Chapter 387 - 386: Deadly Poison Domain
After opening his complete holy form, Askin felt the ravaged tissues in his body begin to knit. Non-fatal injuries sealed themselves with unnerving speed. In this state he could rapidly adapt to toxins, analyze their composition, and recalibrate his internal balance on the fly. His speed climbed; his striking power sharpened; his margin for error narrowed to a sliver.
Even so, he didn’t delude himself.
He didn’t think simply activating the holy form would be enough to kill Ulquiorra. Not outright. The opponent possessed High-Speed Regeneration—a monstrous advantage that overturned many otherwise perfect equations.
So, after unveiling his holy form, he deployed the ability he reserved for this state alone.
"Gift Bereich."
A purple sphere bloomed outward, swelling in an instant. Its scope was immense—like a barrier cast across heaven and stone—covering most of the square. Yet unlike ordinary barriers, this one was saturated with a lethal atmosphere: a thick, invisible ocean of killing components. Within it, each step sent razorwire pain through the nerves. Even the simple act of breathing became sabotage—every inhalation meeting an engineered wall of hypoxia.
He flexed the molecular light wheels and the twin wings arcing behind him, and the density changed at once. He could raise the concentration of the poison gas, thin it, or reshape the very "planet" of the sphere at will. The purple enchantment became a world in miniature—his world—its physics rewritten by chemistry and malice.
Inside this sphere, there was only death.
Worse still, killing Askin wouldn’t necessarily shatter the domain. If he died, the power of the poison ball would convulse—sometimes weakening, sometimes collapsing in unstable spikes—but not in a way that guaranteed escape. In more than one modeled outcome, "no one gets out" remained the answer. A fortress of poison; a mausoleum that sealed friend and foe alike.
Bazz-B knew what it was the instant the darkness engulfed him. As a fellow member of the Sternritters, he had seen Askin’s trump card on paper if not in person. His expression turned ugly, then uglier.
He wasn’t alone. Cang Du’s jaw tightened. Quilge’s face, poised over his opponent, went cold.
Quilge had Kariya Jin suppressed across every vector. One more clean sequence—one more Heilig Pfeil aligned alongside close-quarters pressure—and he would have finished the Bount decisively. Then Askin’s sphere swept in, a tidal night.