Purple Hair in the Rain

The Quincy retreat did not mean everyone vanished at once.

Those Quincy who could use the Shadow Domain—Sternritter members with Schrift letters or corresponding abilities—could indeed meld into the shadows and disappear from the battlefield in an instant.

But they had to take more than just themselves.

Around every Quincy who could use the Shadow Domain gathered several companions who could not use the technique.

The Holy Soldiers clustered around the Sternritter members and slipped into the darkness under their guidance.

When Jugram Haschwalth left, he took all the surviving Quincy from West District One with him.

The shadows carrying away the Holy Soldiers spread from the ruins, rolling outward like a black carpet and swallowing all the nearby Holy Soldiers and lieutenant-level Quincy.

The entire process took less than two seconds. Those white figures vanished soundlessly, as though sucked into a swamp.

But not everyone capable of using the Shadow Domain retreated immediately. Some chose to leave only when they were satisfied.

Gerard Valkyrie was one of them.

He had stood in Zenteiji Yūbin's Lava Domain for too long. The crimson-gold glow had scorched his skin, his shield was covered in blade marks, and a gaping hole had been torn through his chest—a wound that was slowly healing.

Yet he was still smiling. His sword was buried in Zenteiji's chest, piercing through his back, blood dripping from its tip.

Zenteiji Yūbin knelt on the ground, both hands gripping Gerard's blade. His fingers had been sliced into a mangled mess by the edge. His Zanpakutō lay at his feet, the honeycomb-like Reishi patterns on its blade completely dimmed. His eyes remained open, but his pupils had already gone unfocused.

Gerard looked down at him. "You were strong."

Gerard pulled out his sword.

Zenteiji's body toppled forward and collapsed at Gerard's side.

Gerard sheathed his sword and looked around.

The Twelfth Division members surrounded him from afar, but none dared rush forward. Their captain was already dead, and their Reiatsu before Gerard was like fireflies before a bonfire.

Gerard did not look at them. At his feet, shadows began to spread, rippling outward several times before he vanished along with them.

Similar scenes played out throughout the Seireitei. Some Quincy captains left only after killing the opponents before them. Others suddenly stopped in the middle of battle, said, "Time's up," then turned and vanished into the shadows.

Some did not even say goodbye. In the middle of a sword swing, their entire bodies turned into clouds of black mist.

Retreat was an absolute order, but how that order was carried out varied from person to person.

When the last white figure vanished into the shadows, the Seireitei finally fell quiet. All that remained were blazing flames, collapsed buildings, corpses strewn across the ground, and the ragged breathing of the living.

After the Quincy had mostly withdrawn, the temperature in Soul Society began to drop.

It was not a gradual cooling, but a sudden plunge.

The clouds above the Seireitei instantly turned into dark, heavy storm clouds.

The air was immediately filled with dampness.

Torrential rain fell in an instant, as if all the water in the heavens had been poured down at once.

Raindrops struck the ruins, the corpses, the broken walls, and the Soul Reapers who were still standing or lying on the ground.

The sound of rain drowned out everything—cheers, crying, groans, and shouts from those searching for their comrades—all submerged beneath the roar of the downpour.

The cracked earth drank in the rain. The ground split apart by intense heat, the areas scorched into blackened earth by flames, and the craters blasted open by Reishi shockwaves all gave off faint hissing sounds beneath the soaking rain. Water seeped into the cracks, into the scorched soil, into every crevice in the stone roads. The hard, dry ground turned soft, dust settled instead of flying, and the Seireitei rapidly changed from a burning ruin into a drenched one.

The temperature continued to fall.

From scorching to warm, from warm to cool, the Soul Reapers who had been drenched in sweat during battle began to feel cold. Their soaked Shihakushō clung to their bodies, and a gust of wind made them shiver violently.

Some coughed in the rain. Some vomited in the rain. Some held their comrades' corpses and wept silently in the rain.

But all those sounds were covered by the rain.

Shuichi raised his head and looked at the sky. Rain struck his face, blurring his vision.

The tension he had been holding finally loosened.

Shuichi's entire body slipped out of its battle-ready state.

Every joint in his body ached. It was not the sharp pain of an injury, but the swollen soreness of overuse, as if someone had injected lemon juice into the gaps between his bones. The puncture wound in his left shoulder was the real star of the show, fiery pain spreading from it in all directions, as if a red-hot branding iron had been pressed against his shoulder blade. His breathing became uneven again, not because his Reiatsu was unstable, but because it hurt too much.

Shuichi sat down amid the sea of flowers. Four-colored spider lilies swayed gently in the rain as water dripped from his body onto their petals.

His Bankai had not been released.

It was not that he did not want to release it. He simply did not know how.

He could not even release his Shikai. Permanent Shikai was no longer a problem for him, but part of everyday life. As for Bankai, when he had called out that name earlier, he had never considered how to take it back.

Saito leaned against the ruins as rain washed over her body. The massive wound running from her right shoulder to her right abdomen had recovered considerably under Shuichi's Bankai. Though it was still far from healed, the bleeding had at least stopped, and the edges of the wound were beginning to show signs of closing. Her Reiatsu had also recovered somewhat, rising from an almost imperceptible state to the point where she could barely move. She watched Shuichi sit in the sea of flowers, staring blankly ahead.

He had not released his Bankai.

Saito's brows furrowed slightly. At first, she thought Shuichi was deliberately maintaining his Bankai to deal with any enemies that might remain, or to continue treating her wounds.

But after watching for a while, she realized something was wrong. Shuichi simply did not know how to release his Bankai.

She understood.

This guy had never even experienced releasing his Shikai. How could he possibly know how to release his Bankai?

Saito took a deep breath, rain streaming down her cheeks. She braced herself against the ruins and stood.

The distance of her Shunpo was very short.

She came up behind Shuichi and pressed her entire weight against him.

Shuichi felt Saito lean against his back, her left arm naturally hanging around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder. Her right hand gripped his right wrist, and her Reiatsu began helping stabilize his.

"Captain Saito?" Shuichi turned his head slightly and looked at Saito's profile close beside him.

Guidance.

"Draw back your Reiatsu. Control it." Saito's tone lacked its usual aggression.

With Saito helping him stabilize his Reiatsu, Shuichi slowly began to draw it back.

The sea of flowers began to change. The petals of the four-colored spider lilies started to fall apart and dissolve. Red, blue, yellow, and white petals rose from their stems, turning into tiny points of Reishi light in the rain, like countless fireflies ascending into the gray-black sky.

The four-colored threads of light on his Zanpakutō also began to fade.

Shuichi's Reiatsu receded. From the surging, turbulent state of Bankai that had nearly overflowed from his body, it slowly returned to normal, like a receding tide, like rivers flowing into the sea, like wings finally folding shut.

His Bankai was released.