The lethal heat kept spreading. What had blazed on the mountainside was now crawling over the ground itself, as if intent on melting heaven and earth.
Within that furnace-glow, Genryusai slowly opened his eyes. He glanced down at the blade in his hand and sighed. "Ryūjin Jakka (Flowing Blade-like Flame)…"
His self-seal had been shattered.
He could no longer restrain Ryūjin Jakka.
Flames boiled up the silver blade; the temperature shot straight into the heavens. A silhouette began to take shape within the fire itself—flame turning tangible.
At such heat, even Genryusai had to release his grip and let the blaze roar. His immense reiatsu poured outward, hastening Ryūjin Jakka's manifestation.
He looked at his palm: charred black. Even wrapped in his current spiritual pressure, he could hardly withstand Ryūjin Jakka's temperature. That alone proved how terrifying the sword had become.
He stamped once—and vanished.
Outside.
The shinigami present brightened at the sight of him.
"Old man!"
"Head Captain!"
"Teacher!"
"Genryusai!"
Genryusai swept them with a frown. "What have you been doing? Why is Muramasa not handled after all this time?"
He'd sealed himself expecting the captains to quell the chaos Muramasa had sown. Judging by the number of manifested zanpakuto he could see from here, the results were… disappointing.
Kyoraku and the others could only give bitter smiles.
Genryusai started to speak again—then his gaze sharpened. He looked straight at Senjumaru and said bluntly, "Senjumaru, why are you here?"
Spinning her red parasol, Senjumaru smiled lightly. "Why else? Your mess in Seireitei grew so large I had to come clean it up."
Genryusai's face darkened a shade. Shame carried all the way to the Zero Division.
Kyoraku muttered under his breath, "Came to clean up, sure, but she didn't exactly help, did she…"
If Cole hadn't saved her, Senjumaru would've died to Katen Kyōkotsu's 'Lover's Water' in Dangyuen. And "saving" the Head Captain? She had, in practice, released Ryūjin Jakka's manifested form herself.
Busy helping? More like adding disasters.
Senjumaru's expression soured. She shot Kyoraku a look. "Kyoraku brat, you're getting awfully bold."
As they traded barbs, wild laughter boomed from the glowing mountain.
"Hahahaha! Yamamoto Genryusai—can't control me now, can you? I'm going to carve up those bastards!"
A detonation rolled. Firestorms erupted inside the molten slope. Shinigami and manifested sword-spirits alike staggered back from the gush of lava and the charging waves of flame.
Through the sea of fire, a figure emerged—human in outline, but wholly wreathed in blaze, with no face—only fire, and eyes and mouth glowing white-hot. A man-shaped inferno. More demon than man.
Genryusai's brow sank. "Ryūjin Jakka… were you bewitched as well?"
"Bewitched?" The flame-being blinked—then laughed like it had heard the world's best joke. "Who could control me? You drunk bad sake last night or what? Hahaha!"
Genryusai's mouth twitched. If this weren't Ryūjin Jakka itself, he'd refuse to admit it was his zanpakuto.
Kyoraku whispered to Ukitake, "Why's Ryūjin Jakka's personality so… jumpy?"
Ukitake coughed softly. "I heard the old man was a hot-blooded youngster a thousand years ago. Probably his personality from back then…"
He trailed off. Genryusai was already looking their way… dangerously.
Tearing his gaze from his two wayward students, Genryusai faced Ryūjin Jakka again. "If you're not bewitched, why cause such chaos? You realize the scale of destruction you've just wrought?"
Ryūjin Jakka hefted its great blade and roared with laughter. "How else would you all grasp how mighty I am? I am invincible! Hahaha!"
Cole strolled up—Shichikyo Ken (Seven-Mirror Sword) in his left hand, Ruyi Jingu Bang (Compliant Golden-Hooped Staff) in his right—and teased, "Whoa. The old man was pretty chuuni back in the day."
Genryusai's mouth tugged again. Rarely had he felt such a powerful urge to die of embarrassment. Was he that chuuni back then? Invincible, was it…
By the rolling fire, Muramasa flickered into view, coughed twice, and said weakly, "Ryūjin Jakka, since you're the Head Captain's zanpakuto, then you should know where he sealed my master, yes?"
Ryūjin Jakka gave him a sideways glance. "Disgusting. Back away. Your Hollow stink's about to reach me."
Muramasa's brows creased; he retreated without retort.
"Fine," Ryūjin Jakka said at last, satisfied. "Since you let me out, I'll tell you."
It cocked its head, thinking. "Back then, Yamamoto and that fossil Kuchiki Ginrei sealed Kuchiki Sōkō in the World of the Living—what do you call it—Karakura Town."
Muramasa blinked, then understood. No wonder he couldn't find Kuchiki Sōkō in Seireitei. The Head Captain and Ginrei hadn't sealed him in Soul Society at all, but in the Living World. Without Ryūjin Jakka's words, he'd have searched a lifetime in vain.
"Ryūjin Jakka, you—"
A blaze of white hatred flared in the sword-spirit's eyes. It chopped down with a bellow: "Out of my way—don't try to change my mind!"
The slash fell like a sun—an avalanche of heavenly fire. It tore into Muramasa.
"Aaaaah!" Muramasa screamed, half his body carved away. Flames gnawed the wound, intent on cinders. He dared not linger—gritting his teeth, he leapt as an embodied spirit into some zanpakuto's inner world to hide.
