Jumping the Dragon Gate [Bankai Training]

[Munemasa Iroka]

The day had finally arrived. The day Iroka had thought would never come. The day when she would be able to prove to her zanpakutō that she deserved to stand among the greatest names in Soul Society. Or perhaps proving this was more to herself than to her inner spirit. The carp had, after all, been unwilling to acquiesce that she was worthy of taking the final test that stood between her and the ultimate power of the Shinigami: Bankai.

It had started when she had finally been able to force Shugyoku Hirenaga out of its sanctum sanctorum within her mind and into the outside world. According to most, if not all sources, doing this was a sign that a Shinigami had gotten strong enough to attain Bankai. And even then, although a number of Shinigami had been able to accomplish this, not everyone who got to this stage had passed it. This step was merely proof of potential. Iroka would agree that she had potential. But potential was not reality.

Still, when Fuuko had come to her room and given her the go-ahead to apply for Vice-Captainship, it was like the heavens were giving her the sign that this was the go-ahead she had been looking for. As far as Iroka was concerned, Fuuko was most certainly her better, when it came to combat. But to argue in Iroka's favor, the 4th Division was not a combat-oriented Division. And although Iroka was not the highest ranked in the Division, she had not met anyone in the whole of Seireitei, who was as good as she was when it came to being a medic. She had to admit, the accomplishment made her feel proud.

Still, Iroka had felt that her sworn sister was the better candidate for the Vice-Captainship. Which was why, against her own better judgment, she had come to Fuuko to challenge her for the right to claim that spot. And she had honestly surprised even herself, being able to hold out against Fuuko. Still, she had not won, and that had established in her mind that Fuuko would take the position... only to receive the information that Fuuko approved of her being Vice Captain. If this wasn't proof that the position was hers, few things would be sufficient persuasion.

At first, Shugyoku Hirenaga had been unwilling to put her on the final steps to getting Bankai. But to Iroka's surprise, even Mushoku, her inner Hollow, had spoken in favor of Iroka being given the chance to learn Bankai. Iroka felt she knew the devious Hollow's plans, though. Mushoku wanted her to go over the edge while training for Bankai, and then the Hollow could take over her body. But Iroka knew that this was merely another hurdle to leap over on her path to success.

Finally, Shugyoku Hirenaga had conceded. Maybe Iroka was truly ready. But the taste of the pudding was in its eating. That the zanpakutō had conceded did not mean she had accomplished anything. A day had been set for the test, a test that would take place far away from the comforts of home. The fish spirit had warned its owner of the risks involved, of the likely possibility that Iroka could lose even her life in her attempt to unlock this final power. But Iroka was resolute.

She had come this far. There was no turning back. Even though the inner voices in her mind still told her she was not fit to become Vice Captain, let alone have Bankai, she chose not to listen to them. The entirety of her Division believed she was capable. Fuuko believed she was capable. That was enough. She was at least capable enough to take the test. Whether she failed or not was a different story.

For reasons yet unknown to Iroka, her zanpakutō spirit had ordered her to get maps of Rukongai's 80th District. Still, she had complied, and after going through them, she had been alerted by Shugyoku Hirenaga that the Northern District was the place to go. Her test would take place some good distance from the edges of the Northern 80th District. All she needed to know at the time was that she was to travel there, and then take the test. Seemed easy enough, and there was no point in worrying about the details, until they came.

The morning had come, and Iroka had risen early with it. Her night had been quiet, peaceful, still, like a calm before the storm. Still, Iroka was glad for this. Even though there had been something foreboding about the relative calm with which she had spent her night, it was better to be facing an important day well rested, as opposed to being deprived of sleep. She was awake, alert, and in full health. No better time than to face such an ordeal than today.

Iroka had made sure to clear her calendar in preparation for the day, although she told no one of her plans. A light breakfast, a bit of physical exercise to loosen her muscles, and she was ready for the hike into the bowels of Rukongai. As she prepared, her zanpakutō spirit gave her instructions on what she could or could not bring along: no extra weapons or gadgets; only her zanpakutō would be sufficient. Also, she could pack food, but eating was not allowed until the test was done. All these things, Iroka was fine with.

What she did not understand was why she had been instructed to carry a large wooden sotoba along with her. And why she was not permitted to wear anything but a sarashi and fundoshi for the trip. And so she was at the northern gates of Seireitei, with a backpack on her back, geta on her feet, grave marker on her shoulder, and nothing else but underwear. Her inner Hollow certainly had to be behind this. But Mushoku simply laughed, and neither admitted or denied anything.

