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A horde... a dozen or more Menos Grande.
Even the lowliest Gillian ranked as a natural calamity beyond the grasp of most in Soul Society.
The Pluses' helpless trembling spoke volumes of their powerlessness.
Only a rare few could stand unshaken.
And Unohana was one such soul.
Amid the earth-rattling roars, she stood serene, as if basking in a spring breeze.
Abruptly, she tilted her head, her gentle gaze settling on Makoto beside her. "Makoto. You can handle them, right?"
"Huh?"
Makoto froze, blindsided by the question.
What does she mean, 'I can handle them'?!
Shouldn't she, the task force leader, charge in first, leading with the valor only Unohana could wield?
Please don't give me that 'your buffs are stacked, go get 'em' look, Captain Unohana!
"No good?"
Her tone shifted a faintly puzzled lilt.
That simple inflection sent a frigid jolt through Makoto as if his life hung in the balance. His mind snapped to icy clarity, "I understand."
"Mhm."
Unohana tucked her hands away, standing still and silent.
The squad around her stirred with unease, voices low in protest, "Unohana-sama, sending Instructor Makoto alone, isn't that a bit…"
"Quiet."
"Yes, ma'am!"
They snapped to attention, saluting.
One word silenced them all.
The dread aura of history's most diabolical criminal was no trifling thing.
Makoto drew his Zanpakuto slowly, stepping toward the Gillian swarm, passing the limp forms of villagers crawling from their huts.
His pace began measured, then quickened, a jog, then a sprint. The Reishi beneath his feet surged, vibrant and alive until a sudden Shunpo launched him a hundred meters forward.
A lone blade streaked skyward like a meteor.
The first glimpse of a hundred-meter titan would stir primal fear in anyone, a visceral dread born of sheer scale.
But once strength crossed a certain threshold, these towering black behemoths became little more than targets.
At that moment, a fire blazed in Makoto's chest, fueled by equal parts terror and exhilaration.
"Ikkotsu!!"
Reishi swelled beneath his feet, propelling him at unprecedented speed. His left fist, wreathed in a dense orb of concentrated Reishi, smashed into the central Gillian's massive mask in a fleeting instant.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the sky, the piercing force of his punch, echoing that night he'd shattered the Sekkiseki, branding itself into the center of the bone mask, dozens of meters wide.
Web-like cracks spidered outward.
Until, at last, the entire head burst apart.
The sheer force toppled the Gillian's elongated frame backward, off-balance.
Boom!
Rumble!
The vast flatland buckled under the Menos Grande's exaggerated weight.
[Hakuda +5]
As their comrade fell, the other Gillians, freshly emerged from the rift, hadn't yet grasped what hit them.
Makoto darted through their ranks like a dwarf weaving through a giant's forest. Using the momentum of the toppled central Gillian, he catapulted toward the one on the left.
His right hand pressed against the hilt of his ever-blabbing blade. Shunpo's blistering speed carried him over a hundred meters in a blink, Reishi gathering along the Asauchi's edge, building power.
He swung.
A torrent of sword pressure roared forth, cleaving the bone mask before him in two, slicing it cleanly across the middle.
[Zanjutsu +3]
Felling two Gillians in moments was Makoto's current limit, his speed couldn't keep up beyond that.
The trailing Menos Grande caught on, their masks igniting with massive crimson Ceros, locking down every escape route.
Those pillar-like beams of energy strafed relentlessly. Mountains, rivers, earth, under the barrage, all crumbled like toy blocks.
Makoto wove through the intricate web of Ceros, dodging and seeking openings. When a gap appeared, he struck decisively with a Kotsuda punch or a slash of sword pressure.
Even for him, a Gillian's Cero was no light matter.
These lumbering brutes might be dim, but their raw reiatsu reserves were undeniably vast.
Boom!
A Cero lanced toward the village without warning.
Before anyone could react, Unohana flicked her sleeve with a featherlight gesture.
