Shikai

Distant battlefield

Shiba Chuanlu was retreating.

It was not a rout, but a restrained, rhythmic withdrawal. Every step landed in the gaps of Johnson's sword strikes, keeping that cross-shaped longsword always an inch short of his throat.

Johnson's longsword stabbed into empty air, its tip carving an arc of Reishi through the air. He withdrew his sword, turned sideways, and burst forward with Hirenkyaku, shooting toward Shiba's left like an arrow. Shiba did not turn around. He blocked with his Zanpakutō held in reverse. The sound of metal striking metal exploded, and both men were forced back three steps.

"Soul Reaper."

Johnson stood ten paces away, his longsword held across his body. "Is that all you can do? Looks like you flashy-dressed Soul Reapers are just like the reports said... all show and no substance."

Shiba did not answer. Johnson's sword was fast and sharp, and his strikes were extremely heavy. His swordsmanship surpassed Shiba's.

Johnson moved again.

The cross-shaped longsword fell from above. Reishi condensed along its blade into a pale blue arc, like an enormous scythe. Shiba sidestepped, and the arc cleaved into the ground, blasting open a trench three feet deep.

Shiba stepped on the edge of the trench and used the force to flip backward, landing ten paces away. His left hand rested on the hilt while his right held the sword, its tip lowered.

Johnson did not pursue. He stood where he was, his longsword hanging at his side, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Shiba looked at him, then held his Zanpakutō horizontally before him.

"Fly! Flying Bird!"

The blade shattered.

It broke into three shards of light. The shards spun, stretched, and changed shape in midair. Three massive blue birds burst from the points of light, each with a wingspan of over twenty feet, their feathers gleaming like metal beneath the sunlight.

They circled once in the air before landing in front of Shiba. Spreading their wings, they stood between him and Johnson.

Johnson's smile froze.

His gaze swept over the three enormous birds. The smile at the corners of his mouth faded bit by bit. The cross-shaped longsword in his hand shifted slightly, changing from an offensive stance into a defensive one.

"Shikai." His voice lowered.

Shiba stood behind the giant birds, his right hand gripping the hilt without a blade. His left hand hung at his side, his fingertips twitching slightly. The three birds opened their beaks at once and let out low cries.

Johnson retreated cautiously and in measured steps, exactly matching the rhythm with which he had pursued Shiba earlier. Only now, offense and defense had reversed.

"A biological-type Zanpakutō!" Johnson's voice carried a hint of surprise.

Shiba did not answer.

His left index finger twitched. The giant bird on the left flapped its wings and charged forward, its talons tearing through the air as they went straight for Johnson.

Johnson sidestepped. His sword tip tapped against the giant bird's claws, and he used the force to flip backward. Before he had steadied himself after landing, the second giant bird was already diving from the right. The edge of its wing carved an arc like an enormous scythe.

Johnson had no choice but to block with his sword. The giant bird's wing slammed into the cross-shaped longsword with a dull boom, sending Johnson flying. He rolled twice across the ground before coming to a stop.

He dropped to one knee, planting his longsword before him as he looked up at the three giant birds.

"Soul Reaper..." His tone had changed.

Shiba did not answer, but biological-type Zanpakutō truly were rare.

Most Quincy intelligence concerned physical or elemental types, or Zanpakutō with all sorts of strange abilities. Biological types were rare, and those recorded tended to be weak.

At the very least, no one had specifically warned him to watch out for any biological-type Zanpakutō, nor had his training taught him how to deal with them.

The three giant birds spread out in the air, forming a triangle around Johnson.

Shiba raised his left hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together as he pointed at Johnson.

"Your first mistake was using conventional intelligence to judge all Soul Reapers."

The three giant birds dove at once.

On the other side of the main battlefield

The blond adjutant moved.

Hirenkyaku.

His figure stretched into an afterimage in everyone's sight. Reishi exploded beneath his feet, and he shot into the Kuchiki Clan formation like an arrow. His longsword swept sideways, bursting blood from a lower noble's chest. Before the man had even fallen, the adjutant had appeared three paces away. His sword tip pierced the second man's throat. He pulled the sword free, turned, and the third man's arm flew away together with his blade.

Clang!

Shuichi instinctively swung the Zanpakutō in his hand.

The sound of metal colliding followed immediately. The adjutant's sword had clearly struck at him.

The swordsmanship Unohana had drilled into him was proving useful.

The adjutant's eyes finally fell on him, cold and indifferent, as though he were looking at something in the way.

With a twist of his longsword, Shuichi's blade was dragged aside. The adjutant's sword tip thrust toward his chest. Shuichi stepped back, holding his blade across his chest. The sword tip struck the blade, sparks flying everywhere. He was knocked back three steps and only stopped when his heels dug into the dirt.

The adjutant continued his pursuit, and Shuichi continued blocking. It was not that Shuichi did not want to counterattack. The adjutant's swordsmanship was far superior to his. He could only barely defend himself through the reactions Unohana had drilled into him and unfamiliar muscle memory of unknown origin.

