Rukongai – 50th District, Central Sector
*
An unnatural stillness hung in the air.
The once-bustling town center was now a mass grave. Blood stained the streets in long, splattered streaks like red calligraphy. Stone wells were overturned, market carts shattered. Entire buildings collapsed in on themselves, as if flattened by an unseen force. The very air seemed wrong, thick with spiritual residue and silence, so deep it screamed.
Flash-steps crisscrossed the ruins, black haoris fluttering through the smoke. Squad 10 and 9 patrolled the perimeter, while Squad 12's field teams began collecting reishi samples from broken walls and lingering pockets of spiritual energy.
Isshin Shiba landed lightly in the center of the square, crouching beside a fissure in the earth, a thin trench burnt deep through the ground like a scar. "The Reiatsu that fired off this attack wasn't a Hollow's. Someone was here, someone strong."
"Another Shinigami perhaps?" Rangiku walked up from behind him, trying to sense the Reiatsu within the flame scar. Her brow twitched for a moment when she finally realised caught whiff of resemblance.
"Nah. I heard no Shinigami was stationed near this District when the assault happened..It was someone else.. Besides the Reiatsu is too potent to belong to an ordinary Shinigami. I know the signatures of all Captains and Lieutenants in the Gotei 13, it couldnt be anyone of us.."
Isshin spoke, his hand resting on his chin while in deep thought. Meanwhile, Rangiku's mind drifted to a memory. Yellow hair, cold blue eyes. Their eyes had met for a moment and before she could blink, he had disappeared. Fast enough that she was barely able to catch a sniff of his Reiatsu..
'Is it him?' She thought..
"The Captain Commander was right. But Menos Level Hollows and beyond have outright never dared to intrude on the Soul Society. It looks like war.." A deep muscular voice resounded, as a buff man walked out in his sleeveless Captain's Haori. Kensei Muguruma, the Captain of the Ninth Division. His face as serious as always.
"As always you're all failing to see the clear picture. Menos Level Hollows managed to infiltrate the Soul Society, but can't you sense it? Their Reiatsu is basically extinguished. Someone or something killed them and it was none of the Captains or your Lieutenants..
In fact, we have picked up on an incredible Reishi signature from the center of the battlefield, which leads me to only one conclusion..
That something or someone who destroyed the Hollows has the ability to utilize the ambient Reishi from the environment itself. .."
The Captains and Lieutenant turned to see the owner of the voice. Mayuri Kurotsuchi, dressed in his shikahusho, his modified skin and body creeping out the nearby Shinigami as always. Not too far away from him was Hiyori Sarugaki who was busily inspecting a wise area.
"What? If I understand you, Mayuri, you mean this was done by ..."
"A Quincy, yes. You do follow. Also refrain from addressing me by first name, I don't believe we share such close relations.."
Isshin who had replied to him was gobsmacked by the sassiness of his response, closing his eyes to calm himself to refrain from punching the smugness of his chin.
"It's not possible. Quincies were defeated by the Captain Commander and previous generations of Captains years ago. How can they still be alive?" Kensei asked, staring straight at Mayuri.
"It is possible. It's the only explanation of all the facts." Mayuri turned to him. "It can't be.." Rangiku hopped in, also with unbelief.
"When you eliminate all impossibilities, whatever remains, no matter how improbable...MUST be the truth.." He added, sizing her up a bit. "But ... That is the only explanation for the scene here today.
The right questions to ask are, How has a Quincy been living undetected in the Soul Society this long. Why reveal themselves now? Why are the Hollows attacking the Soul Society? War? Don't be dumb..And what exactly are they planning by capturing souls, in the case of the missing people..* He finished his words and walked off. "I'll leave you to ponder the obvious while I go do something useful.."
The mysterious air about him making even Isshin feel uncomfortable..
"Whew! One day, one day. I'll crack that modified jaw myself." Isshin grumbled, folding his arms and turning around in annoyance.
While Rangiku entered deep thought, her silence leading her to walk away from the scene slowly. "A Quincy? Could he be a Quincy. Could that be why..."
