Yan Si stood on the red sand, his eyes following the figure of Furuoki Otogawa.
The gloomy man crawled out of the sand again.
This is already the fourth time.
The first time, Old Man Yamamoto's Ryūjin Jakka cut him in half, breaking his body into two parts, and the incision was charred to charcoal.
He fell down on the sand and lay motionless.
But not long after, those black patterns gushed out from the fracture like maggots, rejoining the two body parts, and the burnt flesh fell off, revealing new skin.
He stood up again.
The second time, Old Man Yamamoto seemed a little impatient.
Ryūjin Jakka's flames surged, and the orange-red light burned away the surrounding dark red.
With one slash, Wang Tuchuan's entire body was engulfed in flames and burned to ashes.
The ashes fell on the sand and were blown away by the wind. Yan Si thought it was finally over this time.
But those ashes began to glow the moment they fell to the ground. The black light was very dark and light, like charcoal fire that was about to be extinguished but not extinguished.
Then the sand began to squirm, as if something was turning over underneath. The ashes were sucked into the sand. After a while, Wang Luchuan climbed out of the sand again, intact, and even the wrinkles on his clothes were exactly the same as before.
The third time, the fourth time.
The method of killing him is different each time, and the time between resurrections is different, but the result is the same... he is back.
Like a pendulum tide, like a programmed program that kills and restarts, kills and restarts again.
Yan Si's brows wrinkled slightly.
He remembered Squad Zero.
Those who are bound to Soul King Riden can be resurrected by calling their names after death.
However, there will be a period of weakness after resurrection, Spiritual Power will decline, the combat effectiveness will be reduced, and it will take time to recover.
This is the price of "immortality"... Immortality without price does not exist.
But these First Generation captains are different.
They died, were immediately resurrected, resurrected, and immediately went into battle. There was no period of weakness, no Spiritual Power decline, no trace of any "cost".
It's like a machine that's always plugged in. You turn it off and it restarts immediately. You smash it and it puts it back together.
As long as you don't unplug it, it will keep running.
Yan Si looked away from Wang Luchuan and scanned several other battlefields.
Over at Kenpachi Zaraki, Obana Danjirō was chopped down by him at least seven or eight times.
Every time, the cheerful man with a ponytail would stand up again from the sand, pat the dust off his body, and say "come again" with a smile.
Then he continued to swing the sword without losing any strength or speed.
Unohana Retsu Over there, Shijima Chigiri was cut off by her bloody blade countless times.
The gray-haired man's laughter came from a distance, waxing and waning, like a candle in the wind, but never extinguished.
Every time I fall down, I stand up. Every time I stand up, I continue to laugh.
Over there Kuchiki Byakuya, Saitō Furofushi was wrapped into a cocoon by Senbonzakura, and then split open from the inside.
Wrap it, split it, wrap it, split it. The pink-haired woman's physical strength seemed to be infinite. The more she beat her, the crazier she became, and the crazier she became stronger.
Yan Si looked away.
He noticed one thing... none of these First Generation captains used Bankai.
From the beginning of the battle to now, they only use Shikai, only use White Strike, and only use Kidō.
The flames on the blade, the Reiatsu in the slash, and the speed of the Flash Step all stay at the level of "Shikai".
No one Bankai, no one took out the "bottom of the box" stuff.
Why?
Several possibilities flashed through Yan Si's mind.
First, they are dolls.
The body formed by the power of Hell has the memory of Captain First Generation, the combat experience of Captain First Generation, and the sword of Captain First Generation.
But what Bankai needs is not "memory", but "soul".
That is the deepest resonance between Shinigami and the Zanpakutō, a dialogue between soul and soul. Can a doll without a soul use Bankai?
Probably not.
Second, they can, but don't want to.
What swastika consumes is the power of the soul, which is the origin of "self".
If Bankai is here, what is consumed is not "their" power, but Hell's power.
Maybe they are restricted, maybe they are ordered, maybe they themselves know... Once Bankai, the consumption of Hell's power will be accelerated.
The "secret" of immortality may be hidden in the choice "No Bankai".
