Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto stands on the red sand.
He raised his head and looked at the nine black figures on the cliff.
The wind blew from the other side, carrying sand particles and hitting my face, which was a little painful.
But he didn't blink, his eyes swept from one face to another, from left to right, from right to left.
All are familiar faces.
He hadn't seen those faces for a long time.
It was so long that he needed to search for some people's names in his mind for a long time before he could remember them.
But the face will never be forgotten.
How could he forget those people who were with him in the most chaotic era of Soul Society, carrying knives and cutting from Rukongai to Seireitei, and from Seireitei back to Rukongai?
At that time, there was no Thirteen Court Guard Squads, there was no captain Lieutenant, there was just a group of lunatics, a group of lunatics who carried knives, did not care about their lives, and chopped down whoever they saw.
They fought from the east to the west of Soul Society, from the south to the north, uprooting the evil forces entrenched in various areas one by one, and cutting down those who relied on their strength to bully the weak one by one.
There is no plan, no strategy, no saying "hit first and then the last", just kill. Kill until no one dares to resist, kill until order grows from the blood.
Then Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto brought them together, gave them numbers, responsibilities, and the name "Thirteen Court Guard Squads".
That was a long time ago.
It has been so long that even Yamamoto himself feels that those days have been buried in the deepest part of his memory and will never be brought up again.
But at this moment, looking at those familiar faces on the cliff, those memories seemed to be dug out from the ground by something, and one scene after another flashed before my eyes.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed slightly. These old comrades were different from the contaminated Nobles just now.
After those Nobles old men were polluted, their eyes were bloodshot, their pupils were dilated, they sprayed black mud from their mouths, and they were killing people like mad dogs.
But these nine people on the cliff stood upright, with clear eyes. Although they had the same black patterns on their faces, there was no madness in their eyes, only calmness, and even a hint of... smile?
It seemed like I had been waiting for a long time, and finally it was here.
Yamamoto's eyes stopped on the person in the middle.
Her long gray hair was tied casually with a black rope and hung down on her waist.
The expression on that face was very relaxed, and the corners of his mouth were slightly raised, as if he were smiling. "Captain First Generation Thirteen Court Guard Squads, Shijima Chigiri." Yamamoto's voice was deep, "Have you seen Soul King?"
The voice fell.
The gray figure on the cliff disappeared.
There was no sound, no trace, not even a movement of the wind.
The next moment...
He is already standing in front of Unohana Retsu.
The distance between the two is less than one meter.
Shijima Chigiri was bent over, his right hand resting on the Zanpakutō at his waist, his fingers folded together and his knuckles raised.
His head was slightly raised, and his eyes were staring at Retsu Unohana's face from bottom to top, as if he was looking at something interesting, and his mouth was grinning.
"Soul King?" His voice was drawn out, as if he was recollecting something, "Oh, oh, oh..."
He nodded slowly.
"Killed by us." Then his eyes moved from Retsu Unohana's face to her Captain's Haori, and he tilted his head, as if he saw something incredible.
"Retsu Unohana," his voice changed. It was no longer the lazy drawl, but with a somewhat dissatisfied tone, "When did you become the captain of Fourth Division?"
Unohana Retsu did not answer.
She raised her hand and pulled off the hair tie.
Her long black hair spread out, fell from her shoulders, and hung down on her waist.
The wind blows from the other side of the cliff, and the hair is fluttering in the wind, strand by strand, like black silk threads.
The expression on her face changed.
Not anger, not excitement, but a very faint, almost invisible change.
The curvature of the corners of the mouth narrowed a little, the lines at the corners of the eyes deepened a little, and something was surging in those always gentle eyes.
"Why," her voice was very soft and calm, but every word was like a knife cutting through the glass, "Which squad leader am I, and I still need to report to you?"
Shijima Chigiri's mouth grinned wider.
"That's..." He moved his hands.
The knife is unsheathed.
The silver sword light exploded from the waist, moving from bottom to top, towards Retsu Unohana's chin.
So fast, so fast that the sound couldn't keep up, so fast that a white hole was torn open in the air.
