On his translucent HUD—visible only to him—Akira tapped [Draw].
The roulette spun, gears whirring like distant thunder, before locking into place.
[Congratulations, Host! You have acquired: "Goro Goro no Mi" (Rumble-Rumble Fruit)!]
Akira's eyes widened. He knew this Logia-type Devil Fruit well. In One Piece, its wielder could become, control, and generate lightning—its only notable weakness being the rubber body of Luffy's Gomu Gomu no Mi.
Good thing there's no rubber-bodied idiot in the Soul Society, he thought grimly.
And then, a realization struck like lightning itself: Baraggan Louisenbairn's "Respira" aged everything it touched—but lightning didn't age.
It had no cells to decay. No flesh to wither. No time to lose.
He glanced at the ancient Espada, who loomed like a phantom of inevitable death.
"Baraggan is faster than Soi Fon—closing the distance without getting hit is nearly impossible. If Respira touches me, I turn to dust in seconds. Even a graze is fatal."
But now?
He could become electricity.
Lightning didn't bleed.
Lightning didn't slow.
And lightning moved at the speed of light.
Without hesitation, Akira bit into the swirling, grotesque fruit.
"Ugh—disgusting!" he gagged, forcing it down.
Baraggan's eyes narrowed in disbelief. Then fury.
"You dare eat mid-battle, boy? Do you mock death itself?!"
With a roar, the former king of Hueco Mundo surged forward—a blur of bone and malice—his clawed hand aimed to cleave Akira's skull.
Impact.
—but no resistance.
His hand passed through Akira's body like smoke, met only by a violent burst of crackling yellow energy.
Akira reformed a meter away, electricity arcing across his skin, his eyes blazing with violet-white light. A smirk curled his lips.
"Let's trade blows. You hit me—I hit you. Fair?"
Before Baraggan could process the words, a blade of searing white light—Excalibur, infused with reiatsu and thunder—sliced through the air.
SLASH!
Baraggan twisted away, but not fast enough. A deep gash split his neck, black blood sizzling as it met the charged air. He skidded backward, robes tattered, pride wounded.
"Impossible…" he snarled. "Respira kills on contact! No one survives a trade!"
Yet Akira stood untouched—no aging, no decay, not even a scratch.
Baraggan's mind raced. Is this his Zanpakutō's Shikai? But Zanpakutō don't grant elemental transformation! And that sword—why does it glow like a Quincy's?
For the first time in centuries, doubt crept into the heart of death itself.
Akira raised his blade, lightning coiling around it like serpents.
"Scared?"
"Fool! I am—"
"You've spent this whole fight chasing me," Akira cut in, voice sharp as a thunderclap. "Now I chase you."
Baraggan's expression darkened.
"What do you mean—"
He blinked.
Akira was gone.
"Wha—?!"
Baraggan whirled, scanning the ruined battlefield—but before he could react—
Crack!
A bolt of searing lightning split the air. Akira materialized beside him, his blade already buried deep in the Espada's torso.
"AAAAARGHHH!"
Baraggan howled, stumbling back. Decay surged from the wound, instinctively consuming nearby matter to fuel his regeneration—but before he could recover—
Crack!
Akira vanished again—then reappeared above him, blade flashing downward with blinding speed.
SCHIIINK!
Baraggan's left hand hit the ground, severed cleanly at the wrist.
The ancient Hollow king roared—not just in pain, but in fury and disbelief. "DIE! DIE, DAMN YOU! DIEEEE!"
He unleashed a storm of Ceros, blasting wildly in every direction. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Shockwaves tore through the ruins, shattering stone and scorching the earth.
But this time… Akira didn't press the attack.
Panting, Baraggan clutched his bleeding stump. Centuries of dominion had taught him control—but now, for the first time in eons, fear coiled in his gut. He activated High-Speed Regeneration, flesh and bone knitting back together with unnatural speed.
Had I been any lesser Hollow, he thought, I'd be ash by now.
"Why…?" he growled. "How did he become this fast?!"
Across the battlefield, Akira stood calmly, the crackling aura of lightning fading from his form.
His power wasn't from a Shinigami technique—it was something else entirely: the Goro Goro no Mi, a Devil Fruit that granted dominion over lightning. By converting his body into electricity, he could travel along conductive paths or through the air itself at near-instantaneous speeds.
True, lightning wasn't literally light-speed—but within the electric field he generated, his movements approached velocities Baraggan had never witnessed.
Yet it wasn't flawless.
Massive spiritual interference—like the chaotic backlash of Baraggan's own Ceros—could disrupt the field, momentarily grounding him. That's why Akira had pulled back after the barrage.
"Tch," Akira muttered. "Elementalization nullifies physical strikes… but Cero? That's pure reiatsu. It still cuts deep."
No power was absolute. But right now? He held the advantage.
Baraggan narrowed his eyes. He stopped attacking… There's a limit.
His mind raced. He didn't need to understand the how—only the when. If flooding the area with spiritual energy kept the Shinigami at bay…
"Fine," Baraggan snarled, raising his remaining hand. "I'll drown this field in Cero until nothing remains but dust!"
Akira smirked. "Oh? Think you've figured me out?"
Baraggan said nothing. He wouldn't be goaded.
But Akira wasn't bluffing.
He raised his hand—and this time, the lightning didn't just crackle. It condensed, swirling into a blinding sphere above his palm. The air grew heavy, charged with apocalyptic energy.
Baraggan's eye sockets widened.
"God's Judgment!"