Whoosh!
The massive orb of Reishi veered sharply aside.
It detonated with a roar, blooming into a fiery shroud spanning dozens of meters.
Unohana lifted her gaze to Makoto in the sky, her brow creasing faintly, some unspoken dissatisfaction flickering beneath her calm.
Behind them, the girl clutching her grandfather stared blankly at Makoto's desperate aerial struggle, lost in thought, her mind a mystery.
…
While Makoto toiled alone, across the river atop another hill, a colossal Reishi barrier shimmered.
An old man with white hair strode among members of the Kidō Research Bureau, hands clasped behind him. His steady gaze appraised the sprawling spatial Kidō array, orchestrated by dozens of practitioners.
Ahead, a youth approached briskly, his neck adorned with a silver-white scarf, two star-shaped hairpins gleaming atop his long locks. He reported, "Tsunayashiro-sama!"
"The segment overseen by the Kuchiki is complete."
The boy, barely thirteen or fourteen, had red-rimmed eyes but held his face taut with resolve.
"Ginrei."
At the sight of the youth, Tsunayashiro Shōgo's stern demeanor softened slightly. "How are things at home?"
"My thanks for your concern, Shōgo-sama."
Kuchiki Ginrei bowed, his voice quavering as he spoke. "My father's soul burial has been entrusted to my uncle. I requested to join the front lines myself."
Tsunayashiro clapped his shoulder. "Stay strong. Right now, our only hope of avenging your father is to make the Seireitei see the Genji School's threat for what it is, rallying every noble house to mobilize at all costs."
"Yes, sir."
Ginrei's eyes burned with hatred as he nodded fiercely.
Tsunayashiro offered a faint smile. "Still, if today's plan succeeds, we'll at least carve a chunk out of Yamamoto's hide."
"Shōgo-sama?"
Ginrei looked up, puzzled.
The old man gazed toward the distant village. "Watch."
…
After a grueling standoff, the Gillians pouring from the rift were finally cut down to the last.
Thud.
Makoto plummeted from the sky.
Exhausted beyond measure.
But it was done.
"Onii-san, water."
As he staggered back, trembling, the girl who'd railed against them earlier approached with a ladle, her voice shy and low.
"Thanks."
Makoto took it.
But before he could drink, a sharp smack from a scabbard knocked it from his grasp.
Unohana stood quietly beside him, her tone even. "First lesson of the day, out in the field, don't touch what others hand you so easily."
"Eh?"
Makoto blinked, startled.
The girl, assuming her earlier defiance had provoked this 'noble,' bowed shakily to apologize.
Unohana didn't spare her a glance.
Pointing her scabbard at Makoto, she continued coolly, "Second lesson. Why did you separate your Ikkotsu and Zanjutsu?"
Her question carried genuine bewilderment.
Makoto's confusion deepened.
Separating fist and sword techniques, what kind of question is that?
As Unohana 'lectured' him...
"What's... what's happening?!"
"Shinigami! Help!"
An old man who'd just stepped through a doorway froze, staring at his body. His skin turned ashen gray at a visible pace, a searing agony surging within. His screams tore through the air.
"Gramps?!"
The girl on the ground jolted, her cry sharp with panic.
Unohana and Makoto whirled around.
It wasn't just him.
Across the village, the Pluses, spared from the chaos, suddenly locked in place.
Their bodies sprouted vast patches of stone-like gray, shedding faint, dandelion-like specks of light that drifted upward.
And it wasn't only them.
Two Shinigami from their squad froze too, their forms igniting with Reishi flames. No cries escaped as their bodies melted into white, viscous streams, spiraling skyward.
The surrounding Shinigami recoiled several steps, scanning warily, unable to pinpoint the unseen foe.
"Slow, aren't they?"
Only Unohana murmured, her voice low.
The moment her words fell, a translucent amber dome enveloped a dozen-mile radius around the village.
Negación.
***
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700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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