Murata Shō stood on the veranda, flicked the last trace of blood from his blade, and was about to step over the dark red pool spreading down to the steps.
Just then-
At the far end of the mist, someone ambled in from the barracks' main gate.
The man walked slowly, his gait almost lazy. He made no effort to avoid the bodies underfoot, stepping over them without knowing or caring whether they were dead or alive as he headed straight toward the center of the courtyard.
Murata Shō narrowed his eyes and recognized that face.
"Shibata Takanobu."
His voice turned icy again. The corners of his mouth even lifted into his customary mocking smile.
"What, you want to get involved too?"
Murata held his sword across his body, his tone dripping with condescension. "Or are you here to clean my courtyard for me?"
Shibata Takanobu did not answer. He stopped some distance from the veranda steps and slowly drew his sword.
"Oh? So you want to challenge me too?"
Shibata Takanobu stood with his sword in hand, offering neither an answer nor any further movement.
"Shibata Takanobu, I remember you. Your record is clean, and your abilities are perfectly average. Your Zanpakutō is as long as mine, and you have that gravity ability, but so what? I rather like you. Put away your sword, and I can make you my lieutenant." Murata Shō kept talking as he watched the motionless Shibata Takanobu, his nerves on alert.
"Oh?" Shibata Takanobu raised his sword and pointed it at Murata.
"Not necessarily."
"What?"
"Bankai."
The tachi-shaped Zanpakutō in Shibata Takanobu's hand, with its purple grip wrap, oval guard, and ornately decorated purple scabbard, became entwined with a sacred rope. Its blade, grip, and guard turned black, while the blade curved and