The mont the words fell...
Chika Shihoin's feet unleashed an aberrant burst of wild dust from the ground. A hollow shockwave fanned out behind him, rippling into layered white crests.
Yet his form vanished abruptly from sight.
Faster still!
Makoto's mind jolted with the realization.
In the next breath, he squeezed out the last of his reiatsu, slashing forward with all his might.
"First Form-"
But before his blade could descend, the gauntlet encasing Chika's arm materialized within a ter of him, as if by teleportation.
Thud!
When the blade t the gauntlet.
In an instant, an absurd hardness, beyond even an Adjuchas' Hierro, jarred Makoto's hands. The Severing Strike, a fusion of reiatsu and will at its current zenith, seed to fracture against it.
Then, a crushing impact slamd through his wrist, arm, and torso in near unison. His organs felt as if they'd ruptured under the blow, his already strained spiritual body teetering on the edge of collapse.
Boom!
The force erupted outward, splintering the ground.
Makoto's sunken feet were yanked free by the sheer power, scattering earth and stone like dandelion seeds blown apart by a child's breath. Jagged fragnts sprayed in all directions.
A fleeting clash left a white, circular ripple in the air.
The lean figure hurtled back, smashing through countless walls like brittle straw, tumbling through the sky before crashing into the distant earth.
He'd blocked it and yet hadn't blocked it at all.
Faster than before, heavier than before!
Was this the might of the Heavenly Given Armant?
Makoto's will stood firm firr even than a mont ago.
Though pain gnawed at every fiber like a clinging blight, his mind sharpened clearer than ever.
Less than half a second after landing, he rolled aside as if foreseeing the next assault, clawing free of the crater.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sure enough, three thunderous punches hamred the pit.
A split-second slower, and he'd be a headless corpse.
Before Makoto could devise a stalling tactic, a tall silhouette burst from the dust, face alight with exhilaration.
From both greaves and gauntlets, joints flared with crimson thunder-like jets, propelling Chika forward at a speed defying neural limits.
Chika materialized before him. A vicious high whip kick carved a searing arc through the air, followed by a barrage of gauntlet strikes too swift to track. The air bood in a relentless chorus, misting under the pressure as it grazed Makoto's face with stinging jolts.
Yet Makoto's bloodshot eyes remained frigid. Dodging at breakneck speed, his Zanpakuto danced, tearing fiery streaks through the air.
Chika's voice rose, fervor mounting, "Co on, Ryūma!"
"Show your all!"
Makoto stayed unmoved, his stamina draining fast. He could feel his body nearing its physical brink.
His sword's chatter buzzed in his ear, ceaseless as ever.
But sohow...
Amid these dire straits, his heart grew eerily calm.
[Shunpo 10]
[Oh my~ Makoto-sama, this isn't how you counterattack!]
[Shunpo 10]
[Oh my beloved Blackie-chan! I love him! Even his goofy moves are cute! Grab him quick and doll him up into a big sassy queen!!"]
The mont those prompts chid.
Sothing clicked in Makoto's mind.
He seized the crux within that fleeting noise.
Not the 'doll him up' part.
But… counterattacking, and 'those goofy moves'.
Yes.
Makoto's gaze snapped to Chika's armored limbs, tracing the reverse-thrust flas. His eyes blazed brighter.
That's it!
Unconsciously, his grip on the hilt eased.
anwhile, Chika's punches quickened, faster, heavier.
Yet, oddly, the more he pressed, the stranger it felt. Each blow landed like it struck cotton, a twisting sensation of strength with nowhere to go. The Raiōken, so familiar, now seed to tear at his own fra.
Until his eyes caught Makoto's blade.
As he threw a punch, the sword t his gauntlet, but at the mont of impact, it slipped aside like a fish riding the current, guiding Makoto's entire body into a twist.
Fists, jabs, sweeping kicks, none landed squarely, instead sapping Chika's own stamina.
This guy…
It's like he's seen through every move.
The thought flared, jarring Chika's pride. A surge of impulse drove his speed higher.
Until at a certain instant...
The reverse jets on his armor peaked.
Finally, too fast even for him to redirect.
In that split second, Makoto, ever retreating, ever dodging, flashed a brilliance in his eyes that dazzled to the extre.
Boom!!!
A plu of dust exploded from the ruins behind him.
He held his sidestep, a smile curling his lips.
Within Makoto's grayscale Flawless Circle, Chika's face froze in shock, his body tilting forward with the force of unchecked montum.
A swing, and a miss.
Then Makoto struck.
His counter seed long-prepared. From a body that looked broken and bleeding, a torrent of spirit flas erupted, startling even Chika. It was as if his entire spiritual form burned away, tattered Shihakushō and hair whipping in the wind, lding with the blaze.
His grip on the Zanpakuto remained light, but the ultra-dense spirit particles cloaking the blade solidified near to tangibility.
A Shinigami's battle was at its core a clash of reiatsu.
And his, compared to Chika's, was undeniably weaker.
But if he pushed his spiritual body and will to their absolute limits, heedless of the cost,
Then, for one fleeting instant, he could match Chika's speed and wound him.
Even if… it lasted only a heartbeat.
That was enough!
Makoto's body blazed as if afla, faint spirit particles drifting from him like fireflies, yet tethered tightly within that narrow radius.
His form surged into the gap left by Chika's whiffed punch.
A flicker of shock glinted in Chika's peripheral vision. He strained to shift his gauntlet, desperate to parry Makoto's strike.
But it wasn't fast enough.
Within that one-ter radius, where their bodies nearly grazed, ti seed to still be in Makoto's eyes.
Blood stread from his crimson-threaded gaze, his pupils wholly dyed red.
With Shunpo and Zanjutsu honed to their zenith, his form, pushed beyond hyper-speed, nearly lded with his blade in this single strike.
A heavy gift, long-awaited, now delivered.
[Second Form - Silent Stream]
Makoto's eyes reflected the na flashing across his panel.
In a high-speed clash, their figures streaked past each other.
Their feet scraped long, smoldering trails of charred dust.
Back-to-back, separated by a dozen ters.
Splash!
Chika froze in place.
A long, diagonal slash marred his garb from chest to waist.
His belt slipped free, dropping to the ground.
Yet he stood upright.
Beneath his tattered clothes, a thin layer of insect-like carapace glead, an inner armor bearing a deep, etched scar.
His dark-skinned face twisted with a complex expression as he turned to Makoto, teetering on the brink of collapse. "Sorry."
"Don't bla for playing dirty, Ryūma…"
But as he turned, Makoto mirrored him, eting his gaze quietly.
Blood gushed from Makoto's mouth the mont he opened it, yet a relieved smile curved his lips. "…Don't say that."
"The one who should say it is ."
Chika blinked, caught off guard.
Even in this mont, he couldn't help but admire Ryūma's calm defiance of death.
A faint respect stirred within him.
Giving it your all… huh?
You truly did.
But in the next breath, Makoto's strength gave out. He slumped against the wall, blood trickling from his lips as he rasped, "After all, I was waiting for reinforcents."
"What about you?"
"…?!"
Chika's eyes widened abruptly.
As if sensing sothing, he turned his head slowly and stiffly.
Crack!
Thunder flashed.
In the pitch-black night, three silhouettes lood.
Yachiru Unohana, Saitō Furofushi, and Batsu'unsai Katori stood at the three ends of the T-shaped junction, each gripping their blades, offering him silent, serene smiles.
For a mont, the air grew deathly still.
A pin could've been heard dropping.
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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