[Munemasa Iroka]

It was cold. A perfect day for what Iroka suspected would be a rather difficult task. Most others, if dressed the way she was, would have been having issues with the temperature. As someone who quickly found herself steaming uncomfortably in hot temperatures, it was just fine for Iroka. Hefting the large wooden grave marker on her shoulder, the Shinigami took a deep breath, preparing her mind for the challenges to come. It would have been great if she had an idea of what she would be facing.

Iroka had gone to the archives to get an idea of what this trial would entail. She had come away feeling none the wiser. The only thing she had been able to glean was that most attempts to achieve Bankai ended with a sort of battle between Shinigami and spirit. It was to be expected; Shinigami were a violent bunch, after all. Still, the nature of this sort of combat was as varied as the faces of those who wielded the final release of their zanpakutō. She had even read of someone who had achieved his by playing shogi with his zanpakutō spirit.

And there was Fuuko. Her best friend and sworn sister had not even done any fighting, and Fuuko was one of the most aggressive people Iroka knew. Fuuko's case was rather strange, though. The Bankai seemed to have been awarded freely, except that it came with a rather dangerous caveat. Iroka wasn't sure she wanted to have such a situation. It seemed, fortunately, that this would not be the case, though, seeing as Shugyoku Hirenaga seemed interested in having her earn her final release.

As the carrot-top stepped out, a voice sounded a challenge, stopping her in her tracks. She turned to see the bulky form of one of the gate guards of Seireitei step out to investigate who was passing the gate at this time. He had reason to, she surmised. After all, she was not in uniform at the moment, and thus could well have been an outsider trying to get in, or perform some other nefarious plots. Iroka stopped and waited for the guard to reach her. Recognition, mixed with surprise, crossed his features as he drew closer.

"Oh, it's Iroka-chan. What are you doing here?" he asked. "And why are you dressed like... this?" Iroka responded with a cheerful smile. "Oh, it's Kendama-kun!" she replied jollily, mimicking the gate guard. "I have to take a trip to Northern Rukongai, and I was directed by my zanpakutō spirit to dress like this. I have no idea, but I'm sure there's definitely a reason for it," she concluded. "Maybe it's to take advantage of the weather."

The fellow called 'Kendama' did not understand that answer. But then, this was Munemasa Iroka he was dealing with. Very few people understood her. Most thought she was plain mad. But she was very kind, and seemed to get along with others, so the madness was not particularly off-putting. Nor the names. Because even though Kendama was not pleased with the nickname Iroka had, in her usual way, christened him with, he knew Iroka was not insulting him. At least, not intentionally.

Still, it would have been more flattering to have been named after something other than his notable lack of hair. He was huge. He was muscular. He had intricate tattoos. Had Iroka noticed those? No! Heck, she didn't even notice he had lost an eye in a fight. What she had noticed was his head, about as hairy as a river-smoothed rock. And he had been named, whether he wanted the name or not. The gate guard silently wondered how someone could be so unconsciously manipulative. And so sweet, at the same time.

He sighed, as he shifted his huge bulk so she could pass. "Some places in Rukongai can be extremely dangerous," the giant warned, although he did nothing else to stop her. On the one hand, she was quite powerful, and he was well aware of that. On the other hand, she was from the 4th Division, a squad not known for their fighting prowess. But that surely did not discount her usefulness in combat. After all, there was Satoshi Fuuko in that same division.

"Don't worry about me, Kendama-kun, I'll be fine," the ginger-haired girl answered with a grin. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself... most times, haha! See you around, when I get back!" So saying, she took off at a brisk pace, whistling as she marched along, uncaring about the stares thrown her way by the members of the almost antiseptic-looking environment of the 1st District of Northern Rukongai. No one tried to accost her, though. They knew better.

Still, this did not prevent them from throwing disdainful looks the way of the oblivious Shinigami. They were well within reason (they thought) to be offended by such a blatant display of indecency. Seireitei was full of many such poorly behaved people. But the denizens of the 1st District could not complain. Seireitei kept them safe. Maybe if one of the very fancy nobles took note and was disturbed enough by such an attack against propriety, said noble could write a complaint to the Seireitei government, which would very likely be summarily ignored. Nothing they could do.

Kendama watched the receding form of Iroka, as she left Seireitei behind. Then he shrugged and returned to his position. None of the denizens of Rukongai would dare to try to ask him what Iroka was up to, or where she was headed. And that was all well and good. Kendama had no interest in bandying words with pampered, jobless nobles, nor did he have the time to do so. For his part, the gate guard could only wonder what Iroka's errand was. He would probably also never figure out why she had carried a grave marker with her. He guessed he would never know.

