— — — — — —
Facing the man with the vicious expression, Kisuke Urahara lowered his gaze. "Well… we prepared way ahead of time, and we still got caught off guard, huh?"
"Thinking about it, ever since Ryo Yagami showed up, everyone's been a lot more irritable." Urahara let out a self-mocking laugh.
Beside him, Shunsui Kyoraku had already drawn his zanpakutō and released shikai. "Looks like the pressure on our side is a bit much."
Their only opponent directly ahead was Haschwalth, dressed in white military uniform.
But both Urahara and Kyoraku could sense another enemy farther off—someone already locking onto them.
Being targeted from long distance by a Quincy… that was the last thing someone familiar with Quincy tactics wanted.
Kyoraku narrowed his eyes and spoke casually. "I heard the Sternritter all go by English letters— 26 letters, one per member…"
"So if you stand beside Yhwach… are you B? Or A?"
Haschwalth met his gaze calmly. "His Majesty granted me the Schrift: 'B.'"
Kyoraku squinted slightly, Katen Kyōkotsu gently swaying in his hand.
"..."
Haschwalth looked calm. Then, in the next second, the two vanished from the open ground.
Urahara clicked his tongue, sensing the reiatsu locking onto him.
"Captain Kyoraku is so sneaky…"
He really wanted to take the Quincy aiming at him somewhere else too.
After all… the two monsters near him were about to clash.
Old Man Yamamoto, leaning on his cane, looked calmly at the red-eyed man before him.
"A thousand years have passed, Yhwach."
"You've grown old, Yamamoto," Yhwach spoke as though greeting an old friend.
"Old enough to fall for Aizen Sosuke's lies so easily."
"Yagami, is it…?"
Yamamoto knew exactly what he meant.
Because Ryo's power had proved the existence of the "Little Garden," Yamamoto chose to cooperate with Aizen in preparation for the coming age of upheaval.
That was why Yhwach called him "old."
It was mockery—mocking Yamamoto for clinging to stability, panicking over a bit of disturbance, calling him a coward.
Yamamoto let out a short laugh. "Old? Perhaps. But I've come to a conclusion."
He narrowed his eyes. "With your strength, you'll never defeat that man. Yhwach, that Yagami kid will become your despair."
His tone dripped with ridicule. "Because you can't even defeat me."
Yhwach's face darkened instantly.
He had examined tens of thousands of futures, checking and rechecking his chances. Because a thousand years ago, he had lost to Yamamoto—so badly he'd nearly died.
And now, hearing Yamamoto mock him like this, rage boiled in his chest.
"You lose once, and suddenly you worship some useless brat? No matter how many years pass, Shinigami are still trash—leeches feeding on my father's stolen power!"
"Tonight, I'll end this damned darkness, bury every Shinigami in history, and remake the world!"
"Heh."
Yamamoto gave a cold laugh. "Yhwach. You're even more childish than a thousand years ago."
Yhwach stared coldly at him. Reishi gathered in his hand, forming a glowing blue cross-blade.
With a sharp crack, Yamamoto shattered the casing of his cane, revealing Ryūjin Jakka.
---
Seireitei — 13th Division Sector
The area had already been reshaped into pale, European-style palaces.
"Cough… cough."
Captain Jushiro Ukitake cleared his throat and called out to his squad. "First unit, follow Third Seat Kiyone Kotetsu and scout the surroundings. Second unit, Sentarō, support from the flank. The rest form the third unit and stay with me."
"Remember—intel first. Don't engage the Quincy head-on."
"Yes, sir!"
Under their seated officers' command, the squad members spread out, reacquainting themselves with a Seireitei that looked familiar yet completely foreign.
Ukitake coughed again, then turned to Rukia Kuchiki.
"Rukia, are you in any condition to fight?"
Because of Urahara's artificial body, Rukia had lost her reiatsu for a time. Only twenty days ago, when Aizen removed the Hōgyoku, did that state finally end.
So Ukitake was worried—worried that her reiatsu still hadn't fully recovered. Especially now that the Quincy were already attacking.
"My reiatsu's back to normal, Captain." Rukia shook her head, then looked at him with concern. "But compared to me… isn't your condition worse?"
"Just the usual."
Ukitake forced a smile, glancing at the unfamiliar buildings around them. "Once the battle starts, keep some distance from me. If we hold out long enough, reinforcements might arrive."
"Reinforcements? We still have reinforcements?" Rukia asked, surprised.
Thinking of what Kyoraku had hinted at, Ukitake's expression turned complicated. "Ah… though they might be people you really dislike."
"Huh?"
Rukia blinked. People she disliked? She didn't really have enemies in Soul Society…
But before she could ask, her head snapped to the right.
Ukitake sensed it too—the strange reiatsu approaching.
To their right, beneath a marble pillar at the entrance of a building—
A tall, thin man stood there. Middle-parted black hair. No eyebrows. Lower face hidden behind a black mask studded with spike-like protrusions. He stood like a walking nightmare.
"Captain of the Thirteenth Division, Jushiro Ukitake."
The man's voice was eerie and distorted as he stared at Ukitake.
"I am the Sternritter 'F,' Äs Nödt. By His Majesty's order, I am here to take your life."
"So soon, huh?" Ukitake coughed once more and calmly drew his zanpakutō. "Rukia, fall back. I'll handle him."
"Be afraid, Jūshirō Ukitake.... Fear me…"
Needle-shaped reishi arrows appeared around Äs Nödt, then exploded outward.
The sudden attack forced Ukitake and the surrounding Shinigami to draw their blades in defense.
But their blades struck nothing.
"What—? That won't work?" Ukitake gasped.
The reishi arrows passed through the air like it wasn't even there, striking him directly.
He whipped his head around—every squad member had been hit the same way.
Some had taken one arrow. Others several.
"Not good!"
Cold dread ran down Ukitake's spine. This phenomenon was obviously some twisted Quincy ability. And worse—they were already caught in it.
"Fear…"
Äs Nödt's chilling voice seeped into their ears.
"Noooo!"
In Ukitake's vision, Rukia—and everyone else struck—decayed in an instant into pale, crumbling skeletons.
.
.
.