"No need!"
Retsu Unohana's hand also moved.
The Zanpakutō was drawn out from his waist, and the blade was held horizontally in front of him, blocking the sword light coming from below.
Bang...!
The sound of metal colliding exploded, and sparks flew everywhere.
The shock wave spread from the point of contact of the blade to all directions, and the red sand underfoot was blown away, revealing the black rocks below.
The two of them retreated at the same time and rushed forward at the same time.
Clang! Clang! The swords flashed and the figures intertwined.
Every collision caused a wave of air, and every misalignment left a deep ravine in the sand.
They moved while fighting, heading towards the pile of rocks nearby.
The sound of the blades clashing became farther and farther away, but became denser and denser, like heavy rain hitting an iron roof.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto looked away and sighed slightly.
First Generation Captain and these guys all start fighting at the slightest disagreement.
Communication? Non-existent.
In their eyes, a knife is like a mouth, and cutting is like speaking.
Want to get information? Cut them down first and then talk.
That was the case before, and it is still the case now.
Nothing has changed.
Yamamoto's eyes retracted from the two figures who had gone away, and fell on the eight remaining people on the cliff. "Fifth Division Captain, Obana Danjirō." His voice was not high, but every word was clear, "Can you tell me what your situation is now?"
A tall man walked out of the queue.
His hair is dark brown, tied into a small ponytail, hanging down the back of his head.
There were black patterns on his face, extending from his cheekbones to his jaw, but the smile on his face was so bright that people could ignore the existence of those patterns.
He smiled, his mouth wide open and his eyes curved into two crescents.
That smile didn't look like he was standing in Hell, but rather like he was on a playground under the sun.
He walked forward, his steps brisk, like walking.
The direction is Kenpachi Zaraki.
"It's nothing." His voice was very cheerful, as if he was talking about the good weather today, "We are already Hell's people."
He walked up to Kenpachi Zaraki, stopped, and looked up and down at this man who was half a head shorter than him but exuded the aura of a beast.
"Don't worry." Obana Danjirō's smile became even bigger, "After I chop you to death later, everyone will become Hell's people."
His tone was very relaxed, as if he was saying, "Let's go have a meal together later." Kenpachi Zaraki's eyes lit up.
When Obana Danjirō walked towards him, his eyes lit up.
That kind of light is not happiness, but excitement. It is the instinctive reaction of wild animals when they see their prey.
He put down the Nozarashi on his shoulders, held the handle of the knife with both hands, and pointed the tip of the knife diagonally at the ground.
The body is slightly lowered.
The corners of his mouth were grinned, revealing two rows of somewhat sharp teeth.
"Of course that's good!"
Boom...!
The two of them disappeared from the same place at the same time.
The next moment, there was a loud noise from the direction of the pile of rubble, and then there was the sound of metal colliding, one after another, as dense as New Year firecrackers.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto sighed again and looked at the remaining people.
One of them is no longer on the cliff. The pink twin tails threw an arc in the air, and the figure jumped down from the cliff and landed in front of Kuchiki Byakuya.
There was no sound when he landed, his toes pointed on the sand.
She was two heads shorter than Byakuya, but when she raised her head to look at him, there was no intention of looking up in her eyes.
The left eye was wearing an eyepatch, and the right eye was wide open. The pupils were amber, like two red-hot coals in the dark red light.
She carried her Zanpakutō on her shoulder with her right hand, put her left hand on her hip, and put her face in front of Byakuya, very close.
"Hey, kid over there." Her voice was loud and aggressive, as if she was quarreling with someone, "Looking at your decoration, are you from Kuchiki family?"
Byakuya lowered his eyes and looked at the face that was very close to him.
The pink twintails, the eyepatch on the left eye, and the right eye are full of unabashed provocation.
He recognized it.
I didn't recognize the person, I recognized the outfit.
In the ancient scroll of Kuchiki family, there is a portrait of a woman wearing Shinigami uniform, carrying a knife, and her hair tied into twin tails.
There is a line of words written under the portrait... First Generation Sixth Division Captain, Saitō Furofushi.