[Munemasa Iroka]

For the most part, the people in the districts closer to Seireitei left Iroka alone. In the first few districts, no one said a word to her. Many even averted their gazes from her, hurrying along as though unwilling to be seen in her immediate vicinity. Iroka found that confusing, but amusing. She chuckled and kept walking.

Around the 20th District, there seemed to be a change in behavior towards her passing. Whereas people seemed uncomfortable she was there in the earlier districts, now they seemed to find her curious. There were a lot more stares now. Iroka considered how, if she had more time, she would love to study the psychology of behavior. Why did those in the former districts act as though they were scared of her, when these ones seemed curious?

Some people called out words to her, but Iroka was not paying much attention. Although she took note of the behaviors of the people around, she was more interested in trying to figure out what trials her zanpakutō spirit had in mind for her. In any case, there wasn’t much reason for her to be distracted. Everyone still kept their distance. There were a few who followed her a bit, but they did not do so for long.

The first violent interactions began around the 50th district. Iroka was moving along, slightly more inclined to be in a hurry, as she noticed that there seemed to be indications that the heavy cloud cover would eventually break. If this happened, there was a strong probability that the day would be hot. Heat, in Iroka’s opinion, was never a good factor when one was engaged in strenuous activities. And then a fellow showed up, walking in a haphazard manner towards the Shinigami.

He was most definitely drunk. His gait, as well as the smell of his breath, were obvious giveaways. There were about three other fellows with him, but they did not seem as drunk as he was, and owing to the way they moved around him, it was likely the drunk fellow had some form of authority over them. The man had been walking ahead of the trio, when he saw Iroka. He had immediately changed his trajectory, staggering over towards her. The other three changed course when they saw their leader do the same, and now had blocked the street Iroka was walking on.

”Hey there, beautiful,” the man slurred. ”Do you want to have some fun? I know you want to have some fun. What do you say we all go together for some drinks and a good time?” There were snickers from the rest of the group, as they watched the proceedings.

Iroka found people such as this annoying. Firstly, she felt there was something rude about just meeting a random person on the street, blocking their path, and telling them to get drunk together. What sort of bums got drunk in the morning? There were a host of important activities people had to engage in, while it was day. Getting drunk, in Iroka’s opinion, was an evening thing. Not like she really liked alcohol, anyway. As expected, the real reason for the lowlifes approaching her was lost on the carrot top.

”Thanks for going out of your way to approach me to offer such a thing,” Iroka replied, trying to be as polite as possible, ”but you really should engage yourself in more productive activities, as it’s still early in the day. Getting drunk this early is for slobs. You, sir, being drunk this early, are presently a disgraceful slob. It’s not very attractive. I know you can do better. Please and thank you.”

There. She’d even used the two magic words. And she had expressed herself so politely. Surely, they would walk away, think about their lives, and devote the rest of their day into doing something productive. Alas, they did not. Instead, they seemed to be getting offended. Because she had given them good advice? That was annoying. No wonder Fuuko hated bums.

”What did you call me, you little--” the man started, but Iroka had already squeezed past him and was merrily on her way. He staggered after her and grabbed her long hair roughly, savagely jerking her head backwards. Iroka responded with a swift back kick to his face. She did not have to use Shintenken; there were so many places to attack humanoid targets that would cripple them without much effort.

Iroka’s attack yielded expected results, as the drunk let her go, howling as he fell to the earth while holding his nose. He sat up, glaring at the Shinigami, his nose obviously broken. ”Gedd her! Gedd de bissh!” he fumed, his words slightly muffled by his injury. Iroka paused and stared at him for a moment, and then laughed, genuinely amused. This was a funny fellow.

”I won’t lie, you sound very hilarious, talking like that,” she said, not realizing that she was just getting the punks angrier. The ginger haired girl sighed, a small smile on her face as she shook her head. ”But I know it hurts. So if you hold still, and play nice, I’ll heal your nose and be on my way. A generous offer, ne?” The three underlings, by this time, had placed themselves around her.

”No? Don’t blame me if your nose remains broken for the rest of your life, then. And here was I, trying to be polite. Seems no one teaches anyone manners in these parts of Rukongai. It’s kind of expected, though, although I knew people with more manners than you guys, down in Sabitsura. Anyway, seeing as I am in a hurry, I shall be on my way. Do not try to stop me.”

But when ever did these kinds of people listen?

