Monsters We Became { Bleach Aizen Sousuke Fanfiction }

19 - After Repose

"Blow violently, Ueta Kaze!" Mizuki sounded with a swing of his Zanpakuto. Wind burst forth and traced the path of his blade before it surged the distance and surrounded the maskless man at the other end of the stone-floored arena. Slabs of the moss-covered ground tore away in the ceaseless fury of the gale. Slabs of stone from the arena and the sands below bellowed before colliding against the hardened mass of stone that made up the towering cliff-face that blocked the moon and sands above.
Stalwart against the gust, only the opposing figure's loose black clothes and brown hair whipped in the mistral. Unsheathing his blade, the Shinigami struck once and the cyclone parted. Then, with unrivaled speed, the figure disappeared.

"Above, Mizuki!" Madorean yelled from the sidelines as the young man hesitated. For all the years spent training amongst the Adjuchas, Mizuki still lacked experience compared to the other combatant and those that watched from the sidelines. That was not from a lack of trying on the part of Mizuki. As a child, and into the equivalent of his teenage years, much of Mizuki's energy was spent withstanding the overwhelming weight of reiatsu that filled the atmosphere within the cage called Bosque Santuario. It was only in relative recency that his power advanced to the point where its manifestations were not overwhelming.
Blades clashed, metal against metal, as Mizuki blocked an overhead strike from Aizen. In a torrent of air both men leapt backwards.

"A good start, but you must react more quickly." Aizen spoke, then disappeared again. It was not that Mizuki was incapable of tracking rapid movements– such skills were required when training with and fighting Adjuchas-level Menos, like the town guards– it was that Aizen's Shunpo was leagues faster than any skill shown by all but two citizens of Bosque Santuario. It was unfathomably more difficult to follow his movements. Nallundra's own speed had been surpassed by her son over a year ago, leaving only Koukou and Bylosse able to compare while Madorean lacked any equivalent and had never even been in competition for fastest.

Another clash and a narrow block from Mizuki, this time from the left.

"Why aren't you affected by my Zanpakuto's power?" Mizuki asked through clenched teeth. Locked blades held strong for a movement before closing in on Mizuki. Another rush of wind poured from the yellow-hilted katana. All that effort merely caused Aizen's shihakusho to flap against the breeze. Again distance was put between the two and they stood at opposite ends of the windshorn arena.

"Concentrate before you swing. Split attention will ensure your strikes will fail to reach their target." Mizuki grimaced at the words. If he were being completely honest, the amount of effort put into that last nightmarish rush of wind that ripped the sands, moss, and stone from their resting place and cast them aside like dust in a hurricane had drained his body of what energy remained from the previous displays. Concentrating on the attack was what he had done; all he could do.

It would be several months later, when sparring with another denizen of the forest shrouded in night, that the meaning behind Aizen's words would fully blossom within Mizuki. To fully understand one's Zanpakuto requires more than simple communication with the spirit residing within the blade. Acceptance of the blade and the power conferred as not a separate entity but instead as an extension of the self is required to wield a Zanpakuto's true potential: the weapon and the wielder must be in sync.

For now, Mizuki held his sword out and winds spiraled around its surface. It was a final attempt to rise up and meet the skill of the opponent before him. One swing sent the swirling squall towards the man draped in black– who disappeared with the all-too familiar swooshing sound of a Shinigami's Shunpo before reappearing in front of Mizuki. Again their weapons clashed.

"Damn it! I just want to get stronger." Pink curls swirled around the young man's head as winds engulfed the two. "Don't fail me now, Ueta Kaze!"

A glimmer of surprise reflected itself through the black rimmed shine of Aizen's glasses when the violence filling the surrounding air made itself known. What caused fabric to flicker in the wind instead ripped at the threads and tore holes into their clothes and sliced at their skin. Red ran from a cut that appeared on Mizuki's cheek and dripped off of the pale stubble of his chin. Neither retreated from the onslaught as its ferocity increased. The power may have emerged from the Zanpauktou called Ueta Kaze– from within Mizuki's soul– but it was he who suffered the most in its wake. No matter how close the blades were to meeting the sage green cloth of his tunic and the skin beneath, Mizuki did not waver. Too focused or too determined, instead the razor winds' intensity rose further with a surge of strength and threatened to shred the arena along with its two inhabitants.