Rojen's momentum snapped. Just as he was about to launch another assault, he froze mid-step, his body locking up as if paralyzed by an unseen hand.
"You're still awake?" The voice in his mind was a jagged rasp, dripping with malice.
"I never left," Rojen replied, his internal voice steady, a stark contrast to the chaotic roar of the entity sharing his headspace.
The power of Ichigo Kurosaki was a volatile cocktail. It wasn't just the disciplined edge of a Shinigami or the cold precision of a Quincy; it was the raw, primal hunger of the Hollow. In the world of Bleach, these forces were opposites, yet they were born of the same soul-stuff. When they collided, the resulting explosion of power didn't just break limits, it shattered them.
Rojen had dreaded this moment. He knew that Hollowfication wasn't just a power-up; it was an invitation to a monster. To draw on that strength was to gamble with his very soul.
When the mask first latched onto his face, his mind had gone white. For ten agonizing seconds, he had been a passenger in his own skin, watching through a blur as his body moved with a ferocity that wasn't his. He hadn't been fighting; he had been witnessing a slaughter.
Yet, in that state of forced observation, Rojen saw something transformative. The Hollow didn't think. It didn't calculate. It moved on pure, unadulterated instinct.
Humanity, Rojen realized, was held back by the burden of thought. We learn to hesitate, to second-guess, and to filter our reactions through layers of logic. But if one could strip that away, to fight with the raw reflex of a predator, the reaction speed would be inhuman. Even the most advanced Observation Haki was, at its core, just a refined echo of that primal survival instinct.
He had stayed silent, letting the Hollow lead, absorbing every twitch and every brutal efficiency of its movements. He was a student of his own possession.
But as the Hollow's blade bit into Kizaru's light-morphed flesh once more, Rojen knew his time was up. The Possession System was a borrowed clock, and the seconds were bleeding out.
"You want more, don't you?" the Hollow hissed, its voice a mocking taunt. "You want to push it even further?"
"Yes," Rojen said.
"Do you have any idea what that will cost you?" The entity's tone turned frigid.
"I don't care. Just do it."
The Hollow let out a jagged, sinister laugh that echoed in the marrow of Rojen's bones. "An interesting little human. Tell me then... how much power do you want?"
"All of it," Rojen commanded. "As much as this body can take."
The laughter stopped. A heavy, pregnant silence filled his mind before the Hollow roared with a manic glee that made Rojen's pulse skyrocket.
"AS YOU WISH!"
The agreement was a spark in a powder keg.
Crack… Crack… Crack!
A wave of suffocating, crimson energy erupted from Rojen's core. The red glow pulsed like a dying star, expanding for three frantic heartbeats before exploding into a pillar of spiritual flame.
The transformation was violent. Ghastly white bone began to knit itself across his skin, erupting from his shoulder and chest, shredding his black Shihakushō into dark ribbons. The mask on his face shifted, hardening and elongating until two wicked, curved horns arched toward the sky.
When the smoke cleared, Rojen was gone. In his place stood something ancient and terrifying.
He gripped Zangetsu, the heavy blade vibrating with a newfound thirst. A hot, sulfuric breath hissed from behind the mask, and a localized storm of killing intent swept across the battlefield, cold enough to make even the bravest heart skip a beat.
"What in the hell... are you?"
Kizaru's grip tightened on the hilt of Ama no Murakumo. For the first time in years, a cold trickle of sweat traced a path down his spine. The creature standing before him defied logic.
It wasn't just the strange, bone-white armor or the spiritual pressure that felt like a physical weight on the air; it was the sheer wrongness of it. This wasn't a Devil Fruit power; it was something primordial, something that didn't belong in this sea.
"Keep your eyes open, Admiral," a voice rasped from behind the mask. It wasn't Rojen's voice anymore; it was a dual-toned nightmare, vibrating with an arrogance that bordered on divinity. "If you blink, this next strike will be your last."
Kizaru didn't waste breath on a retort. His casual demeanor had vanished, replaced by a grim, focused intensity. He pulled his hands apart, weaving a web of shimmering brilliance.
"Yasakani no Magatama!"
A storm of light particles erupted, thousands of searing orbs screaming toward the masked figure.
"Child's play," the Hollow-Rojen spat.
He didn't dodge. His body blurred, twisting into a jagged streak of black and red light that plunged headlong into the golden barrage. With a guttural roar, he swung the massive cleaver.
"Getsuga Tenshō!"
A crescent of obsidian energy tore from the blade, expanding until it swallowed the horizon. It collided with the light-storm in a cacophony of thunder, the two powers grinding against one another until the sky itself seemed to bruise.
Through the wall of fire and smoke, a shadow flickered. Before Kizaru could reposition, the bull-horned nightmare was on him. Zangetsu came down like a falling mountain.
"Taste the strength of a god!" the beast howled. "I call this, God's Wrath!"
Kizaru's Observation Haki didn't just tingle; it screamed. Every instinct he possessed told him to run, but there was no time. He hoisted his light-blade to intercept the blow.
CRACK.
Kizaru's eyes widened in genuine shock. The Ama no Murakumo, a blade forged of pure, concentrated light, shattered like cheap glass.
The black edge didn't stop. It bit deep into Kizaru's shoulder, carving a path through his chest. A spray of crimson painted the air, and for the first time in his career as an Admiral, Borsalino let out a jagged cry of agony. He spiraled backward, his elemental form flickering and sparking like a dying lamp.
"Hah... huff..."
Kizaru skidded across the debris, clutching his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his yellow pinstriped suit. He stared up at the hovering demon, his heart hammering against his ribs. How is he this strong? It wasn't just a power boost; it was as if the boy had been replaced by a slaughterhouse god.
"Don't die yet, weakling!" The Hollow laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "The fun is just starting!"
He dove. The acceleration was instantaneous, a black blur that bypassed the speed of thought.
"Lightspeed Kick!" Kizaru roared, his desperation fueling a counter-strike. He swung his leg, encased in a blinding supernova of gold.
Black met gold. The world went silent for a heartbeat as time and space buckled under the pressure. Then, the shockwave hit.
BOOM.
The surrounding architecture didn't just fall, it disintegrated into fine white dust. The atmosphere warped, creating a vacuum of swirling energy where the blade met the boot. They were locked in a stalemate of pure, raw violence.
"Ahahaha!"
The Hollow's laughter was manic, fueled by the thrill of the clash. Most fighters would be wary of the pressure, but he seemed to drink it in.
"Yes! That's it! Fight for your life!"
With a sickening screech of sliding metal and light, the Hollow didn't wait for the momentum to shift. He didn't play the game of endurance. He forcefully wrenched his blade back, defying the physics of the collision, and prepared to swing again.
"How is that possible?"
Kizaru's mind raced, his composure finally breaking. He broke the deadlock? From a standstill? He wasn't fighting a man. He wasn't even fighting a pirate. He was fighting a force of nature that didn't know how to stop.
(End Of This Chapter)
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