Yan Si took two steps back and stood next to Aizen.
Their shoulders were almost touching, like two stones leaning against each other in the dark red wind.
"Brother Aizen," Yan Si's voice was low and only two people could hear it, "What do you think about dealing with these immortal guys?"
Aizen did not answer immediately.
He stood on the sand with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking up at the dark red sky without stars. The wind blew past him, and the hem of his clothes fluttered gently, like a flagpole without a flag.
There was silence for a moment.
"What we have to deal with," Aizen's voice was very calm, as if he was saying something natural, "Are not these guys."
He turned his head slightly and looked at Yan Si, his eyes glowing coldly in the dark red light, and the curvature of the corners of his mouth was not large, but he was very sure.
"It's Hell."
Yan Si said nothing.
He was thinking about this issue too.
First Generation captains are just Hell's "tools", the "first door" used by Hell to intercept intruders.
Fight with them here until the end of time, until Spiritual Power is exhausted, until you are hacked to death by them, and become one of them...
And Hell, the real enemy, hasn't even moved a finger.
This is not a battle, this is consumption, this is a trap and millstone.
Hell is using the First Generation captains as grindstones, sharpening their knives, sharpening their Spiritual Power, and sharpening their time. Yan Si's eyes turned to the side.
Chiziro Sochika stood there with his eyes closed and his hands hanging by his side.
Since entering Hell, he has maintained this posture, like a dead tree stuck in the sand.
But Yan Si knows what he is doing... He is "listening", "feeling", and using Amatsuyu Takuru's ability to go to the "Fusion" world.
Same as Soul Society, same as Royal Palace.
When entering a new world, the first thing to do is not to draw a sword or charge, but to "connect".
The Reishi that makes Amatsuyu Takuru fit into this world... No, there is no Reishi here.
Integrate into the power of this world, to feel its context, its boundaries, and its heart.
"What do you think?" Aizen's voice sounded, asking Chiziro Sochika.
Chiziro Sochika did not respond immediately.
He closed his eyes, frowned slightly, and pursed his lips into a line.
The space beside me began to distort, like the steam steaming on the road in summer, like the ripples on the water. Those twisted lights gathered in the middle, condensed and formed... from transparent to translucent, from translucent to solid.
Amatsuyu Takuru appeared beside him.
A slender figure, wearing a kimono, with disheveled hair, and a smile that never stops.
But her smile was a little forced at the moment.
"Oh...!" Her voice was loud, with an exaggerated complaint, as if she was being coquettish or venting, "This place is not made of Reishi at all!"
She opened her hands and made famous gestures in the air, as if she were grabbing something invisible.
"There's absolutely no way Fusion! Let alone Fusion, I can't even control it!"
She turned around and put her hands on her hips, staring at Chiziro Sochika.
"Futaya, let's go. In this world, I can't use my abilities at all. If you run out of Reishi, you're going to die!"
She spoke very fast, crackling and jumping out.
"Unlike those two, you don't have a steady stream of Reishi! If you continue to waste it here, we will only suffer!"
Chiziro Sochika didn't tell her to shut up. In the past, at Soul Society, every time Amatsuyu Takuru chirped like this, he would say "shut up" with a cold face, but this time he didn't.
He just stood there quietly, closing his eyes and listening.
When Amatsuyu Takuru finished speaking, he was tired of talking and his voice changed from high-pitched to mumbling, then he opened his eyes.
"This is the situation." Chiziro Kenpachi's voice was very calm, as if he was stating a fact that had nothing to do with him, "Those so-called captains First Generation are just the power of Hell, and how much power does Hell have..."
He opened his eyes and scanned the black ridges in the distance, the dark red sky, and the endless sandy land below his feet.
His sight was blocked by cliffs, blocked by piles of rocks, and blocked by those black and rugged, skeleton-like ridges.
But he knew that those things that couldn't be stopped were still farther away.
This piece of Hell is much larger than he imagined.
"Then let's first find out how big Hell is." Yan Si's voice sounded.
He turned around and faced north.
The sky in that direction is darker than elsewhere, and the clouds are lower, as if something is pressing there.