There is only one sentence about her on the scroll.
Madman.
"You guy," Saitō Furofushi frowned, put his nose near Byakuya's collar, sniffed hard, and then stepped back in disgust, "You don't even smell much blood on your body, how did you do Nobles?"
Byakuya's right hand rests on the handle of Senbonzakura's knife, with his thumb pressing against the tangent.
"Nobles Why does it need blood?"
Saitō Furofushi's eyes widened even more, as if he heard something incredible.
"Huh?" She opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and licked her lips, "How can we do Nobles if we don't kill all those who oppose it?"
As she spoke, she took the knife off her shoulder with her right hand and waved it twice casually in the air. The blade cut through the air and made a buzzing sound.
Byakuya's voice turned cold.
"Nobles is responsibility, not killing."
He turned his right hand upside down and released the handle of the knife. Senbonzakura fell from his hand, the tip of the knife pointed downward, and sank into the red sand.
"Killing means nothing."
The moment the voice fell, the ground cracked.
Countless pink blades emerged from the sand, like cherry blossom petals, rushing towards Saitō Furofushi from all directions, wrapping her in the middle.
The petals rotate and shrink, forming a pink ball.
"Scatter, Senbonzakura."
Saitō Furofushi's voice came out from the pink sphere, with confusion, confusion, and a hint of... anger?
"What is responsibility?"
How many people did she kill for the position of captain?
How many people were killed for the title of Nobles?
Those people's blood hasn't dried yet, those people's corpses haven't cooled yet, and now a kid comes and tells her that Nobles is responsible?
"Nobles is the strong one, bastard!" Bang...!
The pink sphere exploded from the inside.
Countless sword lights shot out from the cracks, splitting the petals of Senbonzakura, and the fragments fell in the air, like real cherry blossoms blown away by the wind.
Saitō Furofushi stood in the center of the debris, without a single wound on his body.
She put her left hand on her hip and put the knife back on her shoulder with her right hand. She held her head high and stared at Byakuya with her exposed right eye.
He stretched out his left hand and hooked his fingers towards him.
"Kid, a guy without power cannot be called Nobles at all."
Byakuya's face is still stern, as if it were cut with a knife, without any expression fluctuation.
"Times have advanced a long time ago, old woman."
Saitō Furofushi's pupils shrank.
Then it exploded.
"Ha...!" A crater opened up in the sand under her feet, and her whole body was shot towards Byakuya like a cannonball, so fast that it only left a pink afterimage in the air.
The knife struck down from the top of the head, with the sound of howling wind, and the blade was wrapped with dark red Reishi... not Reishi, but the power of Hell.
Byakuya lifted Senbonzakura with the blade of the knife lying horizontally above his head.
Bang...!
The sound of metal colliding exploded, and the shock wave swept around. The red sand beneath the feet was blown away, revealing the black rocks below.
Byakuya's feet sank into the sand, and his knees were slightly bent, but he did not take a step back.
He raised his head and looked at the face so close.
Her pink twin ponytails fluttered in the wind, her right eye was burning with anger, but the corners of her mouth were curled up in a smile.
"That's interesting, kid."
Byakuya said nothing.
He just held the handle of the knife tightly, turned his wrist, pushed her knife away, and then slashed towards her waist with a backhand knife.
Saitō Furofushi jumped back to dodge, landed on the ground, tapped his toes, and rushed up again. The light of the sword flashed, and the figures intertwined.
Dang, Dang, Dang...!
The sound of metal colliding was as dense as raindrops and spread far across the empty red desert.
Yan Si stood there and looked at the battlefields, then looked at the First Generation captains still standing around him, and took two steps in the direction of Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, somewhat speechless.
"Old man," his voice was not loud, but Yamamoto could definitely hear it, "Isn't there anyone who can have a good chat with me and give me some information?"
Obana Danjirō just said something... After being hacked to death by them, he will become Hell.
But what kind of information is this? It's like not saying anything.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto did not answer immediately.
Unplug Ryūjin Jakka.
