In less than what could be conceived as an instant, all of Kazuma's appendages had now been restrained by some Kido that he himself was entirely unaware of; to be utilized in his training. He had no problem when it came to physical, not a lot of problem mental seeing as he may not be the most intelligent but when it came to battle he was cunning and quick-witted. His issue had always been this spiritual inner balance crap the Captain-Commander was feeding them. This Kido was taken to an extreme with him, unlike Teijo; his wasn't just weighted it also was bounded. He was on the dirt in seconds, wrists and ankles alike were bound to each other. It was as if this man, this Tsubasa, had it in for him.
"Bastard.." Kazuma wheezed out, having fallen to the ground in which his ribs's fall was broken with his arms. What the...? Did he just cuss? At the Captain-Commander? The hell has gotten into him? To hell with this. Repetitively, Kazuma tried to get up and repetitively he failed. Bound together and weighed by something he was unaware, Kazuma just couldn't get a handle on it. Eventually, after quite the amount of time, he figured out the basis of how to move despite the cuffs and shackles he had now worn as attire; by using his Reiatsu as well as his physical form to move it. So the purpose of these cuffs meant you had to stay at top notch the whole time? Easy enough.
And yet again, he tried to stand and move, his form stood tall once more to make a go at it. He flexed his Reiatsu and charged headstrong forward as if making a b-line toward some invisible enemy that he had his eyes set on to kill, he had gotten just far enough before falling short yet again despite his obvious effort. But what just that in of itself: he had gotten just far enough before he failed yet again. It was like something was wrong with him all of a sudden, a look of shock had played itself along his face as he tumbled and rolled as a result of falling over mid-stride; his limbs having snapped back together. He groaned quietly to himself, his ribs having landed on a rather large and jagged rock somewhere in the tumble which wasn't exactly pleasant. The more he tried the angrier he got, the angrier he got the worse off he got. It was almost as if he was fighting against himself, getting angry only at himself. Again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again and again. He kept trying and trying, refusing to give up or give in but every single time something cut the wind from his sails. He could taste blood in his mouth, most likely a result of one of his many missteps thus far. God, he felt like a fool. How many times had he fell, looked like an idiot, how long had it been, had to at least have been a few hours. Pursing his lips to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, he gritted his teeth trying to fathom what was wrong with him. Why he couldn't handle something so simple today, whereas he could easily do so before? He figured something about this place left him off kilter but that couldn't be all of it, could it?
"You're so entrenched, Kazuma, that you can't see the forest for the trees." said an all too familiar voice, the spirit from his Zanpakutō. Suddenly, Kazuma found himself in his inner world. This place consisted off a lavish cathedral upon a large rather forested island which was floating above a section of a seemingly endless sea; the two connected only by a dock that connected to the water from the border of the island. The time of day, weather, condition of the inner world and such obviously as with most people was reflected by his emotions and such. This time, he was summoned inside the church; he could hear a large storm beating the outside of the church. Turmoil? On the inside was inner turmoil?! What kind of bullshit was this? "I'm not a fan of losing. But more importantly, I've decided to assist you in something you seem to take pleasure in ignoring." a voice echoed throughout the building, void of a body but none the less real.
"Is that so? And what is it that I ignore?" Kazuma retorted quickly. "Yourself." Bokoseido said, forcing images of all his past into his mind. It's as if he was being force fed something particularly nasty, but unable to so much as fight back. He saw again, the death of those he held dear, the life of a child fade as it was seen as naught but a tool to be used, a young man who held onto his survivors guilt so tightly he denied himself most of all. His feelings, thoughts, even his personality; everything.
"You made a promise to yourself and as your partner; I intend to make you keep it. I refuse to let someone 'I' care about let them kill themselves slowly. If you really wish to redeem yourself in their eyes, then do something that seems to be the hardest thing you could ever do. Live. Live and become someone worthy to protect, so that their deaths weren't meaningless." after those final words from his Zanpakutō, Kazuma came to. It was sunset, the clouds covering what little light there was left. The oath he swore to himself. How could he forget? It was about time he started trying to grow the fuck up, and if need be he could take out his rage on the face of some mother fucker who pisses him off.
Black and dark green Reiatsu leaked from his form like a smoky fire. If there was one thing that was true about his persona, he keeps his word.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!" he screamed, pouring out his Reiatsu as a whole and sustaining it. The trick to this was to stay at the top notch, and he was done doing stuff half assed. He jutted out his limbs from each other, a thin line from the Kido's aura connecting the limbs at a distance as if it was desperately trying to reconnect albeit unsuccessfully. He grabbed the hilt of his Zanpakutō and unsheathed it, the Reiatsu leaking from it was enough to engrash a large gash into the ground that the tip of the blade crossed over as he moved it across his form. He set his sights on one of the dummies, in his mind he only saw the person he hated most; himself. He didn't bother with anything, not so much as a flash step; he charged full speed at it and proceeded to slash at it. Despite his obvious experience in sword play, one could easily tell by looking at him even in a rage; he was physically still working through his problems. Slash, slash, slash, slash and slash. He continued to do so, as he did, another thing was made painfully clear; he was second division. Most of them were easily fatal strikes, the rest would incapacitate an enemy. Wound after wound appeared on his body, blood soaking into his clothes. To hell with that, he wasn't going to do anything half assed any more. Everything was full throttle. He was going to make himself become someone who not only they could be proud of, but someone who he could be proud of to see in a mirror.