Battle Against Kurotsuchi Mayuri
Shiraishi reacted instantly, not waiting for the explosion's impact to swallow him. He used Forward Slash to break through the cave wall and leap outside.
The setting sun glowed blood-red. A deafening roar followed as the cave collapsed, shaking the mountain itself. Clouds of dust surged outward.
Without hesitation, Shiraishi unsheathed his blade. He swung it in a simple arc, no special technique — yet the dust split cleanly in two. Half the mountain itself parted, opening a strip of sky.
Holding his sword at his side, his eyes darkened. Among the Gotei 13, only one man would use such vile tactics.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri."
Before he could even extend his spiritual sense, a mocking voice drifted through the dust:
"Oh? My little meat bomb had no effect? So it's the same ability that pierced Captain Kenpachi's body, is it? Fascinating! I really must take you apart and study you."
Kurotsuchi Mayuri emerged, his grotesque visage revealed — false skin peeled back to expose his painted black face with stark white accents at the cheeks, his hair jutting like shears, golden adornments glinting on his chin and ears. His uniform collar stood high and purple, his Zanpakutō oddly tucked into the front of his trousers.
Shiraishi's gaze sharpened. "When did you discover me?"
"Ten days ago," Mayuri replied smoothly. "That fool who tried to cover for you died quite suddenly."
Of course, Mayuri had no objection to subordinates seeking personal profit — unless it interfered with his experiments. When they dared conceal Shiraishi's trail, he had arranged their "illness" on the laboratory bench. That explanation satisfied Central 46.
Shiraishi's frown deepened. "Then why wait until today?"
"Simple," Mayuri spread his hands. "I needed time to prepare for your abilities."
Mayuri never overestimated his own combat skill; his strength lay in science. To capture a captain-class opponent, he required strategy and invention.
"You think you can use Uncle Kyohei against me?" Shiraishi's voice was low, almost a growl.
"No," Mayuri said casually. "That was just a test."
Murderous intent surged. Shiraishi lunged, his Forward Slash piercing Mayuri's torso, followed instantly by a golden arc of steel aimed at the neck. He knew this man — Mayuri wouldn't die unless his head was severed.
But Mayuri's body writhed unnaturally. His neck dissolved like a swamp, swallowing his own head. The strike missed.
Shiraishi blinked — his spiritual pressure told him Mayuri hadn't moved, yet the ground before him erupted. A spinning mechanical arm shot out like a drill toward his gut.
Bang!
A golden vortex flared. Shiraishi's passive shield — the byproduct of his Rurouni's Way — absorbed the blow, its recoil flinging the attacker back.
A startled cry rang out. A woman was thrown aside by the backlash. Mayuri himself staggered several meters, but instead of pain, his golden eyes glittered with manic excitement.
"You actually have such a defense? Excellent… excellent! I must dissect you immediately!" His head re-formed grotesquely atop his shoulders, voice trembling with glee as he imagined cutting, peeling, and crushing Shiraishi piece by piece.
But then an oppressive cold spiritual pressure descended, weighing upon the district of Rukongai below.
Shiraishi tried to move but his limbs stuck fast, the air itself thick as glue.
Mayuri sneered. "Finally noticed? You're predictable. Captain Komamura already told me of your ability to strike through the body from behind. So I modified the ground beneath your feet — a spirit particle solidification field. You are now trapped."
He tilted his head and slowly drew his blade. "Out of respect for you, I'll end this properly. Bankai…"
His sword morphed into flesh, swelling into a grotesque creature. Golden arms braced against the earth as a massive baby's head rose, haloed and cloaked in crimson. Purple mist spilled from its mouth.
"Konjiki Ashisogi Jizō!"
The poison could paralyze a man completely — that was Mayuri's plan.
But Shiraishi's eyes narrowed. "When," he asked, "did you develop the illusion that you were my equal?"
With a single motion, he sheathed his blade. The golden monstrosity split down the middle, Mayuri's body cleaved in two. The tide turned instantly.
Forward Slash was not limited to flesh. As long as the wind carried spiritual pressure, it could cleave endlessly. Mayuri's solidification device only restrained a narrow zone — and Shiraishi had already bypassed it.
One miscalculation after another.
"Mayuri-sama!" a woman's anguished cry rang out as Nemu rushed forward, scooping up his broken Zanpakutō. She thrust desperately at his bisected form.
But instead of death, his body dissolved into slime, re-forming into a quivering mass.
"I relocated my brain, heart, and organs to avoid vertical and horizontal strikes," Mayuri gloated, his voice burbling from the sludge. "Your slashes missed everything vital. You cannot kill me that way."
His golden eyes widened suddenly. "What are you—?! Stop!"
Shiraishi's glare cut him off. "You call me arrogant? You, who treat life as disposable toys? You'll learn what it means to lose."
With an icy grip of spiritual pressure, he seized the trembling Nemu by the throat. She froze, powerless under his crushing reiatsu.
"This woman," Shiraishi declared coldly, "belongs to me now."