While Makoto's battle reached its conclusion, the frontlines of the Soul Society were ablaze.
"Huff, huff-"
Ragged breaths escaped Kuruyashiki Ryoma's mouth, laced with faint pink blood foam.
The Shinigami knelt on the ground, surrounded by bodies clad in tattered black Shihakusho, their forms broken and incomplete.
Blood pooled everywhere.
Heavy footsteps thudded against the ground, sending small pebbles trembling as if the earth itself quaked with each step.
The lanky boy propped himself up with his Zanpakutō's scabbard, lifting his head. His blood-soaked vision reflected the familiar faces of the fallen.
Fifth Seat Yanagi, Ninth Seat Hanamaru, Thirteenth Seat Sasaki...
Were they all dead?
Ryoma's Reiatsu had dwindled to a faint flicker.
To stand again after such a grueling fight was a feat in itself.
But.
His gaze lifted higher.
The man before him, clad in a tattered white Quincy uniform, revealed muscles beneath like forged steel, sharply defined.
The desperate attacks of several seated officers hadn't even breached his Reishi defenses.
"Kill them!"
From the distance came a chorus of roars as waves of Quincies in matching uniforms surged forward like a tide, drowning the black-clad Shinigami in their path. They trampled over bloodstains, stepping on corpses, charging ever onward.
Reishi arrows rained through the air like a storm, streaking across the battlefield.
Every Quincy's face bore an exhilarated grin, fueled by blood and slaughter, as they swept past the open ground where Ryoma and the man stood.
Kuruyashiki Ryoma's disheveled long hair framed his face as he locked eyes with the Quincy's glasses.
His pupils were bloodshot.
"Nice eyes," the tall priest-like Quincy remarked, his lips curling into a smile. "They make me want to... cherish you even more!"
He gently traced a cross with his thumb, his voice warm and benevolent. "Please forgive him, my Lord."
In the instant his fingers passed over his eyes, Ryoma, who had been sprawled like a wounded dog, sprang up like a swift, darting past the Quincy's side.
His matted, straw-like hair whipped in the wind, his blood-streaked face set with unyielding resolve.
"Born of slaughter's omen, honoring the dark and eternal farewell, Gagaku Kairō!"
Squeezing out the last of his Reiatsu from the depths of his being, Ryoma's overtaxed body summoned a bear-sized, furry abyss maw from his scabbard.
It lunged ferociously at the towering priest.
"You never learn, do you?" the Quincy bearing the Schrift H sighed, shaking his head. "Perhaps this is what happens when heretics lack the Lord's guidance."
The Gagaku Kairō roared like a gale, its bloodied maw inches from the priest.
Yet, he merely raised a hand with casual ease.
"Bang-"
The massive Gagaku Kairō was halted dead in its tracks.
Immobilized.
Ryoma didn't pause, his feet racing around the priest's towering form as he began chanting with precise Kidō incantations:
"Bones of beasts scattered across the board..."
"A fragile Zanpakutō like yours," the priest mocked, seizing the Gagaku Kairō's body. His arm muscles tensed suddenly.
Ryoma dashed behind the priest, his hands forming a perfect triangle, faint lightning crackling.
"Sprinkled on the bones of the beast! Sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring..."
"All I need is a little strength-" The priest's muscles erupted with unimaginable force, tearing the seemingly ferocious Gagaku Kairō in half like dough, its flesh still connected by sinewy threads.
Yet, Ryoma's chant didn't waver.
"Move and become the wind, stop and become the calm.."
"The sound of warring spears fills the empty castle!"
"Hadō #63!"
The shredded body of Gagaku Kairō was ripped apart with brutal savagery, exploding into a shower of blood.
The priest's warm, benevolent voice echoed in Ryoma's ears.
"...and I can tear it apart!"
"Raikōhō!"
Crackling lightning lashed out like a leaping rope, spanning dozens of meters in an instant. It whipped across the priest's steel-like body, his ferocious grin unwavering, with a deafening roar and a series of numbing electric cracks.
"Thud."
Ryoma's Reiatsu was utterly spent, his strength drained to nothing.
His legs buckled, and he collapsed powerlessly to his knees.
No miracle came.
The priest emerged from the dust, unscathed, his smile growing ever more malicious.
"So-called Kidō amounts to nothing more than this," he sneered. "This is the tragedy of the faithless."
"In the end, no Lord protects your soul, and you fail to see your own weakness."
"But you're fortunate, my child."
His smile widened as he reached toward Ryoma, his warm voice turning thick with a sticky malice: "As long as you-"
But his words cut off abruptly.
He froze, as if sensing something.
"Splurt!"
A blackened vein bulged on the surface of his muscular chest.
Two, three, four...
Twisted, grotesque marks spread across the right half of his torso in an instant, his body swelling unnaturally, straining his balance.
His shoulder emitted a "crackling" sound, three or four egg-shaped bulges breaking through the skin, leaving bloody gashes.
As he adjusted, his eyelids snapped open, revealing golden, vertical-pupiled eyes sprouting unnaturally from his muscles.
"What... what is this?"
"You bastard!"
"Damn faithless cur! What have you done to me!?"
The priest's voice turned shrill and hoarse, tearing from his throat as he roared toward Kuruyashiki Ryoma. His steps faltered, limping and unsteady.
"Ha... haha..."
Kuruyashiki Ryoma lay sprawled on the ground, his exhausted grip finally loosening on his left hand.
A small black orb fell from his palm.