The moment the blade was unsheathed, orange-red flames exploded from the blade, dancing in the air and burning away some of the surrounding dark red.
"If you want them to speak," Yamamoto's voice was deep, and the flames danced on his face, illuminating the wrinkles deeply, "You have to kill them first."
As soon as these words came out, even Espada next to him was stunned for a moment. Nelliel's brows wrinkled, and his green eyes were full of doubts.
Ulquiorra's face was expressionless, but the green light in his left eye flashed.
Ilfort put down the hand holding his shoulder and tilted his head, as if thinking about the meaning of this sentence.
You've already killed me, so how can you open your mouth?
Yan Si also frowned.
But soon, he understood.
It's not "kill them and then let them talk", but... these First Generation captains will not die even if they are killed.
Old Man Yamamoto must have discovered something.
Yan Si's eyes moved away from Yamamoto and fell on the group of First Generation captains.
The patterns on their faces, the indescribable aura on their bodies.
I'm afraid that the definition of the word "death" in Hell is different from that outside.
Trouble. Yan Si took his hand out of his trouser pocket and placed it on the Zanpakutō at his waist.
At this moment, a black figure fell down from the cliff, soundlessly, like a leaf blown down by the wind.
He landed in front of Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, less than five meters away.
She had long black hair, a gloomy face, and the corners of her mouth moved slightly, as if she was hesitating whether to speak, but in the end she only squeezed out a few words.
"Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto."
His voice was very low, as if it came from underground.
"We haven't fought yet."
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto looked at him, looked at that gloomy face, looked at those eyes without light.
"Indeed." Yamamoto nodded, "Captain of the Tenth Division, Furuoki Otogawa, we have never fought against each other."
Before he finished speaking, Ryūjin Jakka's blade had already been slashed vertically.
The flames drew an orange-red arc on the blade, from the top of the head to the soles of the feet, as if it was about to split a person in half.
Wang Tuchuan's hand moved. He held the knife in his backhand, with the tip facing down.
He lowered his body, his center of gravity sank, and raised the blade from bottom to top, blocking Ryūjin Jakka's blade.
Bang...!
The flames exploded and sparks flew everywhere.
Wang Tuchuan's feet sank into the sand, his knees bent, but he did not retreat.
"Oh, you actually chose such a posture. Are you afraid of my White Strike?"
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto Originally, the left foot had been raised, the knee was bent, the sole of the foot was facing forward, and he was about to kick it out.
But Wang Tuchuan's body had already turned sideways, his left arm blocked his waist, and he was ready to block.
Yamamoto took his feet back and looked solemnly.
First Generation knows how crazy these guys are.
"Ah, except for that guy Sennichi, your White Strike is probably the strongest, so of course you have to be on guard."
The corner of Wang Tuchuan's mouth moved, he didn't know whether it was a smile or something. He pressed his left hand on the ground.
Bang...!
The ground exploded.
Centered on his palm, red sand splashed around, revealing the black rocks below.
The rock split open and cracks spread in all directions.
With this recoil, Wang Tuchuan bounced up.
His feet stamped hard on the air, bang, bang... there were two explosions, and white ripples exploded in the air under his feet. His body flipped in the air, holding the handle of the knife with both hands, pointing downwards, and stabbed Yamamoto in the chest.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed slightly.
He raised his left hand, bent his arm, and pointed his elbow outward.
Turn your body slightly to the side to let the tip of the knife pass.
The blade scraped against his ribs, puncturing Shinigami uniform, but not damaging the skin.
Then, he hit his elbow. The elbow hit Wang Tuchuan's spine.
Click...!
The sound of cracking bones was so crisp that it could be heard far away in the open desert.
Wang Tuchuan's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but there was no sound.
The force was so strong that his spine was severed from the middle and his body changed from a "bow" shape to a "V" shape.
Yamamoto's right hand did not stop.
Ryūjin Jakka lifted it from bottom to top, and the blade scratched Wang Tuchuan's neck.
Poof...!
The head flew up and flipped in the air.
The gray hair spreads out like an open fan.
