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A wild surge of reiatsu flooded the outskirts of Rukongai as several twisted figures emerged from behind Kuchiki Xianghe, stepping from the dense shadows of the forest. Their unstable and distorted spiritual pressure said everything—Sword Beasts. Zanpakutō corrupted by Muramasa's influence become feral after slaying their masters; without the control of a Shinigami, they lose all restraint, their forms mutating grotesquely, their abilities shifting unpredictably. These particular ones had clearly responded to Muramasa's call.
"You don't even reach the level of seated officers," Moyu said calmly, eyes fixed on the Sword Beasts. "And you dare step into battle?"
Xianghe remained still, seething but restrained—not attacking, only testing, sending pawns ahead to probe Moyu's strength. Clearly, this man wasn't as shallow as he pretended to be.
At his silent command, the Sword Beasts lunged. Reiatsu churned like a polluted swamp, thick and chaotic, as their attacks came in concert—waves of pressure and wild swings closing in from every angle. Despite their mutated forms, they moved with disturbing synchronicity, and for a moment, the light vanished into the maelstrom.
From afar, the gathered Shinigami watching the confrontation felt their hearts tighten.
"Will Captain Moyu be alright?"
"That guy's reckless. This opponent's on another level!"
"Don't worry," said a steady voice. "The captain will be fine."
Matsumoto Rangiku's gaze stayed locked on the battlefield. "We're in the Tenth Division. Have faith in our captain."
"We'll bet on it!" Setsuna added, her tone resolute.
Just then, a fierce wind tore through the battlefield, ripping the gathered light to pieces. A single, clean slash cut through everything as the clouds above shattered and the wind howled, spiraling downward with Moyu's sword pressure—slamming into the Sword Beasts.
There was no finesse—just annihilation. Moyu's blade wasn't sharp; it crushed dimensions. The pressure alone erased the beasts on impact as the earth split beneath the force, churning up soil and rock, carving a jagged trench nearly a kilometer long. This wasn't even a fight. It was a demonstration.
"I warned you," Moyu said coolly, holding his Zanpakutō reversed at his side as his gaze swept past the carnage to land on Kuchiki Xianghe. "Trash like that isn't worth lifting my blade for."
Xianghe's expression twisted with rage. "You… just a brat from the Kuchiki clan… You dare insult me? I'll erase your entire bloodline!" But as he registered the Haori on Moyu's shoulders, his anger shifted into something more bitter. Moyu was a captain. The realization stung deeper than any wound. Without Xianghe, the Kuchiki family had grown stronger. Thrived. Prospered. How was that possible? They should have declined without his guidance. They should have vanished. Instead, the Kuchiki name now boasted not one but multiple captains. The Sixth Division had long been the domain of Kuchiki heads, yet this upstart had become the Captain of the First Division. That meant… the Kuchiki line had surpassed him.
Unforgivable.
"I'll burn that illusion down," Xianghe muttered, madness simmering in his voice. "Starting with you."
"You dare draw your Zanpakutō in front of me?" His eyes blazed. "Then I'll show you why that's the greatest mistake of your life. Whisper—Muramasa!"
Lavender light flared from his blade as distorted energy surged outward. Moyu didn't resist—he was curious. This was the blade known as the Shinigami Killer. What would it do against Lanyin? If it drew out more of Lanyin's power, so much the better.
A voice echoed in his mind—unexpected and long dormant: Your Zanpakutō has been influenced by external interference. He scoffs at it with contempt. Moyu blinked. That voice—the system—hadn't spoken since he reached Ultimate Reiatsu, but now something in Muramasa's power had stirred it again: Your Zanpakutō refuses communication. He demands that the intruder crawl away.
A low hum echoed above Muramasa's form as Xianghe stared at his sword in disbelief. "What… is this?" Muramasa, usually a tempest of whispers and influence, now returned only static—no feedback, no clarity, not even the name of Moyu's Zanpakutō. Worse—Xianghe felt a primal fear bloom in his chest, a fear he hadn't known since becoming one with Muramasa, like a rat sensing a predator. This had never happened before.
