The sigil's malevolent glow was a beacon, drawing Akio deeper into the heart of the Dead Spiral. The tunnel beyond sloped downward, the air growing so thick with the scent of spiritual decay that it was difficult to breathe. The flickering blue Kidō circles gave way to a different light—a cold, phosphorescent glow emanating from the walls themselves, which had transformed from rough-hewn rock into smooth, white stone, now streaked and pitted with rampant, rust-colored corrosion. It was like walking through the bones of a dead god, slowly being consumed by a divine cancer.
This was Kabe's inner sanctum. The Temple of Purity, twisted into its opposite.
The chamber at the end was vast and circular, a grotesque parody of a meditation hall. The white stone floor was etched with a massive, complex Kidō seal, but its lines were broken and blackened, its power source corrupted. In the center of this ruined mandala, surrounded by the shattered fragments of containment barriers and the dust of dissolved experiments, sat Genshiro Kabe.
He was a little different than the illusion earlier. He looked frail, his frame thin beneath his tattered Kidō Corps uniform. A cracked, porcelain mask, reminiscent of a Hollow's but devoid of expression, covered the upper half of his face. His hands, resting on his knees, were stained with what looked like dried blood, but Akio's senses told him it was concentrated spiritual rust.
"You came," Kabe's voice was no longer a whisper from the walls, but a dry, rasping thing from his own throat. He didn't stand. He just analysed Akio's face "You have seen my work. And yet, you still do not seem to understand. You believe you fight for justice, for order. But your order is a lie. Emotion is the catalyst for all decay. Your loyalty to your Captain, your ambition for the Third Seat, even your determination to stop me… they are flaws. They will rot, and you with them."
Akio stopped at the edge of the ruined seal, his hand resting lightly on Kagegari's hilt. The oppressive energy in the room was a physical weight, trying to crush his spirit before the fight even began.
"You talk about emotion as if it's a separate entity," Akio replied, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "It's not a flaw. It's the fuel. If my loyalty, my ambition, is a form of rot in your eyes… then I'll weaponize it. I'll use my rot to scour away yours."
A slow, grating sound escaped Kabe's lips—a laugh. "A charming sentiment. Let us test its structural integrity."
He moved. There was no Shunpo, no flash of speed. One moment he was seated, the next he was standing, his Zanpakutō—Sabitsurugi—already drawn. It was an ugly, pitted blade, the color of old blood and rust, seeming to drink the light from the room.
The battle began not with a clash, but with an unraveling.
Kabe didn't lunge. He simply pointed his blade, and a wave of invisible entropy washed forward. Akio reacted instantly, his hands flashing through the seals for Bakudō #39: Enkōsen. The hexagonal shield of golden light sprang to life before him.
It lasted for less than a second. The moment the wave of decay touched it, the shield didn't shatter; it aged. The vibrant gold turned a sickly brown, its structure crystallized and then crumbled into metallic dust that fell to the floor, now permanently inert.
Akio was already moving, using Shunpo to flank Kabe. He lashed out with Kagegari, aiming for a disabling strike to the shoulder. Kabe waved his Zanpakuto to send a wave of invisible entropy, almost in contemptuous motion. The wave hit Kagegari and then a horrifying sizzle filled the air. Where the blade met the wave, the matte-black finish of Kagegari hissed, and a patch of its surface turned a dull, rusted grey before Akio wrenched it back.
'It can corrode my Zanpakutō itself?', Akio thought, his mind racing, a cold spike of alarm driving deep. This was beyond anything he had faced.
He tried his shadows. Flicking his wrist, he sent a volley of shadow threads, not to bind, but to pierce. They were intangible, extensions of his will. It should have worked.
But.
It didn't. The threads, upon nearing Sabitsurugi's aura of decay, simply frayed and dissolved, their connection to Akio snapping with a painful, psychic jolt.
The visual contrast was stark: Akio's inky black shadows and Reiatsu clashing against Kabe's bleeding-crimson corrosion. It wasn't a battle of light and darkness; it was a battle where both light and darkness were being systematically unmade.
Stable structures, Akio analyzed, darting back from a slow, sweeping cut that left a trail of disintegrating air in its wake. 'His power destroys anything stable. Kidō, solid objects, even spiritual connections. The only way to fight it is to never be still. Never be solid.'
He shifted tactics. He became a phantom. He used Utsusemi, leaving afterimages that Kabe's decaying energy would wash through harmlessly. He used Position Play not to attack, but to reposition constantly, appearing for a fraction of a second to launch a single, fragmented attack—a feint with Toryū, a low sweep with the flat of his blade—before vanishing again, never allowing Sabitsurugi's energy to linger on him or his weapon.
For a moment, it worked. He was a whirlwind of motion, a shadow that could not be pinned down. He landed a shallow cut on Kabe's arm, the first blood drawn.
But Kabe was adapting. He wasn't trying to match Akio's speed. He was reading the patterns of his movement, the flow of his Reiryoku. He began making small, precise cuts in the air, not aiming for Akio, but for the space he was likely to occupy. He was filling the room with invisible, lingering fields of decay.
Akio felt the trap closing. His movements became more constrained, his options narrowing. In a desperate move, he teleported directly behind Kabe, Kagegari aimed for his spine.
It was what Kabe had been waiting for.
He didn't turn. He reversed his grip on Sabitsurugi and thrust backwards in a move of stunning precision. Akio twisted, avoiding a fatal blow, but the rusted tip of Sabitsurugi grazed the edge of Kagegari.
A searing, cold pain shot up Akio's arm, unlike anything he had ever felt. It wasn't a cut; it was a necrosis of the spirit. He landed hard, several feet away, his grip on Kagegari faltering. He looked down at his blade.
A jagged, rust-red scar now marred the pristine black edge near the tip. It was no longer a part of the whole; it felt dead, inert. And then, a more terrifying sensation followed—a sudden, sharp disconnect. For a heart-stopping moment, the constant, reassuring hum of Kagegari's presence in his soul… stuttered. It was like a voice he had always heard going silent.
He looked up, his breath catching in his chest.
Kabe finally turned to face him, the cracked mask seeming to smile. "There. You see? The bond you cherish so much… it is not unbreakable. It is a structure, and all structures decay. Even your weapon is rejecting you. It feels the corruption in your soul—the fear you deny, the anger you suppress. How long can you lie to it before it rusts away entirely?"
Akio stared, not at Kabe, but at the scar on his Zanpakutō, at the first tangible proof of his own vulnerability. The analytical part of his mind was screaming, cataloging the threat, but it was drowned out by a more primal, chilling realization: he had met his elemental counter.
Kabe raised Sabitsurugi for a final, decisive slash, the air around it screaming as it was unmade.
Acting on pure instinct, on a command from the shadow-deep parts of his soul that even Kagegari's silence couldn't reach, Akio didn't block. He didn't dodge. He let his form dissolve, blending into the deepest shadow at his feet just as the wave of absolute corrosion passed through the space he had occupied.
He rematerialized a dozen yards away, collapsing to one knee, gasping for air that burned his lungs. He was whole, but his spirit felt… scored. Tarnished. He looked at Kagegari, the rusted scar a glaring testament to his near-defeat.
The core revelation wasn't just about Kabe's power. It was about his own. His weapon wasn't invincible. And the "mask" Kabe spoke of—the one he claimed Akio wore—hinted that the bond with Kagegari, the very source of his strength, hid a fragility he had never dared to confront.