The blood spurted out from the neck cavity. It was not red, but black and thick, like ink and pitch.
The body was still standing on the same spot, the knife was still holding in both hands, and the tip of the knife was still pointing down, but there was no head. The head turned several times in the air, and then fell down.
Snap.
It landed on the sand, rolled twice and stopped.
Face up, eyes open, mouth still open.
Yamamoto still maintained a vigilant posture, his eyes still staring at Wang Tuchuan.
"Huh?"
The head spoke.
The voice still had that gloomy tone, as if being beheaded was no different from being bitten by a mosquito.
"How did you find out?"
The body moved.
It bent down, stretched out its hand, and picked up the head on the ground.
The movement was very natural, like picking up a hat that fell on the ground. Then he put it back on his neck, turned it around, and adjusted the angle.
The black pattern at the broken neck began to glow, like countless tiny snakes squirming, sewing the head and body back together.
For a few seconds, it was as good as ever.
Wang Tuchuan moved his neck and made a clicking sound.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto stood there, the knife hanging by his side, and the flames were still beating.
"First Generation Thirteen Court Guard Squads." His voice was calm, "Although they are called a killer group and a madman, they are not fools and will never choose to die."
He looked at Wang Tuchuan, his old eyes expressionless.
"Your strength is no match for me, and yet you dare to charge forward... This only proves that you will not die."
Wang Tuchuan was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"That's right." The corner of his mouth finally moved, and it was probably a smile, "Killing without a target can only be done by Saito and Retsu Unohana."
He turned around, took two steps towards the cliff, stopped and turned his head sideways. "But, as long as Hell is immortal, we will be immortal too."
His voice was very low, as if he was stating a fact or making a judgment.
"Eventually, you will die, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto."
The wind blew over from the cliff, carrying red sand particles and hitting his face.
His long hair was fluttering in the wind, and the black Shinigami uniform made a hunting sound.
In the distance, the sound of blades clashing continued.
One sound after another without stopping.
The few remaining figures on the cliff moved.
Yan Si squinted his eyes and observed carefully.
Not Flash Step.
No matter how fast Flash Step is, there will still be air flow, there will be Reishi fluctuations, and there will be traces left by the action of "leaving".
But there was nothing when they disappeared, as if something had wiped them from their place. Then, screams came from behind.
"Ah...!"
It's not the voice of one person, but of many people, stacked together, like a chicken being strangled by the throat, like a cat being stepped on by the tail.
Sharp, short, and then turns into a sticky, moist, scalp-numbing muffled sound.
Yan Si turned his head.
Nobles The positions where the old men are standing have been messed up.
They were standing in a pile, cane next to cane, shoulder to shoulder, like a group of old sheep huddled together to keep warm.
Now the "heap" spread out, like a basin hit by a stone, splashing around.
But what splashed was not water, but people.
Five people, rolling and crawling on the ground, ran in all directions.
The crutches were lost, the hats fell off, and some people even lost one of their shoes. Their gray hair was blowing in the dark red wind, and the expression on their faces was twisted as if someone had twisted them from the inside.
And the reason why they ran away was the person standing in the middle. Baldhead.
He's not bald, he's shaved. His scalp is clean and reflects light under the dark red light.
He is tall, with shoulders as broad as door panels and arms as thick as human thighs.
He was wearing a black Shinigami uniform, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his exposed forearms were full of muscles, with veins coiled on them like snakes.
He held a mace in his hand, with four black edges and no edge. He held it in his hand like an iron pillar.
He was waving his mace at an old man Nobles.
The first mace hit the shoulder, click... the bone was broken.
It wasn't a "click" sound, but many sounds stacked together, like someone trampling on dead branches all over the ground.
The old man's left shoulder collapsed, and his entire arm was like a broken Puppets, hanging by his side, dangling from side to side.
The second mace hit his waist, and there was a dull sound.
The old man's body was bent in the middle, like paper folded in half, with his spine protruding from his back, protruding Shinigami uniform into a sharp angle.