The wind blows from there, carrying an indescribable smell... It's not burnt, not rotten, but something older and more primitive, like the breath rising from the depths of the earth.
"Leave it to me over there."
Aizen followed his gaze and glanced north, then turned south.
The sky over there was slightly glowing with a dark red light, as if something was burning or breathing.
"In that case, leave the south to me." Aizen nodded, the curvature of the corners of his mouth did not change, but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes.
It is now clear...First Generation captains are the embodiment of Hell's power.
When you kill them, what you consume is not their power, but Hell's power.
Every time he is resurrected, Hell will have to pay a "price".
Although this cost may seem trivial now, it cannot be infinite.
As long as there is an upper limit, it can be consumed.
The question is... where is this upper limit?
How much power does Hell store? Is there any way to restore it?
Is it depleting inventory, or is it replenishing it as it is consumed?
No one knows.
As soon as they stepped into Hell, they were intercepted by these First Generation captains.
Not to mention exploring, there was no time to even stand firm.
Now, at least we have a goal... measure Hell.
Find out how big this land is, where its boundaries are, where its power comes from, and where its heart beats.
"Then go down and explore the east side."
Chiziro Sochika turned around and walked towards the east. The sand made a soft crunching sound under his feet, like stepping on broken bones.
Amatsuyu Takuru was floating beside him, the hem of his kimono fluttering in the wind, and he was still mumbling something.
Yan Si looked at his back and suddenly shouted.
"Even if you die, you have to die by my side." Chiziro Sochika's footsteps did not stop, but his shoulders moved slightly.
"I can refine your power."
After saying these words, Amatsuyu Takuru turned around suddenly like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, with his hands on his hips and his face turned red.
"Damn guy!" Her voice was sharp and could be heard far away in the empty desert. "Let me just say he is not a good person!"
She turned around, reached out and grabbed Chiziro Kenpachi's ears, and twisted them hard.
"Listen, how can anyone treat their teammates like this? I'm thinking about refining your power before the fight even starts!"
Chiziro Kenpachi didn't hide or cry out in pain.
He just turned his head slightly and let his ears slip out from Amatsuyu Takuru's fingers.
"This is Yan Si's guess." His voice was calm and he continued to walk forward, "Although I don't know why those First Generation captains didn't release the Zanpakutō, but if I die here..."
He paused.
"It is possible that you will remain able to use Bankai."
He turned around, faced the direction of Yan Si, nodded. Then turned back and continued walking eastward.
"If I can use such a huge Hell power, then Hell Investigation Corps will definitely be defeated this time."
Amatsuyu Takuru's mouth was open, and he wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat and no sound came out.
She is the one who knows her abilities best.
In Soul Society, when she cooperates with Chiziro Kenpachi, the upper limit of what she can achieve is the "Shinigami limit"... the ceiling of that world.
But what if the world was changed?
What if the power system in this world is completely different and there is no concept of "ceiling"?
She doesn't know.
She didn't dare to think about it.
Yan Si is right to worry and the approach is right.
Instead of being controlled by Hell after death, turning into a doll with Chiziro Sochika's memory, combat experience, and even Bankai...
It's better to die in his hands and be refined into a bead by him. At least you can help your teammates replenish Spiritual Power. Amatsuyu Takuru's mouth closed, opened, and closed again.
In the end, she could only hold back one sentence.
"Why doesn't Yan Si refine those Nobles old men?"
She was a little unconvinced.
Yan Si Ming obviously doesn't like Nobles. Those old men are all arrogant and deserve to die.
Why don't you take action?
Chiziro Kenpachi's footsteps did not stop.
"That's because their deaths are needed to determine what kind of existence Hell is."
His voice came from the front, very soft but very clear.
"Get information."
Amatsuyu Takuru was stunned.
She thought about it and figured it out. Those Nobles old men were experimental subjects.
Their death, their contamination, their resurrection... every process is Hell demonstrating its rules.
Yan Si If you don't do it, it's not because you don't want to, it's because you can't.
