Gotei 13 In the Playground

[OverWilliam]

Kenji sat cross-legged in the middle of an empty room, all of the Shoji screens closed. His eyes shut, his hands set palms-up in his lap, his breathing slow, but pained. In front of him his Zanpaktou sat, tip sunk three inches into the Tatami mats of the floor, sheath set off to the side.

Kenji strained with effort, a frown on his face, as he tried to unravel the twisted, incomprehensible riddle that this task posed for him. He couldn't help but think back, to those rare two or three times in the past, when had he just...understood. Everything just fell into place in his mind, made so much sense, and almost immediately. Kenji didn't know how it had happened, but he wished that it would happen again now. However... he knew that it would not. It was not given for him to simply... Understand, not that way. And so he sighed, furrowed his brow, and attacked the impossible question with tireless determination.

In front of him, the masterfully worked Katana, not forged by human hands but of his soul, gleamed in the light. The dim candlelight played down the edge of the blade... and refracted harshly at the shattered edge. all the way down the sharp side of the blade the metal was chipped and jagged, cracked and hurt. Kenji could feel the Spirit of his blade in pain, its injuries quite severe. Save by destroying the hilt, which was no easy task, a Zanpaktou could never be destroyed. But that did not change the pain that the Weapon now bore. A cry of anguish whispered through Kenji's mind, and his stomach twisted in empathy, and guilt for his sword's injuries. Kenji's breaths grew fast and sharp, his hands began to shake, but he did not relent. The muscles in his stomach cramped, but he pressed on. Slowly, a small crack near the hilt of the sword seemed to twitch, and then, achingly slowly, closed. Kenji gasped, his eyes opened, and he reached up to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead. He looked up at his sword, whose every chip and crack he had learned by heart. His breathing began to slow, and his heart rate settled. Immediately he noticed the tiny, tiny difference from when he had seen it last. Kenji could not feel satisfied, however. A subdued whimper of pain crept out from the sword, and Kenji closed his eyes, throwing himself back, back into that Inner World, without hesitation.

On the floor behind him the trickle of blood had become a small pool, staining the tatami mats red from the large gash that split his Shihakshou from the middle of his back up over his Left shoulder, the tattered black cloth obscuring the untreated wound that lied beneath them.