His mouth was open, but there was no sound. It wasn't that he didn't want to scream, it was because all the air in his lungs was squeezed out by this weapon, like a crushed balloon.
The third mace hit his knee.
Click click click click... three sounds, left knee, right knee, and then hip bone.
The old man's body had completely lost its human shape, like a ball of crumpled paper, like a bag of meat with broken bones.
He collapsed on the ground, his limbs twisted at impossible angles, his mouth still opening and closing, but only the sound of breath leaked from his throat, like wind blowing through a broken flute.
Baldhead The big man looked down at him with no expression.
It's not indifference, it's not cruelty, it's "expressionless".
It's like looking at a stone, like looking at a piece of wood, like looking at something that has been used up and can be thrown away.
Then he raised his foot and stepped on the old man's head.
The soles of the feet are very big, and they are wearing straw sandals, with their toes exposed.
He exerted a little force.
Bang... Like crushing a watermelon.
Red stuff splashed out from the soles of the feet and mixed with the red sand on the ground. It was hard to tell which was sand, which was blood, and which was something else.
Baldhead The big man lifted his feet and rubbed them on the sand, as if he had stepped on dog poop.
Then he raised his head and looked at the remaining four Nobles old men.
Grinning.
He has no lips.
In other words, the lips are as thin as a line. When they open their mouths, they reveal two rows of golden teeth, which shine strangely in the dark red light.
"Hahaha!"
His laughter was very loud, echoing in the empty desert, like someone beating a broken gong.
"Long time no see, Sasakibe!"
He smiled and walked towards the remaining old man Nobles.
The steps were not fast, but each step was firm. The sound of the soles of the feet hitting the ground was heavy, like a hammer hitting the ground. "I didn't expect you to be so old."
Chōjirō Sasakibe stood far away, holding Gonryōmaru's hand tighter.
His eyes fell on the lipless face, on the two rows of golden teeth, and on the two maces that were still bleeding.
"Captain of the Ninth Division," his voice was deep, "Kumei Entetsu."
Kumei Entetsu's smile became even bigger.
The gold teeth sparkled in the dark red light, like two rows of small light bulbs.
He raised his hand and waved to Sasakibe, very casually, like meeting an old friend on the street.
Then he continued walking towards old man Nobles.
"Come on, keep going."
His voice was brisk, as if he was saying "One more game."
The head of the Kasumioji Clan's family was standing at the front, and his crutch had been thrown away long ago.
His hands were shaking, from his fingers to his wrists, from his wrists to his shoulders, and his whole body was like a withered leaf in the wind. "We need support!" His heartbreaking voice could be heard far and wide in the empty desert.
No one moved.
Kenpachi Zaraki was slashing at Obana Danjirō, and the sound of the blades clashing came from the direction of the pile of rocks, clanking, clanging, like iron being struck.
I don't know where Unohana Retsu and Shijima Chigiri hit them. I can only occasionally see red lights flashing in the distance, like thunder.
Kuchiki Byakuya was entangled by Saitō Furofushi, and the petals of Senbonzakura were scattered in the wind, and were split open by the light of the knife.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto is standing at the front, and Ryūjin Jakka is stuck in the sand.
No one looked back at him.
Sasakibe looked at it, and his eyes moved away from Kumei Entetsu, fell on the four old Nobles who were still trembling, and then moved back again.
He took a deep breath, ground his feet in the sand, and prepared to rush over.
"Chōjirō Sasakibe?"
A voice came from the side, very close, so close that it seemed to be close to the ear.
Sasakibe's pupils shrank. The body is faster than the brain.
His hand had already clenched Gonryōmaru, and the blade of the knife was pulled out from his waist and placed horizontally at his side.
Bang...!
The sound of metal colliding exploded.
Sparks splashed out from the contact point of the blade and landed on the red sand, hissing and smoking.
Sasakibe saw the face of the visitor clearly.
Skinny, like a piece of wood that has been dried, like a skeleton wrapped in skin.
His cheeks are sunken, his cheekbones are protruding, his eye sockets are sunken, and his eyes are hidden in the shadows, like two dry wells. He
There was a thick fur scarf wrapped around his neck. The hair was very long and fluttered in the wind, like the mane of some animal.