A Hollow Pill.
In that last strike, he'd used two at once.
But it worked...
Thank you, Makoto-sama.
Seeing Ryoma's faint relief, the ferocity in the priest's golden, vertical-pupiled eyes grew even more intense, his rage boiling over, revealing the savage nature beneath his warm facade.
"You damned brat-"
"Filthy wretch!!"
But as he raised his clenched fist, a calm, indifferent middle-aged voice cut through from behind:
"That's quite the harsh critique."
"He's my finest subordinate, you know."
The moment the voice rang out, both Ryoma and the priest looked toward its source.
Yet, what they saw was entirely different.
In the priest's eyes, a fleeting slash of light passed, and the bespectacled middle-aged man slowly sheathed his blade.
Turning his back to the priest, he strode toward the charging Quincies.
"Damned faithless scum!" the priest spat, clenching his teeth and raising a fist toward Kinroku's back. "One after another, you ignore the Lord's will and scorn His messengers."
Kinroku, usually as jaded as a seasoned office drone, exuded an uncharacteristic coldness today, his silhouette dark as steel, his voice flat:
"Noisy."
"Dead men talk too much."
As his words fell, the priest's movements froze.
Silently, a line like a marked fold on origami stretched from the center of the burly man's forehead, extending upward and downward.
It cleaved straight through his entire body.
The priest took two dazed steps forward.
First his left foot, then his right.
Then, his body collapsed like a toppled pillar, splitting left and right where his steps landed.
Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, his soft innards spilling across the ground.
Kuruyashiki Ryoma watched quietly.
That was Captain Kinroku's signature spatial slash.
A single strike had felled the terrifying Quincy they couldn't push back even in death.
Yet, this blow seemed merely the prelude to the onslaught that followed.
Kinroku stood calmly, gazing at the crowd beyond, murmuring softly: "The net's caught plenty of fish."
As his voice fell, several familiar figures sliced into the Quincy's white ranks like hot knives through butter, cutting down Sternritter members who moments ago seemed unstoppable.
Immense strength, blinding speed, and ferocious killing intent.
The trifecta halted the Quincy's oil-boiling advance in its tracks.
Following close behind was a tsunami-like roar of battle cries.
Countless figures in black Shihakusho swept the battlefield in an instant, engulfing the white-clad Quincies like a tidal wave.
From above, one could see black lines clashing and breaking through white ones, piercing their formation in scattered bursts before pushing forward.
The Quincies in the rear tried to mount a resistance.
But before their leaders could regroup, a deep, resonant voice boomed across the battlefield.
"All things in creation, reduced to ash."
"Ryūjin Jakka!"
Blazing flames erupted, their searing heat swallowing everything in sight.
The ground was scorched to cinders in an instant.
Kuruyashiki Ryoma knelt, staring blankly at the scene.
He hadn't yet processed the fact that he'd survived.
Kinroku strolled past, casually patting the boy's head.
"Well done, Kuruyashiki."
"I'll tell Makoto-kun you did good."
"..."
The warm weight of the captain's hand finally made Ryoma realize he'd lived.
At Kinroku's words, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Yes, sir!" he replied.
...
"Ugh-"
Saito lounged on the ridge of the First Division barracks' palace roof, propped on one hand, the other clutching her Zanpakutō's scabbard.
Her small feet dangled from her geta sandals, idly scratching her calf.
She yawned, bored out of her mind.
Finally, fed up, she snapped: "I swear, that old geezer Yamamoto didn't trick us, did he?"
"Hey!"
"I'm talking to you, sickly!"
Nobutsuna Shigyō stood atop another building's roof, rigid as a blade.
His sickly pale face betrayed a hint of seriousness.
But at Saito's complaints, he couldn't resist snapping back: "Shut up, you idiot!"
"How would I know if Yamamoto's lying or not?"
"Hah?" Saito spat, glaring. "Then why're you acting all high and mighty?"
Nobutsuna Shigyō shot her a disdainful glance.
Ever heard of a master's composure?
But as their bickering heated up, Uhin Zenjōji, sitting on the ground and munching on dried meat, suddenly looked up, the braid on his balding head standing like an antenna.
"...Oh."
"A few bugs slipped in."
At his voice, Furuoki Ōtogawa, seated nearby with his blade in his arms, lifted his head, his fingers subtly adjusting his conical hat.
His senses sharpened, and Uhin Zenjōji squinted, his braid twitching like multiple antennae, gathering clearer information.
Chewing his meat, he said quickly: "Six targets, moving separately. They're looking for something."
"Great!" Saito sprang to her feet with vigor, leaping to the ground. "Before the big fish bites, let's deal with these small fry!"
"Hey, you lot!"
"Wanna bet who kills the most?"
"There's only four of us, plenty to go around."
Uhin Zenjōji, still expressionless, chewed his meat. "Not enough."
"Makoto's heading west, fast."
"Probably three bugs that way."
"What?!" Saito's single eye widened in disbelief. "That greedy idiot!"
"Also..." Uhin Zenjōji ignored her, turning to the end of the road, stuffing the last piece of meat into his mouth.
He tucked the oilpaper bag into his robes.
His expression grew deadly serious.
"There's one coming our way."
As his words fell, a man cloaked in darkness, his expression serene, stepped forward in leather boots toward the First Division barracks.
The moment his silhouette appeared, Saito's face split into a feral grin, like a tiger spotting prey. Her lips parted, revealing gleaming white teeth as she roared:
"Yhwach!!"
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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