Baraggan, once again returned from Hell, gripped his pitch-black giant axe, radiating a chilling aura.
Together with Chika Shihōin, Chigiri Shijima, Danjirō Obana, and Furuoki Ōtogawa—four others who had also experienced countless cycles of life and death—they closed in on Yamamoto, gradually driving him into a corner.
"Heh... Yamamoto, you’re really showing your age. Is that all you’ve got left?"
Chika Shihōin wore a mocking smirk, but his eyes carried a weight and seriousness like never before.
Old age and decline—an unavoidable fate for every long-lived Shinigami. Even though he himself had died young, Chika had co to understand this reality from Saizō Sakahone and Nobutsuna Shigyō. Even if one’s Reiatsu remained undiminished, in battle, youth undeniably trumped age.
Now wasn’t the ti to reflect on Shinigami biology.
What mattered was this: if Yamamoto couldn’t hold out—and that terrifying brat wasn’t here—then Soul Society truly stood on the brink of annihilation!
"Hold on, Yamamoto! You’re not the kind to give up—so swing that damn blade already!"
Chika Shihōin roared, voice brimming with urgency and fury.
"I don’t need you to tell that!"
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto gripped his Zanpakutō with both hands and slashed toward the five attackers from all directions.
A torrent of fire burst forth.
The blazing flas surged like a feral beast, imdiately forcing back four of his assailants.
But in that instant, Baraggan’s giant axe ca hurtling through the air with a vicious howl.
Yamamoto didn’t retreat an inch.
He tightened his grip on his Zanpakutō and t Baraggan’s axe head-on, steel clashing with steel without a hint of fear.
As the battle wore on, Yamamoto slowly began to fall behind.
Baraggan, anwhile, sneered with smug satisfaction.
As the forr King of Hueco Mundo, he had ruled that realm for countless years and fought in war after war. Yet never before had he felt such excitent, such intense killing intent—he wanted nothing more than to personally slay the man before him.
Then, Yamamoto unleashed another blazing slash, flas erupting from his blade and driving Baraggan back once more.
But this ti, Yamamoto didn’t press the attack. His body halted, chest heaving as he gasped for breath.
He was forced to stop and recover his stamina.
Focusing his mind, Yamamoto tried to calm himself.
But Hell gave him no respite—they launched a synchronized assault.
After more than a dozen fierce exchanges, Chika Shihōin finally found an opening.
His Zanpakutō carved a semicircular arc through the air, a flash of light trailing behind it, and he brought it down toward Yamamoto’s neck with unstoppable force!
Yamamoto’s expression turned grave as the blade closed in. He was startled—he tried to raise his sword to block, but his strength failed him. It was as if all the power in his body had been drained.
If only I were five hundred years younger!
Yamamoto couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
But the expected bloodshed never ca.
Just as Chika thought his strike would land, he was stunned to find his sword suddenly frozen just centiters from Yamamoto’s neck.
A trendous resistance surged through the blade, sending a jolt of pain through his wrist.
Glancing to the side in disbelief, he saw her—at so point, a dark-skinned girl had silently appeared at his flank.
Her skin tone was strikingly similar to his own, and her body crackled with lightning forged from high-density Reiatsu.
That lightning ford beast-like features—cat ears, tail, claws—covering her like a dazzling suit of armor.
"Shunkō: Raiju Senkei: Shunryū Kokubyō Senki!" (Flash War Cry: Thunder Beast Battle Form: Flash God Black Cat Warrior Princess)
Yoruichi Shihōin grinned, a cruel smile spreading across her face.
At the sa ti, she gripped Chika Shihōin’s wrist tightly with one hand, steadily increasing the pressure until he felt a crushing force.
Then, with a sharp motion, she drove a fierce knee strike straight into Chika’s abdon.
A crisp crack rang out—Chika’s right arm snapped instantly.
His body flew back like a kite with its string cut, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Witnessing the girl’s ruthless move, Chigiri Shijima, who had been about to step forward, froze, his nerves imdiately on edge.
Eyes wide, he stared at the scene with a grim expression, an overwhelming sense of dread rising in his chest.
But just as he was about to react—it was already too late.
In the split second of hesitation, a gentle, airy voice whispered beside his ear:
"Hadō No. 90: Kurohitsugi."
The sound pierced his mind like a demon’s chant, instinctively triggering a surge of danger in his heart.
In an instant, a massive, black, wall-like rectangle surged from the ground.
It lood like a towering black coffin, exuding a suffocating aura.
Forged from muddied spiritual power, this dark prison engulfed Chigiri Shijima, subjecting him to a thousand blades tearing through his body.
"Ahhh...!"
A miserable scream tore from Chigiri’s throat.
He struggled desperately, but there was no escape. Every movent sent fresh waves of agony as countless blades pierced him, shredding his body with relentless cruelty.
Monts later, the last of his cries faded—and with it, the massive black coffin vanished.
Chigiri’s golden armor lay shattered, his body covered in blood. He collapsed to the ground like a crumpled heap of flesh.
His life force was rapidly fading, teetering on the edge of death.
...
"Alright, ti to switch out. The substitute’s here. Captain-Commander, go take a break."
Yoruichi Shihōin tossed aside the severed arm, lightning crackling across her form.
Her gaze, carrying a playful glint, swept across the battlefield.
The crisp sound of leather boots striking the ground echoed as Aura Michibane erged from the shadows.
She walked up to Yamamoto, steadying the staggering elder with a hand before turning her attention to the others.
Not far away, Aizen—locked in fierce combat with the two original captains—suddenly furrowed his brow, his movents growing tense and stiff.
He narrowed his eyes, staring at Yoruichi Shihōin’s chest.
Of course, it wasn’t her physique that caught his interest—it was what was on her chest.
"That’s the Hōgyoku...?"
The familiar glimr of that orb was impossible for Aizen to ignore.
He couldn’t comprehend how Masatsuki Aozaki could entrust sothing so vital to an outsider.
And exposing such an object to so many prying eyes—clearly, that was a mistake.
The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.
Was he really letting himself get distracted by sothing like this...?
He raised his hand, instinctively turning it to lower the tip of Kyōka Suigetsu.
But in the next instant, Saizō Sakahone and Kinroku Izuhara charged in like hungry beasts.
"Trying to activate your Zanpakutō while we’re distracted? You think that little of your seniors!?"
Kinroku sneered as he closed his eyes, raising his blade and bringing it down without hesitation.
Hearing those words, Aizen sighed inwardly. He had no choice but to abandon his plan and quickly raised his Zanpakutō to block the strike.
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