Wearing a tightly wrapped turban on his head, only his face was exposed.
Thin face.
"Captain of the Seventh Division," Sasakibe's voice was deep, "Shigyō no Butsuna." "Long time no see."
Shigyō no Butsuna's voice is very low and slow, as if squeezed out from the depths of the throat, with a sticky and moist texture.
It's like a snake crawling, like something squirming in the mud.
"Hoho." The corner of his mouth moved, probably smiling, "It's been a long time indeed."
He turned his wrist and strengthened his strength.
The blade of the knife pressed on Gonryōmaru, pressing down inch by inch.
Sasakibe's arms are shaking, not because of fear, but because of the difference in strength.
His feet sank into the sand, his knees were slightly bent, and he gritted his teeth to hold on.
Shigyō no Butsuna lowered his head and looked at Sasakibe's face, which was very close at hand. Those eyes hidden in the shadows were like two deep wells with no bottom visible.
"Is this a general attack on Hell?" His voice was still the same slow tone, "They even brought virtual beings and humans with them."
His gaze went over Sasakibe's shoulders, sweeping over Aizen who was standing far away, Nelliel, Ulquiorra, Ilfort, and Yan Si who was expressionless with his hands in his pockets.
"Yes." Sasakibe gritted his teeth and squeezed his voice out from between his teeth, "So, can you let us explore here?" "No."
Shigyō no Butsuna answered quickly without hesitation.
He relaxed his grip slightly and freed up his left hand to pull open his collar.
Under the scarf, there is a black pattern.
Starting from the collarbone, it spreads to the chest and extends to the shoulders, like tree roots, like blood vessels, like countless tiny snakes squirming under the skin.
The patterns are very deep and dense, almost black under the dark red light, but if you look closely you can see... they are moving.
It was moving slowly, breathing and breathing, like a heart beating, like something breathing under the skin.
"We have become Hell's slaves a long time ago." Shigyō no Butsuna let go of his hand and closed his collar, covering the patterns, "Now, we can't even be lazy."
There was no anger, no sadness, or even any emotion in his voice.
It's just stating a fact, like saying "the weather is bad today".
Sasakibe frowned.
While he was dealing with Shigyō no Butsuna's renewed attack, he was thinking rapidly. The blades collided, clang, clang, clang, one after another, each time making his jaw go numb.
From the other party's words, he captured several key information...
Have self-awareness and know that you are a slave.
They cannot be lazy, that is to say, they must carry out the will of Hell.
So, what if there was a way to unlock the controls?
"Is there a way to unlock the control?" Sasakibe asked urgently. The blade blocked another slash, took half a step back, and then immediately rushed forward.
If all the First Generation captains could be liberated... what a terrifying fighting force that would be?
These people were the madmen who followed Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto to kill the entire Soul Society before he became the "strongest Shinigami".
Their strength, their experience, their fighting instincts...
If you can stand on your own side, you will be at least 30% more confident in exploring Hell.
Shigyō no Butsuna's knife stopped for a moment.
It's not hesitation, it's the kind of "I heard it but thought it was funny" kind of pause. "Untie?" His voice raised half a degree, with a tone that was unclear whether it was ridicule or helplessness, "What nonsense are you talking about, Sasakibe."
He raised the knife again, raised it high above his head, pointed the knife point upward, and then slashed it down.
With the sound of wind, with roar, with a determination that would split people in half.
Bang...!
Sasakibe holds Gonryōmaru with both hands to hold the knife.
The force passed down from the blade, pressing on his arms, on his shoulders, and on his spine.
His knees bent a little more and his feet sank a little deeper into the sand.
Shigyō no Butsuna's face is close at hand.
Those eyes hidden in the shadows stared at him, like two dry wells, but something was shining at the bottom of the well.
"What's here is just a body that has the memory of Shigyō no Butsuna and is completely composed of the power of Hell."
Sasakibe's pupils shrank.
He understood. It was not "being controlled" but "being copied".
