Chapter 117: At Mercy

Chapter 117: At Mercy

Though Kazuya wished to humble the haughty Zanpakutō Spirit, he knew better than to squander his energies in futile attacks against her shield. He paused, eyes narrowing to study the almost celestial flames surrounding Tsubasa and her guardian shield. These luminous, incandescent fires stood in stark contrast to Nami’s sinister carmine flames. It was as if Tsubasa was crafted to be Nami’s polar opposite — the radiant light to Nami’s darkness — her antithesis.

‘She might have inherited the life property of Phoenix’s flames.’

One conclusion was irrefutable from their first clash — her flames did not wound him, not even superficially. And why would they? They all originated from his soul.

Gently resting her palm against her ornate mask, Tsubasa tilted her head with a maniacal stiffness. “While I have no objection to standing here as you marvel at my flawless grace, the clock is unforgiving, Master. Each moment you waste in this inner world will take a toll upon your consciousness.”

“Say, am I allowed to beat you by any means necessary?”

The last thing he wanted was for her to invalidate his hard-earned victory through an underhanded tactic; she might do that just to piss him off further.

“Your sole objective is to liberate Nami from my grasp. The means are inconsequential as long as your goal is achieved.” She paused, her lips curling into a sly smirk. “Any attempt to use your Oppression ability from a distance would be in vain as we possess the same level of Reiatsu in this realm. It’s almost a pity, really. You have the determination, the unyielding will for protection. What you lack is the capacity to bypass my invincible defense.”

Her taunts, whether premeditated provocations or genuine overconfidence, only stoked the fires of his resolve to put her into her place.

Confronted with his seething silence, Tsubasa lavishly licked her lips. “Conceding—”

Defying her calculated predictions, Kazuya morphed into his Soul form, conjuring his Zanpakutō into existence with a wave of his hand. The katana materialized effortlessly, a stark realization washing over him: Tsubasa had methodically manipulated his inner world, transforming it into her personal battleground. It now made sense why she had spent three whole months summoning him into this trial; she was not just growing, but plotting for this precise moment.

Even so, he had no desire to lose against a three months old soul, much less the manifestation of his own desires.

“You do know that blade has no special power,” she said, pointing at the katana in his hand. “It’s a blade that can never cut through my shield.”

“A blade is as strong as the one wielding it.”

Abruptly, he vanished, reappearing before her in a dazzling streak of Hirenkyaku. Her shield sprang forth to fill the air between them. He lunged, his katana seeking the minuscule gaps in her seemingly invincible shield, only to be repelled by an unseen force. The physical shield, it seemed, was but an illusion — the real protection was a barrier that protected its owner.

Not one to be easily deterred, he kept the onslaught relentless, darting and slashing in fluid strokes, searching for a weak spot in her defense.

Quietly, he delivered a reverse slap on her right cheek then another on her left cheek.

“Master—”

SLAP!

“Listen to me—”

“MAST—”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

His hands moved with grace as he delivered sickening slaps across her red face. Her muffled cries and whimpers served as a pleasing music to his vengeance. He satiated every bit of rage in his chest by beating his helpless Zanpakutō Spirit — and he loved every moment of it.

He only stopped when her face had swollen to the point of being unrecognizable. Her entire face was smeared with tears, no haughtiness to be found within her eyes. The slaps had humbled her demeanor, at least for now.

With a satisfied smile, he got back up and pulled her to her feet. “Bring Nami to me.”

Her trembling lips managed a stutter, “Y-Yes, Master, after I heal...”

As she reached out, her blades bolted into her grip. Instead of morphing into shields, they transmuted into twin red muskets, their barrels ornamented with intricate bronze phoenix motifs. Aiming the muzzles toward her chin, she squeezed the triggers, and a roaring inferno enveloped her. When the flames dissipated, her face was back to being flawless — she was completely healed.

“Your cruelty is commendable,” she whispered as she gazed at him in awe. “A brute such as you would give his all in protecting your loved ones.”

“Did you not hear me? I said, bring me to Nami.”

“As you wish.”

With a synchronized clap, she ignited the desolation of her imaginary Hueco Mundo. He found himself in a dilapidated throne room. Atop the fragmented majesty of a once regal throne rested the birdcage that held his self-proclaimed soulmate hostage.