Senjumaru tilted her head at Ryūjin Jakka. "So. Your zanpakuto isn't bewitched, Genryusai."
Genryusai answered, annoyed, "No. It sought freedom on its own—and rebelled. I had no choice but to seal myself."
Cole clicked his tongue. "What a willful sword. Says a lot about how willful you were, too, old man."
Genryusai's face blackened. He'd rather not admit it. But remembering his youthful rampages… perhaps there was a little truth there.
He turned back to Ryūjin Jakka. "If you're not bewitched, why insist on manifesting?"
Ryūjin Jakka flung its gaze to the sky, laughing, blade whirling, heat and reiatsu crushing the air. "To settle accounts with those bastards. I haven't forgotten their arrogant faces."
Then it cut its eyes to Senjumaru and said, cold, "Woman—open the Royal Realm. I'm going to chop those bastards to pieces."
"'Woman'…?" A tic pulsed on Senjumaru's brow. She looked at Genryusai, voice sugar-sweet and deadly. "If I'm not mistaken, your dear sword wants payback against Kirinji Tenjiro and Nimaya Ōetsu—yes?"
"…Perhaps." Genryusai didn't care to answer. A millennium ago, thinking himself invincible, he'd carried Ryūjin Jakka up to challenge a few members of the Zero Division—and received brutal beatings for his trouble. Kirinji had "taught" him several times—nearly to apoplexy. No wonder he'd refused to join the Royal Guard. He'd nearly forgotten after a thousand years… but his zanpakuto had not.
Senjumaru ground her silver teeth and glared at Ryūjin Jakka. "Then I'll settle with you first, 'great lord.' Do you really think, after only a thousand years, you can beat those two monsters? Don't get tossed out of the Royal Realm again."
In sheer years, Genryusai was a little over a millennium old. Kirinji and Ōetsu? At least in the millions. Not the same league at all.
"Woman…" Ryūjin Jakka snarled, lifting its blade. "One thousand one hundred forty-two years ago, you strung me up in the Royal Realm for three days and nights. You think I forgot!?"
"Taimatsu (Torch)!"
A sheet of fire howled across the world.
Genryusai yanked his blade free to intercept—but Senjumaru was faster. Six golden skeletal arms wove into a vast crimson drape. The blaze smashed against it and sank inward, devoured at a speed visible to the eye.
Genryusai seized the opening, spiritual pressure erupting as he roared: "Banshō Issai Kaijin to Nase (Reduce All Creation to Ash)!"
"Ryūjin Jakka!"
Shikai detonated.
Two peerless flame-type swords turned the surroundings into hell. Fire ignited from empty air.
"Genryusai," Ryūjin Jakka asked, gripping him by the front, "you mean to stop me? Did you forget how that woman bullied you? And those two bastards, Kirinji and Ōetsu?"
"It was over a thousand years ago," Genryusai said flatly. "Why would I still remember?"
Ryūjin Jakka's lip curled. "Strange. A thousand years ago, some 'bastard' swore eternal vengeance."
Genryusai's mouth twitched. Digging up black history in public—this felt like an execution.
Cole grinned, nudged Kyoraku, and whispered, "The geezer really was a chuuni teen—'vengeance must be paid' and all. No wonder he holds grudges."
Kyoraku murmured back, "Keep it down. He holds them now, too."
Listening to their chatter, Genryusai strangled his murderous urge and lunged at Ryūjin Jakka.
Ryūjin Jakka's reiatsu flared higher. "I told you—don't stop me!"
"Bankai!!"
At that word, a cataclysmic pressure blasted from the flame-body. The ground shattered madly underfoot. Gravity itself seemed to multiply by tens.
Vice-captains like Nanao who had hurried over buckled and collapsed under the crushing spiritual weight.
Kyoraku blanched. "So willful—straight to bankai!?"
The other captains' faces shifted as well. No one expected Ryūjin Jakka's temperament to be this violent.
"Zanka no Tachi (Blade of Remaining Flame)!"
Flames burst like a sun around Ryūjin Jakka. Its eyes burned pure white as it stared coldly at Genryusai. "You think you can match me now?"
It swung—like a solar flare detonating. An ocean of flame surged forth. Two blades of the same name met—
Thunder cracked.
Genryusai became a cannonball of fire, blasted away.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Walls and halls shattered in chains. From outside the Shihōin Penitentiary all the way to the Thirteenth Division—he smashed through, plummeting into ruin.
Cole clicked his tongue. "Rough. Blown away by his own zanpakuto. Even Kyoraku looks better by comparison."
Kyoraku forced a smile. "You should say the old man's bankai is too strong."
Most shinigami, using bankai, multiplied their strength by a hundred—or a thousand. After a millennium of tempering, Genryusai's bankai could increase his combat power by tens of thousands—millions. Precisely because of that, once Ryūjin Jakka manifested… even its master wasn't its match.
As they spoke, Ryūjin Jakka's eyes cut their way—and it flicked a casual slash. "Out of my sight. Don't get in the way."
It was only a lazy cut. But the flame that rose was a tidal wave, sky-blotting and world-boiling, a blistering surf racing down to swallow all.
Kyoraku and the captains' pupils shrank. They gripped their blades tight. Could they even block one bankai stroke from the old man?
Cole's eyes lit with excitement. He lifted the Shichikyo Ken and cleaved into the onrushing blaze.
In an instant—the searing fire-wave stalled. Flames pouring across the sky turned like streams and flowed, one and all, into the Seven-Mirror Sword.
(End of Chapter)
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