[Munemasa Iroka]

These fellows were simply a mild inconvenience, Iroka surmised. And yet, she was not eager to practically obliterate them. It wouldn’t do to kill an ant with a jackhammer. Especially as she felt she would most likely feel sorry for the ant eventually. Besides, saving her energy would be wise. Until she knew what sort of tests she had to undergo, it would be safest to conserve her reiatsu.

Judging by the mannerisms of these fellows, they seemed to just be average roughs, without that much combat experience. Of course, they outnumbered her, but it was quite unlikely that this would be an advantage for them. Even if they tried to charge her all at once, Iroka was sure they would make rookie mistakes. Mistakes that she would capitalize on, to make sure they stayed down and out. It was very likely that their leader, who didn’t seem to know which end was up on a knuckle sandwich, would sit back and watch the proceedings.

The first goon lunged at her, even as another one tried to move out of her line of sight. There was really no point in fighting clean. It wasn’t a training session or a duel, after all. Iroka took a pause, then lashed outwards in both forward and back directions. Of course, it was almost physically impossible to make equally powerful attacks on two opponents coming from different positions at the same time. Iroka, as such, put all of her power into the back kick, which caught the second goon right in the solar plexus.

The first, who had come within striking range, was the recipient of an old but dirty trick. The eye poke. Doing an eye poke required very little energy to successfully carry out, and the goon screamed as he clutched at his face. Fortunately for him, Iroka had not rammed her fingers into his eyes, so they would be bloodshot, and hurt for a while, but there would be no permanent damage. Still, this simple but dirty trick would incapacitate him long enough for Iroka to bring the fight to a swift conclusion.

The one who had been kicked in the midsection doubled over, and the third goon, absolutely shocked at his two colleagues being taken out so quickly, paused. That was the worst mistake to make in a fight: being hesitant. Iroka, however, was not wasting any time, swinging the foot she had just driven into someone’s stomach to execute a roundhouse kick to the side of the head of the one whose eye she had poked. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

The third guy, realizing his mistake of not having attacked as soon as possible, considered his options. Iroka could tell that he was seriously considering running away. ”Go on,” she encouraged him. ”I promise I won’t tell anyone you ran away.” The boss, still sitting off to the side and nursing his broken nose, did not seem happy about Iroka’s proffered option. ”Seriously?!” he screamed. ”What do I keep you around for, if you will be useless? Get her!”

Iroka turned on him. ”Well, I don’t see you being very useful yourself, Tough Guy,” she retorted. ”If you’re going to get others to do your dirty work for you, I suggest that you first learn how to handle the work yourself.” She began to walk towards the boss, who whimpered as he tried to scamper away. That was enough to make the third goon lose all interest in continuing the fight. Iroka took note of this, and cast a gaze at the third goon first, then the boss. ”I’m feeling nice today. Don’t follow me.”

She could hear the goon boss loudly berating the other man as she walked away, as he could find no better person to take out his embarrassment on. ”What sort of insipidly crappy show was that?” Mushoku practically screeched in her head. ”Not only did you just give those useless idiots wimpy injuries, but you didn’t even kill anyone! Someone deliver me from this horror Teletubbyland show!” Iroka had no idea what Teletubbyland Show was, but she knew that there were things Mushoku knew that she didn’t.

The inner Hollow was different from other sorts. Not as though Iroka had met, or was aware, of any other Vizards within her vicinity. Still, she had secretly done her research on her present condition. In most cases, a Shinigami was corrupted by an inner Hollow when some sort of Hollowfication process occurred, in which the Shinigami was forcibly tried to turn into a Hollow. In Iroka’s case, a Hollow’s essence had been grafted onto her soul, so the Hollow was extraneous.

”You know, Mu-mu-chan, it really would be nice if we could get along,” Iroka said, a little timorously, to her inner Hollow. ”There’s so much you know that I don’t, and we could learn so much from each other.” The inner Hollow made a scoffing sound. ”As if, you little shit!” came the response. ”And stop calling me ‘Mu-mu-chan’! I swear, I’ll rip your throat out the next time you do that.”

”Sorry, Mu-mu-chan….”

”Again! I swear, I’m gonna kill this stupid bimbo!!”

There was a bit of silence, afterwards, as Iroka resumed her journey. Then Mushoku spoke up once more, her voice suspiciously placatory. ”You know, Little Fish, if you really want us to get along, you could just let me take over your body, yeah? It’s not like anything terrible will happen.” Iroka shook her head. ”I can’t, at least not yet. I’m sorry. If I did, people would sense your presence in my reiatsu, and kill me, which would lead to your demise as well. But I would really want to let you out. Only that you aren’t making it possible, as you will definitely try to kill someone if I grant that request.”

