"Oh my... how sad."
A sturdy middle-aged man slowly approached Hisagi Shūhei.
His name was Driscoll Berci, and his Schrift was "O"-which stood for Overkill, the ability to gain strength through large-scale slaughter.
"Sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad... it's really too sad."
As if seeing through Shūhei's inner fear, Driscoll said, "What's wrong? Are you afraid of my power? The Schrift that His Majesty bestowed upon me is O-Overkill. It grants me the strength to kill in large numbers-whether enemies, allies, or beasts. The greater the number I kill, the stronger I become."
"I've already killed a hundred people since I arrived here today."
"The last time I came here, I killed another hundred... including one like you-a Vice-Captain."
"Just like this..."
Driscoll interlocked his fists, and blue reishi burst from the point of contact. As he pulled his fists apart, the reishi extended into bright lines and condensed into the form of a weapon.
Rather than calling it a reishi arrow, it was better described as a reishi spear.
Its tip was broad and deadly-larger than any conventional spearhead-capable of tearing through a man's chest in one thrust. At the end of the shaft gleamed the cross of the Quincy.
Hisagi's eyes widened. "Last time... you killed a Vice-Captain. So it was you... you're the one who killed Vice-Captain Chōjirō Sasakibe!"
Driscoll gripped the spear in his right hand, leaning back into the posture of one preparing to throw a massive projectile. In the next instant, he hurled it at Shūhei with tremendous force.
Before it could strike, however, the tip was caught effortlessly by the bare palm of another hand-aged, wrinkled, but impossibly firm. It seemed as though the spear should have pierced through instantly, but instead, it was halted midair.
With one simple motion, the spear was redirected into the ground nearby.
It struck the earth, exploding with enough force to scatter dust and debris in every direction-leaving behind a crater several meters wide.
As the dust cleared, Driscoll's expression froze. Standing before him was none other than Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.
Wind swept through the old man's long white eyebrows and beard. Though his aged frame was gaunt, the single arm he had left radiated the unshakable presence of a mountain.
Yamamoto's gaze was ice-cold as he looked upon the man who had murdered Chōjirō Sasakibe.
Driscoll's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Hahahahahaha! I'm so fortunate!"
Towering over the Captain Commander, he sneered, his tone filled with arrogance. "I came here to find you! I'll use your subordinate's Bankai to kill you, old man!"
"Bankai-!"
"Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū!"
Dozens of purple beams of lightning erupted from behind Driscoll. They rose hundreds of meters into the sky, converging to form a glowing violet disk that blotted out the sun.
Thunder rumbled overhead, dark clouds spiraling into turbulent motion-the very heavens responding to the stolen Bankai's power.
Driscoll laughed wildly. "Hahaha! You must miss this sight!"
"I heard you haven't used your Bankai in two thousand years! Now you get to see it again-thanks to me!"
Behind Yamamoto, Hisagi Shūhei stared wide-eyed at the massive storm forming above them. "Th-this is Vice-Captain Sasakibe's Bankai! I didn't expect that aside from Hyorinmaru, there was another Zanpakutō capable of manipulating the heavens themselves!"
Driscoll spread his palm toward the sky, summoning forth another strike. A massive arc of purple lightning crashed downward toward Yamamoto's position.
"Captain! Captain!" Shūhei shouted in alarm.
――――
When Yamamoto saw Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū unleashed once again, his memory drifted to the distant past-two thousand years ago.
"Lord Eijisai!"
"Yamamoto-dono, Lord Eijisai!"
Turning his head, the man wearing the black shihakushō-his face marked by the distinct slash-shaped scar-paused.
At that time, he was known as Yamamoto Shigekuni, founder of the Gotei and the first to formalize the art of swordsmanship and Kidō within the Shinigami ranks.
People called him Eijisai because of the scar on his head shaped like the radical "ノ".
It had started as a nickname-perhaps because it was easy to call-but as Yamamoto's power and fame grew, so too did the title's reverence.
Yet Yamamoto himself detested hearing it.
"How many times have I told you not to call me Eijisai, you fool!"
"How... how rude of me."
Young Sasakibe Chōjirō bowed deeply, gray already streaking his hair. "I'm sorry, but I cannot bring myself to call you by your given name. That would be far too disrespectful."
Beyond the corridor where they stood, willow branches swayed in the summer breeze-lush and green.
Yamamoto exhaled slowly, knowing full well that Chōjirō's apology changed nothing.
"Why are you always here? I told you before-I don't want subordinates hanging around me!"
"I'm not here to be your subordinate! I want to be your right hand!"
"Is that so? If you wish to stand beside me, reach the rank of taichō first. Only then would you qualify as my right hand."
"No! The right hand exists to support what the left cannot, and vice versa. I don't want to imitate you, Yamamoto-dono-I want to make up for what you cannot do!"
"Such nonsense!"
Yamamoto half-squinted through one eye, staring down at the young man kneeling before him.
"...And don't think I haven't noticed-you've been skipping visits lately. It's been what, over a month? Were you slacking off again?"
Chōjirō raised his head slightly. "No. I've been training, as you instructed me to. I came here today because... I've finally mastered Bankai."
"Oh?" Yamamoto's tone darkened with interest. "Very well-show me. If you wish to stand beside me, defeat me with that Bankai of yours."
Ryūkongai, East 37th District-Ryūgan.
"Bankai-Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū!"
Dozens of golden energy pillars shot into the sky, thunder roaring across the heavens as storm clouds gathered.
Chōjirō swung his blade with precision, cutting through the golden pillars and gathering their immense energy into his weapon's edge.
It was indeed a remarkable Bankai.
Though it had not struck him down completely, it left Yamamoto with another-and this time, permanent-scar upon his brow.
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