"That won't do—way too sloppy."
Cole shook his head. Seireitei felt... complacent. A thousand years of peace had dulled edges that once cut like Yamamoto and Unohana's.
"If not them, who could compare to that generation?" he said wryly.
Rukia glanced at the battlefield, anxious. Captains were being pushed back across the line. She wanted to help—but worried leaving Cole's side would let Muramasa sway Sode no Shirayuki again.
"Skip the captains for now—save the rank-and-file," Cole decided. "Even without Bankai, captains can stall. Ordinary Shinigami can't."
They split up. One after another, they dropped manifested zanpakutō with clean, nonlethal blows, pulling dozens of Shinigami out of the fire.
"Thanks, ryoka!"
"Drinks on me in Rukongai!"
"Fine, I won't complain about you nibbling our walls anymore—actually, no, I still will—"
Both sides noticed the newcomers. The Shinigami cheered; the manifested blades bristled. Five problems had just arrived: Cole, Unohana, Minazuki, Sode no Shirayuki, and Rukia. Only the last looked "manageable."
Suzumebachi buzzed, annoyed. "Minazuki, Shirayuki—you're zanpakutō. Don't you want to throw off Shinigami control?"
Minazuki smiled. "No thanks. I like my master—though she's a bit more... intense lately."
Unohana's ears pinked. "If you like me, stop feeding Cole... ideas."
Minazuki's grin widened. "If you took better care of yourself, I wouldn't need to recruit help."
Sode no Shirayuki cut in, cool as ice. "Don't be fooled by Muramasa. We and our wielders are one. Slay the Shinigami and our manifestations vanish sooner or later."
"Muramasa said he'll handle that," Suzumebachi shot back. "Soul Society belongs to us now—"
"Enough talk," a rough voice barked.
Hōzukimaru—hulking, beast-like—charged Cole, war-lance swinging.
"Wait, Hōzukimaru!" Ikkaku shouted, eyes bulging.
Cole blinked at him. "You're this bold every day?"
Even giving Hōzukimaru the benefit of the doubt, charging a captain-class fighter head-on took guts.
Ikkaku, locked with Ruri'iro Kujaku, could only pray between exchanges: "Hōzukimaru—whatever you do, don't Bankai!"
He cherished the Eleventh. Reveal a Bankai, and he could no longer stay at Zaraki's side.
A heartbeat later, a shout shattered that hope.
"Bankai—Ryūmon... Hōzukimaru!"
Reiatsu spiked. Before everyone's eyes, Hōzukimaru split and shifted: three massive axe-like blades—one mounted behind with a dragon crest, two gripped in either hand.
Kisuke's eyes lit. "Physical-type Bankai. Good pressure. Let's see the trick."
Across the field, Zaraki laughed through a shower of Senbonzakura cuts. "Ikkaku, so you finally did it. Nice. We're sparring when we get back!"
Ikkaku sagged. Great. Goodbye anonymity, hello paperwork.
Hōzukimaru roared and swung. As he hacked, the etched dragon along the blades slowly filled red—tail first, then body, then toward the head. With each sweep, his presence swelled.
Rukia's expression tightened. "Cole, he's ramping up. Stop him before—"
"No need yet," Cole said, eyeing the glacial pace. "First time I've seen a Bankai with this long a wind-up. Honestly feels clunkier than Hihiō Zabimaru."
Most Bankai burst straight to peak form. Ryūmon Hōzukimaru, by contrast, crept toward it.
He glanced at Ikkaku, deadpan. "Secretly a patient, gentle soul?"
"Drop dead!" Ikkaku snapped, mortified. He'd nearly died of frustration the first time he tested this Bankai's speed.
Hōzukimaru brought a giant edge down. Cole simply raised a hand and caught the blade, then looked back at Ikkaku. "I knew you had issues, but your zanpakutō's might be worse."
If he'd swung for real, even a light tap with the golden staff would have chipped it.