He stumbled as doubt flooded in. Could the timing be off? No—impossible. Muramasa's power worked on any Zanpakutō. That was its design. A natural enemy of Shinigami. As long as the opponent used a sword—he would win.
"Muramasa!" he cried, forcing more power into the blade, but this time even the lavender glow refused to rise.
Moyu looked down at Lanyin in his hand. "Huh. So you've got a temper." He had always thought Lanyin was the calm, cultured type—but apparently, he had his pride. Muramasa's ability didn't just affect the sword; it invaded its spirit realm, amplifying any resentment or rebellious impulse. But against Lanyin, it failed completely.
"Seems like Lanyin doesn't think much of your Muramasa," Moyu said flatly. "During their brief exchange, he found him irritating… so he swatted him down."
Xianghe was stunned. He didn't understand. "How can a Zanpakutō resist Muramasa's control?"
Moyu's answer was simple: "When the difference in power is this vast, whispers become meaningless."
He raised his hand, the wind stirring. "I've never fully understood this blade," he admitted, "but thanks to you, I finally do. Before you talk to the strong, make sure you are strong."
A soft ding rang in his mind: Your Zanpakutō has synchronized with your will. Resonance increased. Second stage of Shikai unlocked.
Moyu smiled. "It's about time." He glanced at Xianghe. "Thank you. Without your tantrum, this might've taken longer."
He stepped forward as the wind shifted with him. "Now that your move's finished," he said coldly, "let me show you mine." Wind curled around Lanyin's blade.
"Tch," Xianghe scowled. "So what if he resists Muramasa? Can he defy raw power? King Kong Explosion!"
Xianghe roared, flame surging from his blade as he stabbed forth like a serpent. The blast raced to meet Moyu's descending wind slash. Wind and fire collided, erupting into a deafening shockwave as the battlefield cracked open, trees shattered, and the sky split with thunder.
Yet within the chaos, Xianghe's eyes narrowed. The fire was faltering. The wind—rising.
Moyu's voice came through the storm. "See it? This is what a gap looks like."
The fire flickered out. The wind slash pressed forward.
Xianghe blurred into Shunpo, narrowly dodging, but as he reappeared, Moyu's voice sounded behind him. "Running already?"
Xianghe spun, blade raised—too late. Blood sprayed into the air as he staggered, eyes wide, disbelief on his face. He had dismissed the earlier exchange, but now, in close quarters, the difference was undeniable. One strike—and he was already losing.
"Your swordsmanship is terrible," Moyu said. "Not even close to Unohana's level." He raised Lanyin again. "You're not even fun to fight."
Years of sparring with Unohana Retsu had refined Moyu's swordsmanship to its edge. In all of Soul Society, few could match him in raw technique.
Xianghe crashed to the ground, blood soaking into his robes. "Damn… brat… Don't gloat… It's only a temporary edge. I'll show you what true power means."
His reiatsu flared, rising fast. "Bankai! No Hook Strip—Zhu Cunzheng!"
The surge of power shook the air as his presence grew heavy. But it didn't matter. Muramasa's abilities were useless here. All he could do now was hope that his Bankai's reiatsu boost would shift the tide.
He lunged, slamming his Zanpakutō into the ground—creating a deep crater on impact.
"Full release, huh," Moyu muttered, scratching his head. "Guess using Shikai would be rude now. In that case…"
He raised Lanyin, placing it across his chest as his fingers gently brushed the blade.
Suddenly, all wind ceased. The air froze. Time seemed to pause.
"Scatter, haze and storm. Slice apart the void."
His voice was like a breeze. "Lanyin."
The wind surged again—but now, it was laced with darkness. Bluish-white light twisted into ink black as intricate patterns glowed across the blade. Black reiatsu burst from his feet, spiraling into the sky and punching a hole into the clouds above Rukongai.
The winds of the world obeyed its call.
He touched the blade lightly—then slashed down. "Lan Zhu."
Xianghe's eyes widened, terror overtaking his face. The weight of that strike… was primal. Terrifying. Even his fully released Bankai shuddered in fear.
He tried to raise his weapon, but his limbs were heavy—frozen by the pressure.
The black wind swallowed everything.
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