A lance of blinding white split the sky.
In the blink of an eye, the bolt knifed straight toward Suzumushi.
"...Not good."
His face drained. "Bankai!"
Too late. The white arc was already at his chest—
"Ee-ya, ee-ya...!"
Two tiny blue boys whirled in, taking the strike and bouncing it back in an instant. The bolt reversed course at terrifying speed.
"Sōgyo no Kotowari (Twin Fish Decree)…"
Jushiro gave a bitter smile; his manifested zanpakuto were being annoyingly thorough at the worst time. With everything but physical attacks nullified and reflected, it was as if they'd stripped the Shinigami of kido outright.
"How interesting…"
Senjumaru's golden, skeletal arms spun; silk unspooled—filaments fine as a silkworm's thread—spiraling around her like pale lines of light. The rebounded Byakurai (White Lightning) hit the threads, but instead of cutting them, shattered into reishi motes that hovered like blue fireflies.
At her thought, those motes reformed—another Byakurai—then streaked back toward the manifested blades.
"Ee-ya, ee-ya…" The twin sprites of Sōgyo no Kotowari sang again, absorbing and bouncing the bolt—stronger than before.
Senjumaru's threads sliced the second rebound apart and sent it back yet again.
Shinigami on both sides were going cross-eyed. A kido as fierce as a natural thunderbolt—enough to threaten a captain—had become a rally ball, volleyed between Sōgyo no Kotowari and Senjumaru's threads.
What is this, beach volleyball!?
Ridiculous as it looked, no one dared underestimate those two. If you can casually cut and return something at that level, your power is unthinkable.
Then, from among the manifested blades, a hoarse voice rumbled:
"Kill the Shinigami. Cut them down first—then use Jōkaishō (Purification King) to finish the old man I sealed. Once that's done, we zanpakuto will be completely free."
Murderous light flashed in countless eyes, and spiritual pressure surged as one.
The Shinigami's faces tightened.
Dozens of captain-class auras colliding at full tilt—Seireitei had never seen such a thing. Mishandled, it could wipe the Court Guard from the map.
Senjumaru's eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd. No Muramasa in sight. She smiled faintly.
"Muramasa. I've heard you can beguile other people's zanpakuto. Why not try charming mine?"
One golden arm lifted a thin silver needle. "This is my zanpakuto—Shiranui (Piercing Silk)."
Reiatsu boiled from every manifested blade. In the apparent empty space between them, Muramasa's voice crept out, low and wary.
"There's something wrong with your zanpakuto."
He'd tried the moment she arrived—probing for a path into her inner world. But a formless barrier sealed it off; no matter how he pressed, there was no entry—more impenetrable than Cole's mindscape.
"Of course," Senjumaru said lightly. "With my power, a flick of the sleeve can shake all three realms. We strong ones bind our true blades with life itself."
Her gaze slid over the assembled zanpakuto. "And one of those lives is your maker. With him woven into the seal, how could you possibly break it?"
"Lies," intoned Senbonzakura's ancient samurai. "We were born from the void, with wills of our own. No one created us."
Katen's older-sister voice was cool. "Spare us. 'Shake the heavens with a sleeve'? Are you claiming to surpass the Head Captain?"
Hyorinmaru spoke, even as frost laced the air. "If you're that strong, why aren't you frozen?"
Suzumebachi's queenly avatar smiled, hungry. "How about two stings from Jakuhō Raikōben (Hornet Thunder Whip)? Would that kill you?"
"Why don't you try," Senjumaru said, still smiling.
In the next breath—the field detonated with releases:
"Bankai—Katen Kyokotsu: Karamatsu Shinju (Floral Heaven Crazy Bone: Black Pine Within)!"
"Bankai—Daiguren Hyōrinmaru (Grand Crimson Lotus Ice Wheel)!"
"Bankai—Jakuhō Raikōben (Thunder God War-Club)!"
"Bankai—Senbonzakura Kageyoshi (Thousand Cherry Blossoms: Hazy Majesty)!"
"Bankai—Kokujō Tengen Myō'ō (Great Black Rope Heavenly Punishment King)!"
"Bankai—Suzumushi Tsuishiki: Enma Kōrogi (Final Movement: Demon Cricket)!"
"Bankai—Kan'onbiraki Benihime Aratame (Goddess of Mercy Opens—Crimson Princess Revised)!"
"Bankai—Hiō Zabimaru (Baboon King Zabimaru)!"
"...!"
The simultaneous blossoming of so many Bankai shook the realms. Dozens of captain-class reiatsu braided into a storm that rolled out in crushing waves. Buildings turned to rubble; blue reishi flooded like a sea, a tidal bore swallowing the yard.
Any Shinigami below captain rank went pale.
Thump. Thump. Thump—
Nanao, Rangiku, Kira—vice-captains toppled one after another. Rangiku stared up, dazed, knees tucked under her awkwardly. "You've got to be kidding..."
Nanao clutched the Seven-Mirror Blade tight, eyes unfocused. "How can reiatsu like this even exist..."
Kira ground his teeth. "Damn it... we're not even qualified to stand on that field?"
The vice-captains barely kept consciousness. Below them, most simply blacked out—no time even to speak.
Only captains held the line. Even then, those on the low end—Ikkaku, Renji, Sajin—sweat beaded at their temples.
"This is... a bit much."
Ten-plus Bankai at once. A nightmare scenario Seireitei wouldn't dare imagine—yet there it was. The execution ground itself warped: temperature plunged; white snow fell under a noon sun. In the drifting snow, endless sakura petals whirled—beautiful, and lethally sharp.