He needs those old men to die, to be contaminated, to become something like Hell, and then use their changes to observe how Hell operates.
"Yes... really?"
Amatsuyu Takuru's voice became quieter, like a punctured balloon.
She floated beside Chiziro Kenpachi, her eyes sweeping over the sand, the black rocks, and the white dead branches.
Then she raised her head and looked forward.
"Be careful!"
Her voice suddenly became sharp, and she pointed forward.
Chiziro Sochika's steps stopped.
Ahead, about two hundred meters away, five figures appeared on the sand. They did not crawl out of the sand, did not fall from the sky, they appeared out of thin air.
It's like someone pressed a switch, like someone lifted the curtain.
five people.
Wearing Nobles clothing, a dark kimono, with Family Crest embroidered on the cuffs.
His hair is gray, his face is wrinkled, and the Zanpakutō at his waist glows dimly in the dark red light.
Their eyes are red.
It's not red due to congestion, it's the color of the pupils themselves... dark red, like coagulated blood, like the color of the Hell sky.
Chiziro Kenpachi's eyes narrowed.
"That's right." His voice was cold, "Of course you guys will show up too."
The old man Nobles at the head took a step forward.
His steps were steady, unlike those old men who went crazy after being polluted, but with a calmness that said "I have finally waited for this day."
"I didn't expect to see you again, Chiziro Sochika!" His voice was loud, echoing in the empty desert.
"Let us settle our accounts now!"
Chiziro Sochika looked at his face.
He remembered that face.
No, it's not about remembering this face, it's about remembering what's behind this face...
Deep pit, darkness, sister's hand released from above, he fell down, down, down.
The wind blew past my ears, the stones passed by, and the light above my head became farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, and finally turned into a point as big as the tip of a needle, and then disappeared.
Those who pushed him and his sister into the pit, those who smiled and watched them fall, those who divided their family's property afterwards... He had already killed them once.
On the night when he awakened his Zanpakutō, he took the sword and went from house to house, slashing one by one.
Killed them all.
Leave no one behind.
Revenge has been avenged. But these people appear again.
Standing in front of him, wearing the same clothes, having the same face, saying the same words in the same tone... settling accounts.
"Humph."
Chiziro Sochika's mouth moved.
"It's just a pile of rubbish."
His face changed, the lines between his eyebrows became a little deeper, the corners of his mouth narrowed a little, and something was surging in his always calm eyes.
Just like the boy who climbed out of the pit a long time ago with a knife, the fire in his eyes.
"Futaya, we can't waste Spiritual Power!" Amatsuyu Takuru's voice sounded in his ears, anxious and worried.
Chiziro Sochika did not respond.
He stretched out his hand and spread his fingers in the direction of Amatsuyu Takuru.
Amatsuyu Takuru opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but then swallowed it back.
Her body began to glow, fading from the edges, like ink dripping into water, like mist blown away by the wind. The kimono disappeared, the hair disappeared, and the mouth that was always chattering disappeared.
The Zanpakutō fell into the hands of Chiziro Kenpachi.
The blade is very thin and long, glowing coldly under the dark red light.
He tightened his grip on the handle of the knife and let the tip of the knife hang to the ground.
Then he took steps.
The steps were slow and steady, and the distance of each step was exactly the same, as if measured with a ruler.
The knife hung at his side, and the tip of the knife drew a thin ravine on the sand, extending behind him like a black line.
He walked towards the five people.
It feels like walking in your own backyard, like walking under the cherry blossom trees, like walking on a familiar road that you have walked countless times.
The five people didn't move.
They stood there, staring at him with their red eyes, smiling, hating, and something inexplicable.
"Arrogant!" A man rushed up.
The knife struck from the top of the head, with the sound of wind, whistling, and a ferocious force that could split the person in half.
Chiziro Sochika did not hide.
His body turned slightly to let the blade pass, and the blade passed over his shoulder, cutting off a section of his collar.
His knife didn't move, it was still hanging by his side, still dragging on the sand.
The second man rushed up from the side.
The knife swept across and slashed towards his waist.
Chiziro Kenpachi's feet moved.
