Rekka's respiration also took a turn for the worse. The intensity was flummoxing him, overwhelming his senses. He was not in the presence of trigger-happy hostile presences however. Rekka's predicament was triggered by a host of internal conflict. His 'corporeal' presence was a little unnerving to perceive. HE was still seated, cross-legged with his back against the wall of he Division Thirteen lobby, but his breathing was troubled and fairly loud. His head was bowed and his eyes closed, like he had drifted off to sleep and was caught in a livid nightmare.
It was a nightmare of sorts, but not Rekka's to lay claim of. Rekka had once again gripped the hilt of his blade and tried to focus as he opened up his mind to the horror and chaos that consumed his Zanpakuto. When his sword sucked him in, he started of in an abstract place and was bombarded by the swarm of rambling silhouettes. Rekka crouched, hunching himself low to the ground, know from past experience how difficult it was to gain his bearings in those critical first few seconds if he stood simply on his feet.
Rekka shuffled across the floor, suffering being kicked, kneed and elbowed in his ribs back and face by the apathetic, oblivious, shadowy forms. Once he had had enough Rekka raise up, standing at eye level once more with the mass of interweaving black. Their passionate, incessant voices once again had nothing but open air to travel through and they harassed his ears as he tried to navigate. Rekka couldn't see beyond the endless supply of these living shadows. The terrain and landscape of this world had no landmarks either, leaving only two features which where distinct about the area; himself and the faceless familiar.
He, as one, had entered to find the other. These shadows would not respond. Of that he was sure as he had tried to reason with them many times, garner their attention and motives and he was completely ignored every single time. Rekka began to get a little violent in rebuffing the shadows which seemed to antagonise them to chant louder and move faster. By now, Rekka's body was sweating and visibly shaking, as if on the verge of a fit. He had stopped breathing twenty second ago, too flustered to maintain. Within the transcendent world he could tell that time was running short and he was losing consciousness. His vision within the world began to blur and his steps falter. Even this imagined avatar of himself began to form beads and droplets at the crown and pant heavy.
However, the shadows, the forms, they began to dissipate thinning from opaque to translucent, and translucent to transparent. With the swirling torrent thinning away, Rekka spotted the figure he was looking for, however he was too far removed from Rekka, who was already on his knees, buckling out of consciousness, but as the rambling voices were dying, Rekka could here something. A voice, concordant, crying - nay - screaming out and slowly focusing into range as if it had been swallowed out by the en mass black. As the faceless familiar turned to him for less than an instant, Rekka knew it was his voice crying out.
Rekka snapped back to reality with a shock, jumping out of his self induced trance, much to the disapproval of the Thirteenth Division Lieutenant. Rekka had tried multiple times in his wait for Captain Tsuda to connect with his Zanpakuto, but he had never been able to hold out long enough to see the faceless familiar beyond the thinning shadows before and it was impossible to reach him otherwise. The more Rekka seemed to explore this blade the more dangerous it seemed to get.