Within that world rose a black-armored war god; a hemispheric void of purest black; a cracked white bone serpent coiling and hissing—
Most unhinged of all was Katen Kyokotsu's Bankai. Even worse than before: buildings and stones warped into absurd tableaux, colors smeared like a Van Gogh gone feral—childlike scrawls overlapping a dying man's last strokes. Just looking at it made breathing tight, a dread welling up from the heart.
In that pressure, Katen and Kyokotsu kicked off together, sinking into shadow, sprinting at Senjumaru from left and right.
"Zero Division—been meaning to test you. Always so high above us."
"Tell us—are you really stronger than the old man!?"
Blades rose together—then came scything down.
In a heartbeat, Senjumaru's six golden arms crossed; threads linked and latticed—shaping into a crimson oil-paper parasol. She propped it to one shoulder—
Clang!
A shockwave ripped outward. The red parasol—something she'd woven on a whim, not even her real blade—held the strike. Four ribs snapped with a crack, but it held.
Around them, Shinigami and manifested blades had to shield their faces against the gale, peering into the eye of the storm.
"So strong," Soi Fong muttered. If that strike had come at her, she doubted she could have taken it head-on.
Hitsugaya glanced sideways at Shunsui. "Captain Kyōraku's a monster too... I never imagined the joking uncle was this strong."
Shunsui could only give a pained smile. Years of hidden cards and a concealed Bankai—dragged into the open by his own blade.
Senjumaru's lips curved. "You've grown far stronger than a few centuries ago, Shunsui. You might even qualify for Zero."
Back then, he'd still been a green kid. Now, his strength surprised even her.
Shunsui scratched his head. "No thanks. Someone's got to watch Seireitei."
Zero and Seireitei—different callings. Some longed for the Palace; others stayed with the Court Guard. Like the strongest of a thousand years—Yamamoto—who never left.
"Don't ignore us!"
The baboon king and serpent queen stood astride the bone serpent's skull, roaring: "Hihiō Zabimaru—Cannon!"
The bone serpent's jaws yawned; crimson reishi pooled and pulsed, pressure spiking—
A few captains' expressions went... complicated. Renji's went scarlet; he wanted to crawl into a crack.
Too embarrassing. His Bankai's trump card didn't hit as hard as one Byakurai.
With a whoosh, the red beam fired—only to meet a single Dankū (Severing Void) from Soi Fong and fizzle out. That shot became the spark to the powder keg.
Manifested blades in Bankai forms surged, howling, at the Shinigami lines. The Shinigami glanced once at Senjumaru—tangled with Katen Kyokotsu—and had no choice but to grit their teeth and meet the charge.
—
Elsewhere—inside the scarlet domain of Minazuki (All Things End).
Unohana and Minazuki—pale skin marked with fresh bruises already knitting closed—stood chest heaving, blades in hand, eyes fever-bright as they faced Cole.
Cole rested his golden staff on his shoulder and cocked a brow, smug. "Hana-nee, Big Dumpling—I'm pretty good, huh?"
Aside from a few nicks he'd taken on purpose to avoid 'over-healing backlash,' he was basically unscathed. The two of them, by contrast, had been forced onto the back foot, surviving by constant treatment.
"So strong..." Unohana's gaze burned. "Is this swordsmanship at the eleventh dan?"
She'd created Seireitei's grading system herself—a millennium ago, she'd stood at the peak: tenth dan. And Cole had just pressed her down with sword alone.
Minazuki couldn't help herself; she flashed in again, blade singing, voice trembling with joy. "Let me see it once more—the sword beyond my master's. It's beautiful."
Blood-red arcs wove hundreds of lines in a single second—a scarlet net cast over the air. No gaps. No escape.
Cole glanced once, then moved on instinct. The golden staff traced afterimages; with a few precise beats, dozens of edges shattered. The rest missed him by hairs—harmless.
Ching!
Staff met blade. The blood-lake surged beneath their feet, waves slapping high and falling like rain. In the heartbeat of a heartbeat, their weapons collided seven hundred and forty-eight times—too fast for the eye, only gold and crimson and the spray of sparks painting the space between them. Sparks fell like meteors, as if the whole blood-pool might catch fire.
Sweat beaded Minazuki's brow; the strain told, but her eyes only blazed brighter.
Each cut changed—no two strokes alike.
But Cole's movements felt like the sword itself had settled into his bones. The staff fell; styles unraveled as if they'd been diagrams on parchment.
Half a minute later—whump. Minazuki flew, staff at her shoulder, and crashed across the blood lake, fresh bruises blooming before the flesh knitted again.
Cole twirled the staff and grinned. "That was Hakei no Kowashi (Breaker Form). It breaks any sword style."
Somewhere past a threshold, something had clicked. He could read the next line of any cutting path—and step into the answer.
Unohana wet her lips, eyes fervent. "I knew your talent and sword were terrifying, Cole-kun—but I thought surpassing me would take you years."
Minazuki sprang back up, elated. "And yet in a few months, you've gone beyond both master and blade—at the level of sword."
On the surface, Cole looked insufferably proud. Inside, he winced. Of course it was strong—he'd poured half his stored reiryoku into Sword. That was two noble estates' worth of spiritual fuel.
Still—victory is victory.
He rested the staff against his shoulder. "A deal's a deal. I won. Time to pay up—don't forget our wager."
He'd already plotted several very proper, non-injurious ways to "bully" these sword-addicts... within reason.
Unohana took a step forward, eyes blazing hotter. "Cole-kun—become Kenpachi."
(End of Chapter)
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