It's not "to become a slave", it's to "become a tool".
Hell does not need their loyalty or obedience, only their fighting power and memory.
Copy their combat experience, pour it into the body composed of the power of Hell, and then throw it out like chess pieces.
These dolls have the face of Captain First Generation, the sword of Captain First Generation, and the fighting instinct of Captain First Generation.
But they are not Captain First Generation.
They are just puppets made by Hell that can move and kill people.
Bang...!
Shigyō no Butsuna's knife struck down again.
Sasakibe Block, retreat, block again, and retreat again.
"Don't be distracted, Sasakibe!"
Shigyō no Butsuna's voice came from the front, with a hint of dissatisfaction, like a teacher lecturing a student who was distracted in class. His knife was retracted, not to his waist, but to his side, with the tip of the knife facing down, like a cane.
Then he raised his right foot.
With the soles of your feet facing forward, bend your knees, then straighten them sharply.
Move quickly.
It was so fast that Sasakibe only saw his shoulders move. It was so fast that before his brain had time to issue the "dodge" command, a huge force came from his abdomen.
Bang...!
It's not the sound of metal clashing, it's flesh hitting flesh, bone hitting bone.
Sasakibe's mouth opened, and something fishy and sweet surged up from his throat and spurted out, drawing a red arc in the air.
His body arched up, like folded paper or bent bamboo, his feet lifted off the ground, and he flew backwards.
The wind blew past my ears and the sand flew past me.
He rolled twice in the air and then hit the ground.
Bang...! A shallow pit exploded in the sand, and red sand splashed, falling on his face, on his body, and on his open mouth.
He lay in the pit and looked at the dark red sky above his head.
There were no stars or moon, only thick clouds, like coagulated blood clots, pressing low above the head.
The voice of Shigyō no Butsuna came from a distance, not heavy, but very clear.
"Don't die."
Sasakibe put his hands on the sand and pulled himself up from the pit.
He knelt on one knee, lowered his head, and looked at the pool of blood on the sand that had not yet been absorbed.
The red color of my own blood is not very noticeable in the dark red sand.
He stretched out his hand, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and stood up.
Gonryōmaru is still in his hand, and the golden arc on the blade is still beating, a little darker than before.
He raised his head and looked at Shigyō no Butsuna.
The thin figure stood there, not chasing after him, just standing there, with the knife hanging by his side and his scarf fluttering in the wind. Sasakibe Take a deep breath.
I have some pain in my chest and my ribs may be cracked.
But it doesn't matter, I can still move.
He held Gonryōmaru tightly and held the knife horizontally in front of him.
First Generation The captains have reminded you "don't die" more than once.
It's not concern, it's not warning, it's... they know that if they die here, they will become the same thing as them.
Becomes a doll of Hell.
Sasakibe's eyes darkened.
He cannot die.
He made up his mind... to drag.
Wait until others find a breakthrough, wait until Yan Si or Aizen can figure out a way, wait until Master Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto can solve the opponent.
He delayed it until the last moment. He ground his right foot in the sand, pressed his body down slightly, and then popped out.
The soles of his feet were pressed against the sand, and his body remained low. Gonryōmaru was dragged behind him, and the tip of the knife drew a shallow ravine on the sand.
Shigyō no Butsuna looked at him rushing over and moved the corner of his mouth.
"That's right."
His knife was raised.
Bang...!
The two knives collided and sparks flew everywhere.
Sasakibe said no more.
His eyes were fixed on Shigyō no Butsuna's shoulders, his wrists, and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.
He's looking for a loophole.
It's not a flaw for attacking, it's a flaw for "delaying time".
What angle should you use to block to remove the most force, what rhythm should you use to retreat so that the opponent cannot continue to pursue you, and what time should you use to counterattack so that the opponent has to defend. Don't hit vital points, don't use strength, and don't take risks.
Just drag.
Dang, Dang, Dang...!
The sound of blades clashing echoed in the empty desert.
Yan Si now roughly guessed the situation of these captains First Generation, and could not help but whisper:
"Are you going to destroy Immortality this time?"