Kenpachi Zaraki's Rage
The mushroom cloud rose higher, its halo-rings expanding outward as the winds swept the dust away from Broken Peak. At last, the devastation revealed itself in full.
Suì-Fēng's lips curved slightly.
Heh. Even if Shiraishi somehow survived, he'd be gravely wounded.
It was a pity she couldn't witness his ruin with her own eyes, but imagining it brought her no small measure of relief.
Then another thought struck her. What about Oda Nobunaga?
This operation—jointly undertaken by the Second and Eleventh Divisions—was meant to capture Oda Nobunaga and expose the figure who had spared him three hundred years ago. Whether that person had been a Shinigami or a noble, their crime was clear: to let the assassin of the Captain-General escape was to commit treason against Seireitei itself.
Covert operations existed for a singular purpose—to strangle rebellion in the cradle.
The Seireitei's rise was still young, little more than nine centuries old. Soul Society had seen countless regimes before, some lasting millions of years. None fell from foreign pressure alone—internal decay always opened the wound.
Remembering that, Suì-Fēng's conviction hardened. She would crush enemies without mercy, but traitors she would annihilate without hesitation.
If Oda Nobunaga was dead, the trail to the true traitor would all but vanish.
Her sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, regret flickering there. She really shouldn't have unleashed her Bankai against Shiraishi in anger.
And another thought unsettled her—Shiraishi and Oda Nobunaga seemed allied. Could it be so simple? Was Shiraishi merely a pawn of the mastermind?
After a moment's reflection, she dismissed it. Shiraishi was no pawn. He had the aura of a man who would never submit to anyone. If he acted on another's behalf, it was only for his own reasons.
"Captain Suì-Fēng!" A soldier of the Xing Army landed before her, bowing. "Are you injured?"
"I'm fine," she said curtly, though blood touched her lips. She wiped it away, unwilling to show weakness. "Report."
"The Third and Fifth Seats of the Eleventh Division are still locked in battle with two rogues. The Sixth Seat is critically injured, receiving Fourth Division aid."
As the soldier instinctively reached to steady her, Suì-Fēng straightened, her silver-gray eyes cutting like blades. The man immediately withdrew his hand.
Though her body screamed in pain, she stood tall—like a wounded stray cat that still refused pity.
"Send men to the explosion site. Search for survivors," she ordered. "And capture Oda Nobunaga's subordinates alive. They may hold vital information."
"Yes, Captain!"
The soldier hesitated. "Should we also dispatch aid to Captain Zaraki?"
Suì-Fēng looked south, her gaze hard with disdain. "Forget him."
---
In the decaying forest…
"Hahahaha!"
Zaraki Kenpachi roared with unrestrained joy, his laughter echoing through the shattered woods. His tattered shihakushō flapped as he swung his massive blade again and again, each strike carving destruction into the earth.
Blood ran from dozens of wounds across his tall, lean body—but he didn't falter.
Miyamoto Musashi, master of Niten Ichi-ryū, fought with a precision honed over centuries. His twin blades—katana and kodachi—moved in perfect unison, yet nothing seemed to slow his opponent.
Why is he laughing? Musashi thought, bewildered. I've struck him again and again. He should be falling! Why… why won't he fall?
Golden reiatsu surged around Zaraki, taking the faint shape of a grinning skeleton.
Kenpachi only grew more exhilarated. "Hahaha! It's been so long since I've felt like this!"
Desperation bled into Musashi's voice as he roared and lunged, his kodachi thrusting for Kenpachi's heart while his katana held back the massive zanpakutō.
Kenpachi caught the smaller blade in his left hand, utterly unfazed.
Musashi's eyes widened. This wasn't just brute force—Kenpachi's skill was evolving mid-battle.
I need to end this with one decisive strike.
Abandoning his kodachi, Musashi twisted, leapt skyward like a hawk, and snatched his katana's hilt from the ground. Reiatsu surged as he spun.
Niten Ichi-ryū: Flying Dragon Flash!
The blade swept across Kenpachi's neck—blood arced through the air. Musashi landed behind him, panting, hope flickering in his tone.
"…Did it work?"
For once, his technique abandoned the style's usual rhythm, striking from an unexpected angle. Surely this time—
Kenpachi turned slowly, a jagged grin splitting his bloodied face.
"Not bad. Strong attack. Now it's my turn."
He casually tossed the kodachi back toward Musashi. "Come on. Keep fighting."
Musashi's composure shattered. Tears welled in his eyes as his spirit broke. He dropped to his knees, voice cracking.
"I… I can't. No matter what I do, I can't kill you. Just… end it quickly."
Kenpachi's grin faltered. "What the hell are you talking about? Get up! The real fight's just getting good!"
But Musashi's spirit had already collapsed.
Kenpachi raised his blade high, preparing to finish it. But at the last instant, he clicked his tongue and let the weapon rest on his shoulder, walking past his broken opponent.
Musashi's eyes lit with false hope. Naïve fool. Obsessed with honor, with frontal combat. He's forgotten what battle truly means.
Snatching up his blades, Musashi poured every shred of reiatsu into one last ambush. He spun, aiming to cleave Kenpachi from behind.
But Kenpachi had already turned, sword lifted high in the most basic stance of kendo—Jōdan-no-kamae.
Musashi realized in horror that his trick had been seen through. His strike never landed.
Kenpachi's sword fell first.
Bone cracked. Flesh split. The earth itself groaned as the strike cleaved Musashi cleanly in two—body, forest, and sky all split under its weight.
The world seemed divided by that single slash.
As the rumble faded, Kenpachi flicked blood from his blade. "Hmph. Over already."
From the shadows, Kusajishi Yachiru bounded up, perching on his shoulder with a bright grin.
"Ken-chan wins again!"
"Yeah," Kenpachi answered, a savage smile tugging at his lips. He strode toward the distant city of Rukongai's Liuyue District, eager to find the next fight.
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