"Vice-Captain Chōjirō!" Ryouka Hachi's voice came from the side. Her short blade was held before her as she protected an injured member of the Kuchiki Clan.

Chōjirō's Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū continuously bombarded the Holy Soldier formation and swallowed most of the rain of Reishi arrows.

"Hachi Clan, take the Kuchiki Clan and retreat first!" Chōjirō's voice came from within the lightning.

Ryouka Hachi did not hesitate. She gave a signal, and the remaining Hachi Clan members lifted the Kuchiki Clan's wounded and dead, retreating in the direction of the Soul Society. Hiro Kuchiki and Kohei Kuchiki followed behind them, their faces pale, but neither looked back.

Shuichi did not retreat. He stood before the adjutant, his Zanpakutō held horizontally in front of him.

The adjutant looked at him. "You can't stop me."

Shuichi did not answer.

Chōjirō's pillars of lightning crushed through the Holy Soldier formation, scattering the white uniforms in every direction. But the Holy Soldiers did not break. They regrouped from both sides, and their Reishi bows opened once more.

Gradually,

Shuichi could no longer see the battlefield.

When the blond adjutant's sword stabbed toward him, he blocked it.

The sound of blades clashing remained. The sensation remained. But his vision was vanishing.

It was not the darkness of closing his eyes. Something was surging in from all directions, swallowing the entire world bit by bit.

The adjutant's face disappeared first. Then his sword, then his arm, shoulder, and torso.

In the end, only endless darkness remained, along with indistinct, chaotic sounds beside his ears.

It was something between sound and Reiatsu, like someone speaking underwater, their voice twisted by the water into unrecognizable fragments.

Shuichi's body was still moving. He could feel his arm swinging the sword, his feet shifting, and the vibrations from every clash traveling through the hilt into his palm. But he was not commanding those movements. His body was acting on its own, while he merely sat within the darkness, listening to those chaotic sounds and staring at the blurred thing that was the only one not swallowed by darkness.

The adjutant.

He could still see the adjutant, not with his eyes, but through some more direct perception. The adjutant's Reiatsu moved, contracted, and erupted like a white flame, glaringly bright in the darkness.

The adjutant's sword slashed down from the left. Shuichi's body turned and blocked, his blade catching the sword. The sound of scraping metal was shrill and piercing. The adjutant kicked him in the knee. Shuichi staggered backward but did not fall. His blade swept upward from below, forcing the adjutant back.

The adjutant stopped.

He looked at Shuichi, his brow faintly furrowed.

Confused.

This Soul Reaper's movements had no pattern. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. At times, he blocked with the precision of someone who had foreseen the path of the sword. At other times, he could not even manage the most basic defense. It was as if someone were controlling this body, but only intermittently.

"Are you sleepwalking?" The adjutant's voice came from the darkness.

Shuichi did not answer. He had not even heard the question. He could only hear those chaotic voices whispering by his ears, as though something were trying to tell him something.

In the distance, Chōjirō's pillars of lightning swept through the Holy Soldier formation. The third wave of Holy Soldiers surged in from the flank, their white uniforms flickering between light and shadow beneath the lightning.

Chōjirō glanced at Shuichi's back. He had never seen that state before, but Genryusai Yamamoto had said that Sword Meditation during battle was an extremely dangerous form of Sword Meditation.

One's consciousness sank into the depths of Reiatsu while the body fought by instinct. Success meant breaking past one's limits. Failure meant never waking again.

He withdrew his gaze. The pillars of lightning swelled once more and crushed toward the fourth wave of Holy Soldiers. This was all he could do: clear out the fodder, occasionally help Shuichi block a strike, then wait. Wait for him to wake up, or to never wake again.

The adjutant did not wait. His sword stabbed out again, faster this time. Shuichi's blade was half a beat too slow. The sword tip sliced across his left arm, blood spraying out. Shuichi did not retreat. His blade rose from below, its tip brushing past the adjutant's collar. The adjutant stepped back, holding his sword before him as he watched Shuichi.

Shuichi stood still, his Zanpakutō hanging at his side, its tip pointed at the ground. His eyes were open, but his pupils had no focus. His gaze passed through the adjutant and fell somewhere farther away, somewhere unseen.

Clang!

Shuichi's blade was knocked aside.

The adjutant's sword pressed against his blade. With a turn of his wrist, Shuichi's blade slid outward.

Shuichi's body could not keep up—after blocking dozens of consecutive strikes, his instinctive reactions had finally cracked. His chest was left completely open, and the adjutant's sword tip pointed at his heart before thrusting forward.

The instant the sword tip pierced his robe, Shuichi's vision exploded.

An endless sea of flowers from the other shore spread beneath his feet. Red, blue, white, and yellow flowers blanketed the earth, while the sky was brilliantly clear.

