felt like climbing a steep, icy peak, with her formidable swordsmanship as the summit he could only look up to. The falling snow that chilled him to his core was her unrelenting killing intent.
Am I about to die?
The thought crossed his mind, tinged with regret.
This was the first time he had experienced such exhilarating combat, and yet it seemed it was about to end so soon.
No, he wasn't done yet. He wanted to keep climbing.
The path of his martial journey was just beginning.
He glanced at the Asauchi in his hand. Aizen had once told him that he was resisting a certain power within himself. Even now, he couldn't fully confirm whether that was true.
But after repeatedly entering that hellish realm, attempting to communicate with the demonic figure within, a realization had begun to dawn on him.
Why ask for its true name?
Shouldn't the name of my Zanpakutō be something I decide myself?
Yes. From now on, you are...
-------
The atmosphere shifted.
Unohana, who had been ready to deliver the final blow, froze mid-step. She realized that something about Ren had changed.
The light of the setting sun poured through the broken windows slashed apart by their blades. It illuminated Ren's back as blood trickled down his sinewy muscles, giving him the appearance of a demon crying blood.
The crimson droplets pooled at his feet, staining the tatami a deep, dark purple.
From Unohana's perspective, Ren stood before a massive painting as the sunset framed him; above his shoulder, the fierce eyes of the tiger in the artwork seemed to stare down at her.
The man, his deep voice resonating with a weight that cracked open Unohana's composure and flung wide the gates of hell.
"Shatter the chains, Shūkonrasetsu!"
As those words left his lips, a mist of purple-black spiritual energy rose up from his body, drifting upward in the breeze. For an instant, the tiger in the painting seemed to come alive, its eyes filled with an otherworldly savage clarity.
Its muscular frame crouched as if ready to pounce, poised to face a ferocious Oni. The flames in its eyes burned the same purple-black hue as the battle spirit now emanating from the man beneath it.
Roar!
The resonant vibrations of spiritual pressure echoed like a tiger's roar or a dragon's growl, as if the demon imprisoned for countless millennia was cheering and venting its anger!
Standing there, Ren held his newly awakened Zanpakutō.
The pitch-black blade featured a blood groove etched into its centre, adorned with twisting, vine-like patterns of purple and black. These markings extended down to the hilt, where they morphed into purple-black chains that coiled around his arm.
Enveloped in the purple-black mist and bathed in blood, Ren resembled a fearsome asura.
He exhaled a slow breath, feeling as if he had been reborn. His spiritual pressure surged temporarily, reaching the same level as Unohana's. Yet he could feel the suppressive force holding him back, implying that his true potential could soar even higher.
His combat attributes had increased across the board, with his originally lowest stat—strength—gaining an additional two points.
Not only that, but his senses had sharpened, and his neural reflexes had undergone a dramatic improvement.
The Shūkonrasetsu in his hand was leagues apart from his previous Asauchi, their sharpness incomparable.
As she observed Ren's transformation, Unohana's dangerous smile widened.
"So, you've achieved your Shikai, Ren. It seems you're capable of entertaining me even more."
Holding her own Zanpakutō, Minazuki, she refrained from activating her Shikai.
As a bio-type Zanpakutō, Minazuki transformed into a massive, flat, single-eyed creature resembling a manta ray. However, such a transformation was ill-suited for the kind of battle Unohana was enjoying now. It would detract from her ability to savour this duel.
"It's time…"
Ren shifted into a two-handed stance, lowering his body as battle intent surged in his purple-black eyes.
"…It's time to turn in my final assignment, Sensei."
As he finished speaking, the tatami beneath him flipped violently, propelled by the gale of his spiritual energy. The purple-black mist streaked outward like a drawn line across the giant painting behind him.
Clang!
Minazuki and Shūkonrasetsu clashed with sparks flying like a shower of stars.
In mere moments, their blades met dozens of times. Unohana's eyes gleamed with both killing intent and pleasure.
Yes! Yes! Keep delighting me!
Ren's Shūkonrasetsu came slashing down in a heavy arc. Unohana intercepted the blow, supporting her blade with her free hand against the back of her sword.
To her astonishment, rather than retreating to disperse the recoil, Ren pushed forward, using the collision to catapult himself upward.
He soared toward the ceiling, twisting in mid-air to gain a foothold. His muscles coiled like the tiger in the painting, and his toes dug into the ceiling as though they were claws.
In the next instant, he launched himself downward like a cannonball, his blade descending with the purple-black mist trailing behind it.
Clang!
Unohana blocked the strike but was forced to crouch and take several steps back to absorb its power. Her centuries of combat experience allowed her to evade Ren's follow-up slash easily.
Both fighters accelerated, their blades dancing amid the rising mist, creating a scene of carnage and artistry.
Walls, floors, and ceilings became footholds as their duel shifted into a three-dimensional battlefield.
Sparks from their clashing Zanpakutō illuminated their maddened gazes, their killing intent and fighting spirit entwining in a fevered symphony.
After another thunderous collision, both fighters leapt backwards, landing against opposite walls.
Boom!
The wall behind Ren shattered as he propelled himself forward, his form streaking like a purple-black comet toward Unohana.
Unohana's advance was silent, yet it exuded a chilling aura of killing intent, her figure blurring into a sakura-white phantom as she moved at lightning speed.
The two clashed at the midpoint, then passed each other in a blur, arcs of crimson splattering onto enormous painting like spilt ink. The malevolent Oni depicted in the artwork was drenched in blood that fell from Unohana's chest, dripping down like an eerie rain.
Ren turned, his gaze falling on the severed arm that had just landed on the floor—it was his left arm, sliced cleanly at the root.
He flicked the blood from his blade, drawing a graceful arc across the floor, and looked toward Unohana, now standing beneath the blood-streaked image of the Oni.
"Hahaha…"
With her back still to him, Unohana let out a slightly deranged laugh.
"Ren, would you like to join the Fourth Division?"
Ren raised his remaining arm, using Kaido to perform emergency treatment on his wound and stem the bleeding. Shaking his head, he replied, "Though your offer is tempting, Unohana-sensei, I want to see the wider world outside first."
"Is that so….That's truly a pity," she murmured, her tone softening. "But you're right. The Fourth Division wouldn't suit you."
Slowly, Unohana turned to face him.
A deep wound now stretched across her chest, from her left shoulder down to her abdomen—a cut that mirrored the strikes she had often used to teach Ren Kaido.
She had lost.
Had it not been for her inherently high spiritual pressure, the force behind Ren's final slash would have been enough to cleave her in two.
In that decisive moment, Ren had surpassed her in both speed and judgment. The outcome was clear: Ren had sacrificed his arm, while she had sustained what would have been a mortal wound for anyone else.
With her extensive battle experience, Unohana had no difficulty discerning the victor. Ren's final blow had, in a way, sobered her up.
She could choose to continue fighting, to prolong the thrill of battle until Ren's inevitable demise.
But now that she had regained her clarity, she recognized that doing so would be not only irresponsible in the context of the test but also a terrible waste, akin to slaughtering the hen that lays golden eggs.
Her gaze lingered on the man before her—now missing an arm. In her eyes, a spark of hope for the future flickered brightly.
Ah, how I wish….to fight you at your peak someday.
_________
[T/N] - The author named the MC's Shikai: Prison Demon -__-
I had to search for Japanese names that would embody the word 'Prison Demon' and sound cool at the same time. I mean calling your Shikai Prison Demon is pretty lame.
So how did you guys like Shūkonrasetsu? It means 'Imprisoned Soul Demon'
Oh and 70 Powerstones for an Extra Chapter tomorrow! Be sure to VOTE.
Enjoy!