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Yah-dah-dah...
Kyōraku Shunsui tilted his chin slightly, a lazy smile forming beneath the shadow of his bamboo hat. "Well, seems like we're not exactly welcome here," he drawled, raising a hand in half-hearted greeting. "Yo, long time no see, little Lisa…" Among the eight who had emerged, one girl adjusted her glasses without returning the gesture. Her sailor suit fluttered gently in the wind, her expression unreadable.
Yadōmaru Lisa, once his lieutenant in the 8th Division, now just another Visored—one of the lost.
"Quite the formidable gathering," Unohana Retsu noted quietly, her voice as calm as ever, hands folded with practiced grace. "Let's hope it doesn't become more troublesome than it needs to be." There was no fear in her eyes—only a detached, clinical interest, as if measuring threats rather than opponents.
"Captain Kyōraku. Captain Unohana," the man standing front and center greeted them with an easy smirk, blond hair sticking out from under a crumpled brown cap, schoolboy tie flapping lazily over a wrinkled uniform shirt. Hirako Shinji—former Captain of the 5th Division, unspoken leader of the Visored. "And that new guy…" he added, eyeing the third member of their party, "Mind telling me your business?"
Moyu, who had taken no interest in playing diplomat, narrowed his eyes slightly. That tone—grating, condescending. He hadn't even wanted to be here in the first place. He'd warned them, tried to avoid needless conflict, and yet this was the welcome he received—mockery and provocation.
"Captain of the 10th Division. Kuchiki Moyu," he said flatly, but before he could continue, Unohana's gentle smile vanished like mist.
"Hirako Shinji," she said coldly, voice stripped of civility, "show proper respect to Captain Moyu." Killing intent rolled from her like silent frost, filling the air with oppressive tension. Shinji stiffened, a drop of sweat forming beneath his cap as he raised his hands in retreat.
"Whoa, Captain Unohana, chill. Just a joke… nothing more."
But the chill lingered. She didn't laugh.
Old Man Yamamoto had given orders: bring them back alive. That meant negotiation—if possible. But judging from the look on Moyu's face, they were past that.
"There's no need for more posturing," Moyu said, tone clipped and dispassionate. Kindness had earned ridicule. Silence, contempt. Very well. If diplomacy failed, then he would speak the only language they respected—force. "If you're going to joke with someone," he continued, his voice razor-sharp, "at least understand who you're dealing with."
"The current Soul Society defines you as Hollows. Under protocol, any Shinigami who encounters you has the right to execute on sight."
"Hey, hey, no need to go full executioner!" Shinji replied, trying to lighten the mood, "We can still negotiate, right?"
But Moyu wasn't listening. His eyes never left Shinji. "Captain Unohana. Captain Kyōraku," he said, stepping forward, "I'll leave the sidelines to you."
Shunsui hesitated. "Wait, you don't mean…"
"Negotiation or combat," Moyu continued, tone never changing, "either way, things always start with a clash. Otherwise, there'll always be people who think they're owed respect." Shunsui sighed, a weary smile forming. "Ah, Sarah… so that's how it's going to be?"
Unohana said nothing. But the gleam in her eye made her answer clear.
The two captains stepped aside.
The first to act was Sarugaki Hiyori, all rage and fire, leaping forward like a cannonball. "You think becoming a captain gives you the right to look down on us?!" she screamed, her slipper already halfway off. "If it weren't for those two fogies, I wouldn't even glance your way!"
Shinji, now used to her tantrums, slapped a hand over her mouth mid-rant. "Ha… ha… she doesn't have a filter." Hiyori bit him. Hard.
"Who're you calling an idiot, you bald old man?!"
Whap! The slipper came down across his head.
No one flinched. It was routine.
Shinji finally managed to peel her off, rubbing his head and sighing. "Back to the point. You really plan to challenge all of us?"
"We're Visored—Shinigami with Hollow powers," he added, gauging Moyu's reaction.
