Whose Star of Death is Shining

Black light shrouded the sky above.

The Star of Death flickered incessantly.

Standing atop a pile of corpses, Kisaragi Akira's pupils constricted. He had never expected several Shinigami to ambush him at such a time, and judging by the speed of their Shunpo, they were of elite caliber.

Yet, a new problem arose.

When this group was executing an assassination mission, did they not bother to gather accurate intelligence?

Who exactly told you that elite Shinigami could complete an assassination mission?

Kisaragi Akira stood his ground, surveying his surroundings with a cold, condescending gaze, a savage smile creeping across his lips.

To survive in a brutal place like the Nikkotsu District.

Mercy alone is far from enough!

Under Aizen's astonished gaze, the usually carefree Kisaragi Akira underwent a cataclysmic shift in his aura.

Intense killing intent, like magma erupting from a volcano, surged wantonly over the corpses.

Bone-chilling coldness laced the air, precisely enveloping the incoming shadows and causing their breathing to hitch.

He was completely different from the Kisaragi Akira who had fought Azashiro Soya.

At this moment, it was as if he had torn away that bloody outer skin to reveal his truest self.

If one had to describe it, the current Kisaragi felt more like the Unohana Retsu he had seen at the General Infirmary that day!

Aizen calmed his mind, the shimmer in his eyes receding, and watched the center of the battlefield with a tranquil expression.

Gorgeous flowers of blood splattered, blooming wantonly in the air.

Amidst the high-pitched clashing of metal, the assassins' eyes filled with irrepressible shock and terror.

His Zanpakuto vibrated, evolving into tricky attack angles at his sides. As the blade-light intersected, it wove a net of heaven and earth capable of covering everything around him!

Death Sword Style: Parting Clouds!

The blade fell, as if an invisible hand were brushing the attackers aside. Brilliant blade-light, accompanied by bone-piercing cold, sank into the bodies of the assailants.

The air hummed; the blades pierced through. In the deathly silence, several sounds of flesh tearing erupted, and more blood-flowers bloomed, adding a touch of beauty to this battlefield.

With just a single strike, several figures collapsed with a boom, slamming heavily onto the ground soaked in thick, viscous blood.

Their eyes were wide open, filled with utter disbelief.

Until the moment of their death, they still could not believe that a mere student from the Spiritual Arts Academy possessed strength far exceeding that of a seated officer of the Shinigami.

Takemoto Shinya's eyes were filled with dread. He gripped his Zanpakuto tightly, the tip pointed upward, facing forward.

He could not understand, nor could he believe it.

An assassination mission that should have been a sure success had capsized in an instant, with speed so great that even he hadn't been able to react.

Damn it, which idiot provided this intelligence?!

Since when does your average elite Shinigami have this kind of strength?!

The flaw in the intelligence led to the total collapse of the mission.

Even after the initial clash, he was the only one left on his side.

"Rebels?"

The tip of the blade in Kisaragi Akira's hand dropped, a single bead of blood rolling off the bright steel and merging into the thick gore below.

The opponent remained silent, saying nothing.

"It doesn't matter if you don't want to talk."

"I imagine the Second Division will be able to pry your mouth open."

Kisaragi Akira had no intention of interrogating him. He prided himself on not having offended anyone; if he had to name one, it was only the runaway Shinigami he had killed at Shantei Temple previously.

And then, there was...

He suddenly remembered something, raised an eyebrow, and asked with slight surprise:

"The Kuchiki Clan?"

Hearing this, Takemoto Shinya's heart skipped a beat, but he quickly regained his composure, a flicker of resolve flashing in the depths of his eyes.

He knew well that in this situation, the opponent could kill him as easily as turning over a hand.

The only reason he hadn't struck yet was because he wanted more information from him.

As a former member of the Gotei 13, Takemoto Shinya knew the methods of the Second Division all too well.

Never mind him—even if a Captain came, they would be able to extract every piece of intelligence.

Seemingly recalling some dark memories from the past, Takemoto Shinya shuddered, then glared ahead with murderous intent.

At this moment, Kisaragi Akira was walking toward him, blade in hand.

"Hmph, we shall never submit!"

As his voice fell, Takemoto Shinya suddenly raised the blade in his hand and drove it into his own abdomen with absolute decisiveness.

Puchi—

The blade was sharp, clean, and swift.

Takemoto Shinya watched the sudden flash of anxiety on the young man's face not far away, a sense of gratification swelling in his heart.

Although I couldn't kill you, I have managed to protect the intelligence.

This mission cannot be counted as a failure!

Kisaragi Akira walked up to Takemoto Shinya and sighed helplessly:

"Why go to such lengths?"

"The mission was almost over, yet you had to make me work overtime."

Takemoto Shinya's mouth overflowed with blood, leaving him unable to speak. Listening to the boy's sigh, the satisfaction in his heart grew even stronger.

As long as the enemy doesn't get what they want, then...

Wait, why is this kid starting to take his clothes off?!

Takemoto Shinya's eyes widened, unable to comprehend the boy's actions.

He watched as Kisaragi Akira produced a set of common ritual vestments from who knows where and began changing openly on the blood-soaked battlefield.

Seeing this, Aizen sighed helplessly.

Still, Akira is the same familiar Akira, as unreliable as ever.

A wooden table, incense candles, a teacup, a Gohei...

When Kisaragi Akira was finally prepared, he discovered that this assassin gentleman had not yet breathed his last.

"It seems your seppuku technique is lacking."

"If you have the chance in the future, you really must practice more."

As he spoke, before Takemoto Shinya's astonished gaze, Kisaragi Akira ended his life with a single stroke.

"Death is no way to escape reality."

"Especially not in front of a Nikotsu High Priest."

The surface of the water in the teacup began to tremble, ripples spreading out in circles, only to bounce back the moment they touched the rim.

Finally, when everything returned to stillness.

Face after face, filled with terror and disbelief, appeared within it.

Takemoto Shinya could not believe it.

Why could he still see this brat after dying? Could it be that he was dead too?

Just as doubt arose in his mind.

Kisaragi Akira dipped his finger into the teacup.

In an instant, agonizing pain erupted from the depths of his soul, as if he had been torn into countless fragments only to be forcibly stitched back together again.

At the same time, a familiar voice echoed in his ears:

"Tell me everything..."

"Confess all the intelligence, and I'll grant you a swift end."

Before Takemoto Shinya could react, his colleagues had already spilled everything like beans pouring from a bamboo tube.

This inhuman torture was enough to break even a strong-willed Shinigami in an instant.

No one could withstand the agony of a soul being torn apart.

Extracting intelligence from the mouths of the dead, Kisaragi Akira frowned slightly, feeling as though he had overlooked something.

The warning from his Danger Instinct had yet to subside, indicating that his situation was far from safe.

Kisaragi Akira's heart tightened.

Could it be that there is still a master hiding here?