”Just more and more reasons to relish your squeals when I have my hands around your throat, you stupid brat,” Mushoku spat. ”You’re useless, you’ve always been useless. And that’s why you will never achieve your life’s dreams. Because you could never have the strength to reach out and claim power for yourself.” Iroka paused. ”I’m afraid that is incorrect,” she finally said, ”because if I really was so weak, we wouldn’t be traveling here to attain Bankai.”

”Gods… I hate this brat….”

[Munemasa Iroka]

With Mushoku falling silent, except for the occasional grumble, Iroka turned her thoughts to her zanpakutō spirit. "Hey, Shugyoku Hirenaga, are you ready now to tell me exactly where I'm going? And why I'm dressed like this and carrying the sotoba?" The zanpakutō spirit did not answer. Iroka sighed. It had not answered her the first time she had asked, except saying it was necessary for her to achieve Bankai. Being the polite person she was, she decided not to force things. She would learn the answer in time.

Iroka's walk had brought her by now to much more dangerous regions of Rukongai, the places where unseated Shinigami did not dare patrol. Yet, she walked briskly and apparently heedless of caution, her intent being to find this place of which her zanpakutō spirit had spoken. For her, the sooner she finished this, the sooner she could return to Seireitei. But there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind, the question as to whether she had what it took. Then she remembered Fuuko's tears and the nature of her friend's own Bankai. For Fuuko's sake, she had to achieve it.

There seemed to be some movement out of the corner of her eye, but when Iroka turned, there was nothing. It seemed someone, or some people, were following her. As things stood, they seemed to have some level of skill, as they managed to stay relatively concealed. Iroka's senses weren't the best, so she couldn't tell how many there were. But she knew she was being shadowed without a doubt. It seemed some of her followers even had some amount of reishi. She would have to be careful.

Iroka turned down a street, a particularly long one, only to see that it had been blocked. With people, and lots of them. The street she had come from was filling up as well, cutting off her way of exit as well. There were many ways to deal with this, and the most favorable seemed to be avoiding them. As Iroka knew Shunpo, she could easily take to the air and avoid them, and only those with similar ability would be able to follow her. She was sure hardly anyone here would have such a skill.

"Keep going forward."

Those were the only words Shugyoku Hirenaga said. Iroka paused, awaiting further explanation, but none came. So she began walking forward again, towards the throng which silently awaited her arrival. They were armed with sticks and other crude weapons. Obviously hostile, and Iroka could guess why. A strange sight, such as she was, was almost certainly a Shinigami, and folks in these parts detested her kind.

They would try to kill her for being from Seireitei, that much was obvious. If she wasn't a Shinigami, well, too bad. But these guys were not the kind to care if some innocent was beaten to death. Death was kind of a normalty for most souls here, often regarded with some degree of nonchalance, even among those who carried it out on others. Still, if she could help it, she would not kill them. Didn't mean she couldn't beat the crap out of them.

The Shinigami turned aside, moving to one of the houses which flanked the street. Almost reverently, she leaned the sotoba against the wall of the building, and walked back into the middle of the lane. The fellows behind her were still advancing, and now the ones in front of her began to move forward as well. "Gentlemen..." Iroka said expectantly, cracking her knuckles. They charged.

It was like one of those old human world kung fu flicks she had seen multiple times. With a chorus of yells, the mob charged her. Iroka, quite proficient in hand-to-hand martial arts, and armed with the ability to inflict incapacitating blows with single strikes, did not hesitate to reply with violence. Wave after wave, they came, and Iroka beat them back, using her Shintenken to keep them at arms' length. Even then, fighting so many people all at once was definitely going to result in getting hit herself.

If Iroka had wanted to kill them, two well-aimed spells would quickly bring an end to the folly of attempting to attack an officer of the Gotei 13. But she was unwilling to take any lives; besides, there was an almost wicked desire to see if she could really pit herself against scores of people and come out on top. So she fought, with arms and with wits, and a little bit of reiatsu. Shintenken was great at using the environment to one's advantage, and Iroka made sure to use the surroundings as obstacles or aids in fighting, ensuring that she was never overwhelmed by the large numbers at once.

Eventually, the street was silent, save only for the groans of the injured and Iroka's heavy breathing. Casually stepping on the bodies she had felled, the ginger Shinigami went back to where she had dropped the sotoba, picked it up, and continued her journey. She had quite a number of scratches and a few bruises, but she was in one piece, over all. Feeling some degree of pride at her accomplishment, Iroka took a few turns, and was met with the vista of an expanse of wildland. She had come to the end of District 80, Northern Rukongai.