Moyu's expression remained unchanged. "To be precise… either you surround me one by one, or I defeat you one by one," he said calmly. "You're already surrounded—by me."
He wasn't boasting. He was stating fact.
To him, the Visored were nothing more than fractured ghosts—remnants of a chapter that had already ended. Even Shinji, the only one worth noting, wasn't in shape to unleash Bankai. Their strength was dulled, shackled by years of isolation.
Shinji understood. He'd hoped presence would win ground—avoiding violence through intimidation. But for Moyu, words were worthless. Power was the only coin of value.
"Yeah, yeah…" Shinji muttered, lowering his hand and smirking faintly. "I figured that was your angle, Captain Testama. If it's power you want, let's speak your language. I'll take you on myself—man to man." His Zanpakutō unsheathed with a low whisper of steel, spiritual pressure flaring outward like a storm.
But Moyu didn't move.
"Hirako Shinji," he said, voice like iron, "as a leader, the first thing you should master… is reconnaissance."
Boom.
Black Reiatsu burst from him like a cataclysm, blanketing the air in a suffocating tide of spiritual weight. The ground beneath him trembled. The factory walls groaned. The eight Visored staggered.
"I suggest you all come at me together," Moyu said, raising one finger. "Otherwise, I'm not sure your leader will last even a few moments."
"Ri Hadō · Four Paths · Sun and Thunder."
The sky cracked open.
From his fingertip, a sphere of pure lightning bloomed—blinding, humming, pulsing with lethal intent. It scorched the sky and lit the ruined factory like a second sun.
Boom!
Shinji vanished in a blur of Shunpo. The others scattered as the sphere tore past and detonated behind them, flattening half the structure in an instant. The blast left molten stone, charred air, and stunned silence.
Lisa stared, hand trembling. "A lie… it has to be," she whispered.
"That was Kidō," Kensei muttered, fists clenched. "Only someone from Squad Zero can do that."
"No," Hachigen murmured, scanning the damage with wide eyes. "It's not listed. There's no Ri Hadō 'Four Paths.' Only 1, 3, and 33 exist. This must be a personal evolution from Hadō #4. A custom spell."
He looked up slowly. "Captain Moyu's Kidō… surpasses mine completely."
Sarugaki Hiyori's eyes gleamed. "Range type? Then I'll fight close quarters!" With a burst of Shunpo, she shot toward Moyu, leg extended in a flying kick. "I hate posturing bastards like you!"
Her heel never landed.
Moyu caught her leg in one smooth, fluid motion—his grip an iron vice. Her face contorted in shock as her body froze, no longer responding.
Moyu had trained under Shihouin Yoruichi herself. His Hakuda was not just strong—it was lethal. Without warning, he twisted her mid-air and slammed her into the ground.
BOOM—!!
The earth caved beneath them. A crater bloomed.
"Hiyori!"
"Little Riri!"
"Bastard—!"
The others surged forward.
"This is a battlefield," Moyu said coldly, releasing her unconscious body. "We're enemies—aren't we?"
The line struck like a sword through the wind, and chaos erupted.
"Thousand-Thread Unraveling!"
Lisa's Zanpakutō blurred, fracturing into a nest of whips that lashed toward Moyu in a net of slicing arcs. But he merely whispered, "Wind Barrier."
A soft vortex of pale blue wind wrapped around him, forming a dome that nullified the attack entirely. The whips clattered uselessly against it.
"If that's all you have," Moyu said, eyes sharp, "then prepare to return to Soul Society. Old Man Yamamoto is waiting."
Lisa's expression darkened. "You injured Hiyori. This isn't ending peacefully."
"Split him, Iron Slurry Dragonfly!"
Her blade mutated into a grotesque, pulsating mass, stretching unnaturally. "Two-Eleven Dragonfly Descent!"
She brought it down with a roar. The air cracked. The strike thundered into the ground—but hit nothing.
Moyu was already behind her.
Advanced Shunpo—Sparkling Flower.
Lisa gasped. Blood burst from her chest in a red spray.
One strike.
Instant kill.
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