Her senses picked up on something and then she rushed into the distance. With one hand, she cleared the stones and rocks off one area and there she heard it..
Faint sobs. A child? She saw him. A little boy, short brown hair, hugging his knees in fear, his face drenched with tears. The boy lifted his head to see her and broke out into heavy tears.
"It's alright.. What's your name?" Rangiku knelt beside the kid, ruffling his hair with a small comforting smile. "Genma.." The boy replied, wiping his tears. In his hand, he rightly held onto a forehead protector and a kunai, which Rangiku noticed for a moment there.
"Can you tell me what happened, Genma?" She asked, kneeling beside him, in the rubble. "The demons came here at first, and killed all of my friends, but Minato Sensei saved me and defeated them. They came a second time, and killed everyone. Old man Fujitaro and Minato Sensei went to stop them, but they didn't come back..."
He spoke between faint sobs as the memory of his Sensei's reassuring smile popped in his mind.
"It's okay, Genma. I'm here." Rangiku couldn't help but take the child into her bosom. She wasn't heartless. And deep down, the child reminded her of her own self. Her younger self. Afraid and alone.
---
Beneath the tree, several kilometers from the wreckage...
A still form lay buried under a blanket of leaves, half-covered by the roots of a gnarled tree. Dirt streaked his clothes, and his yellow hair, matted and dulled with grime, was the only unmistakable marker of his identity. Minato's eyes remained shut, his face pale, lips parted slightly as if lost in a dream he couldn't wake from.
Then...
His body jerked.
A sharp gasp tore through the silence as he bolted upright, lungs seizing the air like a man freshly pulled from drowning. His eyes snapped open, darting around wildly, pure instinct, honed by countless battles. A beat later, his senses settled, and his gaze lowered.
His hand found his chest. The skin was marked with a scar, the wound from before healed but not forgotten. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he exhaled and collapsed back into the leaves, staring blankly at the canopy above.
The memories came flooding back.
The old man, Fujitaro.
And Genma...
"I lost them..."
He raised a trembling hand over his face.
Minato didn't cry. Not because he was numb or cold. No. He simply couldn't. There was a kind of pain, deep, hollow, bottomless, that didn't lend itself to tears. The kind of grief that strangled you from the inside, made your heart feel like it was being crushed slowly, with no release. That was the pain clawing at him now.
Kushina. Naruto. Fujitaro. Genma.
One by one, they were being taken.
He sat up again, slower this time. In his hand was his wakizashi, still sheathed, resting across his lap. He stared at it for a long while before whispering hoarsely, "If I knew how to avenge them... I would. But I don't. Not yet."
His grip tightened, and as if in answer, the blade gave a faint, eerie hum, like it had heard his voice and shared in his sorrow.
He rose to his feet. Wordless. Strapped the blade to his back.
His Reiatsu pulsed through him, different now. Stronger. His Reiryoku had stabilized, calmer, sharper, like a blade newly tempered in grief and rage. A small mercy.
---
It didn't take him long to find his way back to the District.
The streets were quiet, too quiet. But they weren't empty.
Figures moved swiftly across rooftops and alleys, black-clad, swords at their hips, blurred silhouettes flashing past like shadows on the edge of his vision. The Shinigami. Minato's jaw clenched.
That man, the one who had attacked him, he'd been one of them. Or at least, something close. Minato couldn't be sure who among them was responsible. But that didn't matter. The pain didn't care. The loss didn't discriminate. And neither did the contempt growing in his chest.
He pulled the hood of a tattered sackcloth over his head, shielding his face from the moonlight.
A simple Transformation Jutsu masked and cloaked his Reiatsu, hiding his spiritual presence entirely, a rather simple application of the technique, potent enough to deceive even the most trained senses. He couldn't call himself a Shinobi without the ability to mask his presence..
For now, he would move like a ghost. But not aimlessly. He was going back to the scene. Back to where it all began. And if fate allowed it... to where it would end.
---
A/N: Did things differently today. The first part of the chapter is unedited, the second part is edited with AI. For those who still think an AI is writing my work.
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