Tonight, the skies over Seireitei were dyed crimson.
Not their natural hue—but a reflection of the blood-soaked earth.
Kumo'i Yōkaku had severed his control over the Makō-tō who had succumbed to Hollowfication.
Mad Shinigami, their minds shattered, their bodies already halfway consumed by Hollowfication, surged out from the sealed chambers of the Kazewōji clan estate.
Their targets: nobles, the Gotei 13—anyone and everyone.
Tonight, it would be glory or death.
A river of blood was only the beginning.
Who could stop it in time?
The captains within Central 46 tried to break free, but dozens of rampaging Makō-tō blocked the exits. Trapped inside the heart of Soul Society, above the layers of Hell where high-value criminals were imprisoned, not even captains dared to go all out—not here, not with Bankai.
The only one smiling through the chaos was Kenpachi Zaraki.
Meanwhile, outside, Captain Retsu Unohana of the Fourth Division slowly rose to her feet, gazing at the four Hollowfied Shinigami who had already smashed through parts of her barracks.
"Only four?"
"First Demon Form: Release—Oni no Hitokoe."
Elsewhere—
A chain tore loose from Makizōjin's right arm.
Shadow wrapped around his limbs.
"Ogre of Power!"
He crossed a hundred meters in two strides.
One punch sent Higashi Shuuichi's Reishi Tree Soldier flying, the anchor point vanishing, the clone dissolving back into spirit particles.
"???"
All Shuuichi could think in that moment were three silent curses.
Just like that? Gone?
All that spiritual pressure to forge an anchor—and Makizōjin neutralized it with one punch?
Was this guy One Punch Man?
Only now did Shuuichi realize just how deep this Captain had been hiding his true power.
That punch alone rivaled the force of an eight- or nine-fold Muguruma Kensei.
But thankfully, Shuuichi had not relied on just one anchor.
Stone, wood, paper—Shuuichi had no shortage of substitutes.
Explosions echoed across the district, Bakudō, Hadō—a barrage of destructive Kido erupted from all directions.
Still, Makizōjin could not locate the true manipulator.
But far off, the wailing of Hollowfied Shinigami, the agonized cries of nobles—each sound chipped away at the captain's remaining sanity.
He had miscalculated, and his body was reaching its limits. Even with the enhancements from his Bankai, his reiryoku was hemorrhaging.
If this dragged on, it would spell disaster—for him, for Seireitei, for the nobles.
"Second Demon Form: Unseal—Oni no Mamori!"
The chain on his left leg shattered. A shadowy armor cocooned him, jagged and malicious. Pain twisted his lips, but his will didn't falter.
He ignored the blasts from Shuuichi's Reishi Clones and charged straight toward the noble district.
"Your assessment is impressive…"
Shuuichi frowned.
His attacks weren't having the intended effect. But he was beginning to understand the mechanism of Makizōjin's Bankai.
Those five chains embedded in his body weren't for show. Each was a seal. Each time he broke one, he unlocked a new enhancement.
The first was Power, enveloping his arms and granting brutal strength.
The second was Defense, forming a shell around him to deflect damage.
What about the remaining three?
Shuuichi didn't know, but one thing was clear—he could no longer stay at a distance.
His Reishi Clones might work against weaker enemies, but not against a captain like Makizōjin, whose spiritual pressure outmatched his and whose Bankai was built for pure, relentless warfare.
Shhhk—
A sharp hum.
Makizōjin halted just short of a glowing cut in the air—one that bisected his protective shadow shield cleanly.
He didn't need to sense the spiritual pressure.
His opponent stood before him.
No flourish. Just a clean diagonal slash, powered by years of perfecting one strike.
This was Higashi Shuuichi's signature move—the Thrusting Blade, a fusion of Shunpo, pressure, and force, honed over decades.
A move that even Kenpachi Zaraki might nod at.
Makizōjin, however, was not Kenpachi.
The crimson coat shimmered in the wind. The man behind the blade looked as if he'd stepped out of the burning sky.
"Higashi Shuuichi."
His voice rasped with fury.
He would not forgive betrayal.
"Third Demon Form: Ascend—Oni no Kari!"
The chain on his right leg snapped.
Darkness devoured his legs, snarling and laughing.
His stabilized body began to crack. Even his Bankai couldn't suppress the internal damage now.
He could barely speak—but his gaze never left Shuuichi.
Steel clashed.
Power collided.
Speed blurred.
They fought like demons—pure instinct and raw strength.
No Kido. No tricks. Just war.
Makizōjin finally found an opening—his blade sliced off Shuuichi's left arm.
He didn't even get to smirk.
A moment later, blood burst from his own shoulder.
"Your ability… is too straightforward."
Shuuichi's voice was like winter steel.
"Bankai Extension—Blade Hidden in the Smile."
His Zanpakutō plunged toward Makizōjin's heart—but one of the screaming shadows intercepted it, shrieking as it took the blow.
That was why Shuuichi had waited so long to use this ability—he wasn't sure how Makizōjin's spirits would interact with his retaliatory strike.
Unlike Ukitake's Zanpakutō, which absorbed and returned attacks directly, Shuuichi's ability required him to take the hit first.
If those shadows held any curse, he'd suffer the full brunt—even with his regenerative abilities.
Fortunately, the shadows were aggressive but uninfected.
Shuuichi pulled back.
Blood pooled beneath Makizōjin.
Still standing—but barely.
"If the demons won't let me give you a clean death… then let us both burn."
His voice was low.
He raised his Zanpakutō high over his shoulder. Crimson light gathered beneath the red sky.
"Hadō 96: Ittō Kasō."
(Single Blade Cremation.)
A final incantation. A final flame.
The battlefield was about to be baptized.