At the edge of the flower sea flowed a river, its surface glowing faintly as its waters flowed in silence.

Beside the river stood a house with white walls and black tiles. Someone sat on its porch.

They wore red robes. The fabric could not be seen clearly, and the color was a dark crimson, like dried blood. Their face was blurred, as though seen through frosted glass. Shuichi could not make out their features or expression.

But Shuichi could see their lips moving, shouting something. The voice could not reach him, but the movements of the lips were clear.

Again and again, repeating the same words.

Shuichi wanted to hear that name clearly.

He took a step forward. The flower sea rustled beneath his feet.

When he took a second step, that person stood up.

The third step, that person stretched out a hand.

The fourth step...

The adjutant's sword tip pierced through his robe and touched his skin.

Shuichi heard that name.

He did not hear it from the flower sea.

He heard it from within his own body, from the deepest depths of his Reiatsu, from his marrow, from the cracks in his soul.

That name had always been there. It had been there from the moment he grasped that Asauchi two years ago. He simply had never heard it.

He opened his mouth.

His voice was not loud, but every word struck the air like a hammer.

"Bloom, Bloom, Heaven of the Other Shore!"

His Reiatsu erupted.

This time, his Reiatsu was stable, concentrated, and directed. It surged out of Shuichi's body and poured into his Zanpakutō. The blade trembled within the Reiatsu, changing shape and reforging itself.

The massive Reiatsu shockwave sent the adjutant flying.

Shuichi's Zanpakutō straightened, becoming a straight-edged sword. Its blade was silver-white, with red gleaming along its sharpened edge.

Shuichi continued swinging the sword in his hand.

A red sword aura flew from the blade.

Too slow.

The adjutant adjusted his posture the instant he landed.

But the sword aura still sliced through his left arm. It cut in two inches below the shoulder and emerged one inch above the elbow, sending the entire arm flying away.

The adjutant retreated again, backing twenty paces away. His face was deathly pale. He gripped his sword in his right hand while pressing it against the wound of his severed arm. Reishi gathered at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

His eyes fixed on Shuichi. For the first time, fear appeared in his pupils.

Shuichi stood where he was, lowering his head to look at the Zanpakutō in his hand.

He raised his head and looked at the adjutant not far away.

Blood was still seeping from the stump of the adjutant's left arm. Reishi had limited effect in stopping the bleeding.

At the same time, on the other side

Johnson had been retreating the entire time.

The siege of the three giant birds gave him no chance to attack.

His Hirenkyaku sent him darting left and right across the battlefield. Every advance was forced back by the birds' wings or talons.

His blade struck the giant birds' feathers, spraying streams of Reishi sparks, but did not leave even a single mark.

He was gathering data. The giant birds' speed, attack range, reaction patterns, and the hardness of their feathers. Shiba's left-hand signals. Every detail was observed and committed to memory.

An opening appeared.

The three giant birds dove at once, and Shiba's left-hand command signal was half a beat slow.

The giant bird on the right deviated slightly from its attack path.

Johnson seized it.

Hirenkyaku erupted at full power. His body passed through the gap, and his longsword stabbed straight toward Shiba's chest.

Shiba did not retreat. His right hand emerged from his sleeve, palm facing Johnson, fingers spread wide.

"Hado #63: Raikōhō!"

Golden lightning condensed into a thick pillar of light, crashing into Johnson's longsword, into his body, and into everything behind him.

Johnson's Reiatsu vanished. There was no corpse, no blood, no residual Reishi. Only the smell of scorched air and a blackened trench in the ground remained.

Shiba lowered his hand. The giant birds circled around him as his gaze swept across the place where Johnson had vanished. His brow furrowed slightly.

Not dead.

He had run.

That manner of disappearance was not the dispersal of Reishi after being killed. He had actively concealed his Reiatsu and escaped the battlefield with some kind of high-speed movement technique.

"Sternritter," he murmured. There was no mockery in his tone, only confirmation.

In the distance, blood was still seeping from the adjutant's severed arm.

His gaze passed over Shuichi and turned toward the direction where Johnson had vanished.

The captain's Reiatsu was gone.

Not death. The adjutant had worked with Johnson for more than a decade. He could distinguish between the two ways a captain's Reiatsu vanished. Death was a slow dissipation. Retreat was an abrupt severance.

Johnson's Reiatsu had completely disappeared from his perception in an instant, without any process of dispersal.

The retreat signal.

The adjutant's sword lowered. He turned around, burst forward with Hirenkyaku, and sped westward. He gave no orders to the Holy Soldiers and issued no command. His retreat itself was the command.

The Holy Soldiers stopped firing. The Reishi bows in their hands dissolved. Their formation split down the middle, divided to both sides, then retreated west.

Only corpses, bloodstains, and blackened trenches remained on the battlefield.

Chōjirō's pillars of lightning dissipated.

The dark clouds withdrew from the sky, and sunlight shone down once more.