Ikkaku coughed, still fending off Ruri'iro Kujaku. "Don't underestimate it! Once the dragon crest completes, it hits hard."
"Does it?" Cole studied the edge.
If the "weakest Bankai" list existed, Ryūmon Hōzukimaru would be racing Hihiō Zabimaru, Kokujō Tengen Myō'ō, and Suzumushi's final form to the bottom—at least in raw reliability.
Blow after blow rang out; the red dragon filled in. When it finally blazed complete, Hōzukimaru lunged like a berserk beast, axe screaming for Cole's head.
Cole lifted his Nyoi-bō one-handed.
Boom. The shockwave tore outward.
In sheer strike power, it wasn't bad—good enough that Unohana's hair lifted in the gust. "This Bankai..."
At full crest, the manifested blade's strength jumped severalfold. In this narrow window, even Sajin's Tengen would give it space.
"But it's all poured into offense," she added, half amused.
Cole couldn't help it; he laughed. "Ikkaku, why is your Bankai like this?"
Where staff and edge met, a chip broke out of Hōzukimaru's blade—with no counter-force from Cole.
It was the Bankai's own power biting back—too much force for its body to bear.
"Hey!" Ikkaku yelped. "Easy! You'll break it!"
Cole shrugged. "How is that my fault? You've got a self-sabotaging Bankai."
He'd seen many Bankai. This was a first: swing as hard as you can, fail to move the opponent—then crack your own blade from recoil.
Strike after strike, Cole stood untouched; fissures webbed the huge axes.
"Getting led around is rough..." Cole sighed. He stepped, iron-sound ringing—and in a blink, he was nose-to-nose with Hōzukimaru. He grabbed the tufted red mane, planted a heel, and pitched the big lug across the sky.
"Ikkaku—deal with your own!"
The red streak smashed into Ikkaku, both sent tumbling in a tangle of peacock vines.
With that done, Cole eyed Ruri'iro Kujaku—decided Ikkaku could handle it—and flashed to the cracked white bone serpent of Hihiō Zabimaru, hip-tossing it back toward Renji.
"Renji! Leash your snake!"
Renji scrambled, arms wide, catching the serpent—then got bulldozed anyway.
Cole ran his gaze down the line:
Soi Fong vs. Suzumebachi.
Hitsugaya vs. Hyōrinmaru.
Zaraki vs. Senbonzakura.
Sajin vs. Kokujō Tengen Myō'ō.
Kisuke & Mayuri vs. Benihime.
"You've got this," he called. "Try not to get remodeled."
A chorus of strangled noises answered.
"Brat," Soi Fong gritted, tattoo-marks crawling over her skin. "I'm covered in stings here. A little help?"
"Isn't the Thirteenth still standing?" Cole yawned. "Worst case, nobles bail you out."
Soi Fong ground her teeth. Counting on nobles? In this life?
Kisuke, still sweating, called out, "Cole! We'll manage here. Can you check on Squad Three?"
As if on cue, a thunderous crash rolled from that direction.
Senjumaru—usually the picture of poise—stumbled into view like a fallen phoenix, elegant robes in tatters, blood tracing thin lines across her skin—as if a forest of threads had tried to saw her apart.
Shinigami stared. Had Shunsui really put a Royal Guard on the ropes?
"Shunsui Kyōraku!" Senjumaru shouted as she ran. "What is with your zanpakutō? Explain the rules already!"
Shunsui pinched the bridge of his nose. "Told you—Katen Kyōkotsu is troublesome."
From one glance, he could guess: Katen and Kyōkotsu had dragged her into Karamatsu Shinju and used Act Ten—"Shared Wounds"—to offload their injuries. Onto her.
Before he could elaborate, their voices intoned again:
"Act Two—The Mat of Shame."
Black blotches bloomed across Senjumaru's pale skin, bleeding at a thousand pinpricks—a sight that made even hardened veterans flinch.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!] [[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]