"It hurts, it really hurts..."
Shiba Kuroba groaned, clutching his throbbing head as he forced himself upright. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, the clear aftershock of spiritual intoxication.
Just then, a warm surge pulsed from within his core—no, from the system embedded deep in his soul. Like a current of reiryoku, it flowed rapidly through his body, washing away the hangover in mere moments. The numbness in his limbs faded, and the mental fog lifted like early morning mist under the sunlight.
It was an oddly familiar sensation by now. Every time he brewed and drank Zanpakutō-infused sake, his body underwent these subtle enhancements. But this time, it was different. More refined. More potent.
Shiba Kuroba's eyes gleamed.
So it worked again. And even better than before.
He could feel his body brimming with reiryoku, his senses sharper, and his energy practically overflowing. If he punched a Menos Grande right now, he might actually crack its mask—or so he thought. But theory was theory. Combat would tell the truth.
"Huff..."
He exhaled, suppressing his excitement and opening his eyes.
Darkness.
Total, oppressive darkness. Only a dim spiritual lantern flickered weakly nearby, its light distorted by the shadows that clung unnaturally to every surface. It took him a moment to realize—he wasn't just in any dark place.
This is...
He surveyed his surroundings. Cold stone, thick spiritual seal arrays carved into the floor, a sensation of weight pressing on his soul...
Underground Detention Facility. First Division.
More specifically: the third level of the underground prison, commonly known among the Gotei 13 as Black Eclipse Hell (Kokuan Jigoku)—a part of the detention complex rarely spoken of, even among captains.
Kuroba scratched his head and sighed.
"Drunk again and thrown into prison. Figures."
Though now fully conscious, the severity of his situation crept into his mind. Causing a ruckus during the entrance assessment, letting his reiryoku spiral out of control... In Hazama Kyōkan, that was practically a death sentence.
He'd gotten lucky. Again.
Just then, a cold, gravelly voice echoed from the corridor:
"...Didn't expect you to wake up, brat. Most who fall into the grip of Kokuan's Pulse don't regain their senses so quickly."
A faint yellow light flickered to life in the corridor, revealing a hunched figure slowly approaching.
The illumination reached barely three meters before being swallowed by the thick miasma. In any other part of Seireitei, such a light could stretch across a room, but down here, darkness devoured it. The reiryoku in the air was saturated—corrupted by despair, instability, madness.
The man came into view. A gaunt Shinigami—probably once a seated officer—his pallid skin stretched tight over his bones, and his eyes milky with spiritual corrosion. His wrinkled face bore deep furrows, as though emotion had long since been scraped away by the pressure of isolation.
Kuroba narrowed his eyes. He didn't need to ask where he was anymore.
The Third Floor of the Underground Detention Facility:
Black Eclipse Hell.
An area where unstable or mentally afflicted prisoners were confined. Not because of their crimes, but because of their reiryoku instability. Constant, unpredictable spiritual outbursts—screams, mantras, emotional projections—rippled through the walls here. It was said to be worse than physical torture.
In fact, many believed the madness was contagious—a spiritual echo that infected the souls of those nearby.
"You look like you figured it out," the man grunted.
"This place is an open wound. Every moment, the spiritual pressure from the others leaks through the barriers. It's not a matter of strength—it's a matter of endurance. You think you're tough until you hear a thousand prisoners screaming grief into your bones."
He sat cross-legged just beyond the cell bars, his voice a lifeless rasp.
"That's why Black Eclipse Hell initiates a mental isolation sequence every twelve hours—five minutes where all spiritual perception is forcibly sealed. I suggest you brace yourself for the next twelve hours. The longest any new inmate has lasted here is less than twenty-four hours before descending into madness."
"If you succumb to that madness," the elder added flatly, "I'll be under orders to execute you on the spot."
Kuroba's expression darkened.
According to the old man, the terror of Black Eclipse Hell was far more insidious than he'd imagined. The worst part wasn't the heat, the dark, or the silence—it was the unpredictability of when someone's psyche would snap. There was no pattern. No warning.
A constant, unrelenting defense of one's mental barrier could delay collapse—but not prevent it. Fatigue set in. Spiritual awareness dulled. Resistance eroded.
And the moment someone dropped their guard… the mental pressure of this place would rush in like a hollow screaming into an open soul. Instant devastation.
Kuroba shuddered. The unpredictable nature of the madness here made his earlier drunken stupor feel like paradise. At least then, he could sleep, snore, and escape consciousness. Now? He had to keep his eyes open, senses tense, mind sharp—always.
"So," the old man said again, voice low and dry, "you finally understand what this place is."
"Still, after the scene you caused in the Hazama Test Chamber, Captain-Commander Yamamoto only sentenced you to ten days down here. Consider yourself lucky."
"I don't know what kind of ability or backing let you walk away so easily, but in Black Eclipse Hell, status, rank, and heritage mean nothing. Everyone breaks the same."
"Ten days," he continued, "is enough to tear through your psyche thousands of times. Let's see if you can still call yourself human at the end… or if I have to crush your skull myself."
Kuroba stared at the man grimly, then let out a slow breath.
"Old man, do you enjoy lecturing corpses? Or do you actually want someone alive to talk to in this pit?"
"How about you spare me a survival tip or two?"
His eyes flickered—calculating. Anyone appointed by the Captain-Commander to guard this prison had to have methods of resisting the psychic pressure. If he could learn even one…
"Even if I had such a method," the old man said, turning away, "you're not the one I'd give it to."
"You've got three minutes before the isolation ends. If there's anything else you need to know…"
Kuroba blinked, then smirked weakly.
"Yeah… you got any sake?"
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