Separation
At first, Okita Sōji thought this battle would end like all the others.
He was wrong.
Blood trickled from his cracked knuckles, staining the bronze hilt of his blade. The weapon trembled faintly in his grip. He had met a formidable foe.
The Dusk Bell's ability was already active—half a second cut from time itself, allowing him to dodge and counter without fail. On that much, he was certain.
Yet the silver-haired man before him stood unharmed, a woman in white secured on his back. Golden vortices swirled visibly around him, repelling every attack.
Okita's sharp gaze hardened. He had finally encountered his nemesis.
His power shaved away moments of time. Neither he nor his opponent could perceive those lost fragments—only the results. He would always evade the strike, and his counterattack would always land. An ability that made him nearly untouchable.
But there was a flaw. The technique consumed his own time and spiritual pressure, and against foes with overwhelming reiatsu or impenetrable defenses, its effectiveness faltered.
The man before him was exactly that kind of opponent.
Unwilling to prolong a hopeless fight, Okita lowered his blade.
"This is Seireitei. If we keep clashing here, we'll only hand the advantage to the Shinigami. How about we stop?"
"I'll give you a quick death."
Shiraishi's refusal was cold. His perception couldn't track Okita's movements—the moment of attack, the instant he dodged—but he could feel one truth clearly: his opponent's reiatsu was too weak to pierce his shield.
In that case, he would simply crush him with spiritual pressure.
He released his power in full.
For a heartbeat, Okita saw the image of a dragon roaring through the sunlit sky, and his mind faltered. The brilliance blazing across Shiraishi's blade was dazzling, almost divine.
Time was cut again.
Okita reappeared two hundred meters away, breathing hard—only to feel a blade press silently against his forehead.
Too fast! His eyes widened. Even after cutting away the second, Shiraishi's reaction defied belief.
Desperation drove him to raise his sword, but the strain of the Dusk Bell had drained his strength.
Snap!
The blade shattered like brittle glass.
Okita's pupils shrank. Before he could even register the lantern of death flashing before his eyes, Shiraishi's sword pierced clean through his skull.
Just as promised—swift and merciful.
Shiraishi withdrew the blade without a glance, Flash Stepped back, and caught Shiba Kūkaku before she could collapse.
"Ah!" She gasped, clinging to him instinctively—her arms and legs wrapping around him, her breath warm against his neck.
Shiraishi crouched low, steadying them both. His instincts screamed at him to flee, yet his body still ached with another, more primal urge.
He forced it down, stood, and looked toward Nie Yin Meng. She lay bloodied on the ground. Carrying her out was impossible, but leaving her behind…
Truthfully, he hesitated.
Her eyes fluttered open weakly. Sunlight blurred her vision, but she could still make out a silver light, and the figures of two people.
Rescued… Relief softened her features, a faint smile touching her lips. "Go."
Shiraishi's jaw tightened.
"She'll be safer here," Kūkaku whispered. She had noticed the badge on Yin Meng's arm. A Vice-Captain of the 12th Division—without undeniable proof of betrayal, Soul Society would protect her.
"…Alright."
Shiraishi nodded, though he still swept his senses outward, searching for reiatsu. Among the countless presences in Seireitei, he found Kotetsu Isane's. That meant the general emergency barracks lay in that direction.
But it was far, and the labyrinth of walls would slow them. He needed another way.
Before he could move, an immense spiritual pressure slammed down from above. The ground split beneath the weight, and a towering shadow engulfed them both.
"Shiraishi!"
The thunderous roar belonged to Komamura Sajin.
The Captain of Squad 7 stood before them, mask concealing his true face, his giant frame radiating raw strength and an oppressive aura.
"Captain of the Seventh…" Kūkaku whispered, tensing. She remembered her brother's words—this was a man both terrifying and honorable.
"Die!" Komamura bellowed, swinging his blade—not downward, but in a horizontal arc. He avoided a vertical cut, unwilling to endanger the fallen Vice-Captain at their feet.
For all his beastly appearance, his heart was considerate.
Shiraishi, too, refused to endanger Yin Meng. Instead of clashing directly, he leapt hundreds of meters, landing atop the roof of a broad square hall.
Komamura followed, his roar shaking the skies:
"Bankai—Kokujō Tengen Myō'ō!"
The rooftop split apart as two titanic hands pressed down, the immense armored giant rising with earth-shattering force. The building barely reached its waist.
"Put me down!" Kūkaku shouted, unwilling to hinder him.
Shiraishi didn't argue. He tossed her aside and charged forward.
The Bankai's colossal blade swung, but slow as ever—it lagged behind his movements.
Shiraishi slipped past the giant, slashing backhand. Golden arcs cut across Komamura's mask, shattering it. The stern, canine face beneath was revealed for all to see.
Komamura stiffened. That attack could have done more—it had been deliberate restraint.
"What are you…?"
Shiraishi didn't answer. He Flash Stepped miles away, golden wind surging around him—the mark of his Whirlwind Slash reaching its second stage.
With a single downward strike, a vast tornado erupted, tearing through walls and houses alike, ripping open a wide path toward the Fourth Division's medical barracks.
The way was clear.
Without hesitation, Shiraishi caught Kūkaku again, grinning despite the chaos.
"Let's go."
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