Take half a step back with your left foot and rotate your body like wind or fallen leaves.
The blade passed over his abdomen and cut Shinigami uniform, but did not hurt the skin.
The third person, the fourth person, the fifth person.
Five people attacked from five directions at the same time. The swords flashed and the figures intertwined, pressing in from all directions.
"Go to hell!"
Their voices overlapped together, like echoes coming from the depths of Hell.
Chiziro Sochika's manual.
The knife was lifted from the sand and drew an arc from bottom to top.
It's not very fast, it can even be said to be very slow.
Slow enough to see clearly the trajectory left by the blade as it cuts through the air, slow enough to see clearly the twisted faces reflected on the blade.
But the expressions on those faces changed.
From anger to confusion, from confusion to fear, from fear to... nothing.
Poof...!
A head flew up, not chopped off, but severed.
The incision was very neat, as if it had been cut by a laser or cut with a paper knife. Blood spurted out from the neck cavity, black, and almost invisible under the dark red light.
The second one, the third one, the fourth one, the fifth one.
Five heads flew up at the same time, flipping in the air.
Some face up, some face down, some are still blinking, and some are still moving their mouths.
Their bodies were still standing on the same spot, their knives were still raised, and they still maintained their offensive posture.
But there is no head.
Knife light.
Only one knife.
Chiziro Sochika took the knife back and hung it by his side. The tip of the knife continued to draw a thin ravine in the sand.
His footsteps did not stop.
He walked past the five headless corpses that were still standing, past the black blood that was sinking into the sand, and past those heads that were still turning in the air and had not yet landed.
No looking back. "My name is..."
His voice was very soft, as if he was talking to himself or talking to someone.
"Former captain Thirteen Court Guard Squads, Eleventh Division."
His footsteps did not stop.
"Chiziro Kenpachi."
The wind blew from behind, blowing the hem of his clothes and blowing up the dust on the sand.
The five corpses began to sink, as if they had stepped into quicksand, as if their ankles were being dragged down by something.
The sand is squirming, swallowing, and pulling the remains into the ground bit by bit.
After a while, the sand returned to smoothness.
No trace, no blood, no body.
It's as if those five people never existed.
Chiziro Kenpachi continued to walk forward. His pace was still so slow and steady.
The knife was still hanging by his side, and the tip of the knife was still drawing the famous thin ravine in the sand.
Amatsuyu Takuru's voice sounded in his head, very softly, as if he was afraid of disturbing someone.
"Futaya, your Zanjutsu is much stronger than before."
Chiziro Kenpachi did not respond.
He remembered those days in the deepest part of Muken a long time ago.
There was no light, no sound, no one to talk to him.
He could only swing the sword over and over again and practice the most basic slashes over and over again.
It's not because he wants to become stronger, it's because he needs to do something to stop himself from going crazy.
Later, Yan Si came.
Brought Soul Jade, brought the plan, brought the word "Future".
Later, he saw the battle between Kenpachi Zaraki and Unohana Retsu at Muken. Those two people were not "fighting" but "dancing".
The collision of knives with knives, the blending of blood with blood, every swing of the knife is instinct, and every block is breathing.
They don't need to think or plan, they just need to give their body to the knife and the knife to fight.
That was the first time he realized... his Zanjutsu was still far from enough.
From then on, he began to polish his body.
Not using Kidō, not using Bankai, but using the most primitive and basic method.
Swing the sword ten thousand times, one hundred thousand times, one million times.
Let the muscles remember the angle of the knife, the bones remember the power of the knife, and the blood remember the rhythm of the knife.
He is no longer a captain who relies on his Zanpakutō abilities to fight.
He is Chiziro Kenpachi.
"Don't worry." Chiziro Kenpachi's voice was very soft, but very sure, "I won't die here."
He raised his head and looked to the east. The sky over there was still dark red, without end or boundary.
The sand stretched to the end of the line of sight, blending with the sky, making it difficult to tell which was the earth and which was the sky.
The tip of the knife carved a thin ravine in the sand, like a black line.
In the dark red world, it's like a wound.