Chapter 2: Blood in the Sky
There was no peace in death.
The first time, it came quietly. A whisper in the shadows.
The second time, it was fire and screaming metal.
Now, the third — it came like drowning in light.
Blinding, searing, relentless.
Colors clashed and twisted, bleeding into each other like oil on water. Shapes that shouldn't exist flickered in and out of sight. Voices screamed in tongues not meant for human throats. And through it all, a name he no longer remembered echoed like a broken drum.
This is death.
No.
This is war.
---
When he opened his eyes, the world was a canvas of crimson and black.
The sky above was torn — thick streaks of red and grey clouded what little light remained. The air carried the sharp tang of blood and scorched earth. Buildings lay in ruin, shattered walls and splintered timbers like the remains of forgotten bones. Smoke clung to the ground like a second skin, thick and choking.
And in the distance, figures clashed.
Faster than anything he'd ever seen.
Blades met. Sparks screamed. The world shook.
It wasn't like the pirates. This wasn't a drunken raid in a weak village. This was… battle. Endless, merciless, absolute.
Thousand-Year Blood War.
The name meant little to him then, but it would. Soon.
Very soon.
---
He lay on a broken rooftop, the sharp edges of shattered tile digging into his back. His body was unfamiliar — stronger, leaner, yet it ached with a pain he didn't remember earning. Blood slicked his palms, not his own, and something heavy rested in his right hand.
A blade.
Not a crude, rusted thing like before, but a proper weapon. Its edge shimmered like liquid night, jagged and mean.
A Zanpakutō.
He didn't know what it was. Didn't need to.
A weapon was a weapon.
And this one whispered promises of carnage.
---
Something moved below.
A figure in pale white robes — tall, gaunt, face hidden behind a mask of bone. Its steps were soundless, but the ground withered beneath its feet. The air rippled, a suffocating pressure settling like chains on his shoulders.
A Hollow?
No.
Not quite.
A memory surfaced. Something the voice had hissed between worlds.
"Wandenreich."
"Quincy."
Enemies of death itself.
Killers of Shinigami.
And in this war, every side was a storm.
---
The figure raised a hand, a thin bow forming from pure light. Arrows gathered around it, deadly and endless.
It hadn't seen him yet. Good.
His grip tightened around the Zanpakutō.
He could run.
He could hide.
He could wait for a better chance.
But the ember inside his chest — that fierce, merciless burn — wouldn't allow it.
Not anymore.
Never again.
---
He moved.
Faster than his old body would have allowed.
The rooftop cracked beneath his feet. His blade sang through the air, a savage, hungry thing.
The Quincy turned, too late.
The first strike severed its arm at the elbow. Light bled from the wound instead of blood, hissing and spitting like acid. The second cut took its bow in half, the weapon dissipating into dying embers.
But the third strike—
That was the one that mattered.
Right through the throat.
The masked face twisted in silent agony before the body collapsed in a heap of tattered robes and broken light.
Silence reclaimed the air.
---
A message appeared before his eyes.
[You have claimed your first kill.]
[Claimbreaker System initializing.]
His pulse thundered.
Words burned into his vision.
[Select Reward:]
1. +50 Spiritual Pressure (Reiatsu)
2. Steal Skill: Hirenkyaku (High-Speed Movement)
3. Consume Quincy Essence (Random Enhancement)
No time to hesitate.
He chose the second.
His body shuddered as a flood of alien knowledge surged through him. Muscles tensed. Blood roared in his ears.
And then he moved.
It wasn't like running.
It was like vanishing.
One instant standing still — the next, twenty meters away, the rooftop where he'd stood reduced to splinters.
A vicious grin split his face.
This… this was power.
And he wanted more.
---
The night screamed.
Explosions of spiritual pressure burst like thunderclaps in every direction. Blades clashed. Voices shouted names and attacks in a hundred different tongues.
He wasn't safe here.
Good.
Let them come.
He'd feed on their strength, one by one, until this war was nothing but ashes beneath his feet.
---
Another figure appeared before him.
This one carried a katana.
A Shinigami.
Young — maybe early twenties. His robes were stained with soot and blood, face pale with exhaustion.
His eyes narrowed when they met.
No introductions.
No mercy.
That was how it should be.
---
The Shinigami moved, his blade a flash of light.
Fast.
But not fast enough.
He was already gone.
Reappeared behind him.
Blade raised.
The strike should've been clean — but the Shinigami twisted, catching the blow on his sword, sparks screaming from the clash.
"Who—" the man managed.
He didn't answer.
Didn't care.
This wasn't about names.
It was about survival.
About strength.
About claiming.
---
They fought.
Steel met steel. Shouts rang out. Rooftops shattered beneath their feet. Each blow was heavier, faster, desperate.
The ember inside him surged, each clash feeding it, each near-death thrill stoking it higher.
He wasn't supposed to win.
But he did.
A feint. A brutal side-kick to the knee. A horizontal slash that split flesh and bone.
The Shinigami fell, clutching his chest as blood poured between his fingers.
"Monster," he gasped.
He stepped forward, blade raised.
"No."
"Claimbreaker."
And ended it.
---
[Kill confirmed.]
[Select Reward:]
1. +80 Spiritual Pressure
2. Steal Skill: Shunpo (Flash Step)
3. Consume Zanpakutō Essence (Unlock Weapon Trait)
He grinned.
Number 3.
The Zanpakutō in his grip pulsed, the jagged edge glowing. A symbol, sharp and angular, etched itself along the blade's surface.
[Weapon Trait: Bloodthirster — each kill restores minor Spiritual Pressure and sharpens edge.]
Perfect.
---
The sky darkened.
Not from clouds.
But from a presence.
A towering figure descended — white robes billowing, face hidden behind a jagged mask, reiryoku suffocating.
A captain?
No.
Worse.
A Sternritter.
The ground cracked beneath its arrival.
Eyes like burning coals locked onto him.
"You're not one of us," the voice hissed.
No.
He wasn't.
He wasn't anyone's.
And that was what made him dangerous.
The Claimbreaker System flared inside him, hungry, eager.
[Target Detected: Sternritter Class.]
[High-Risk Battle — Bonus Rewards Available.]
He could flee.
No shame in it.
But the ember in his chest roared to life, daring, goading.
He raised his blade.
The Sternritter laughed, unsheathing a monstrous sword of pure reishi.
"Very well, little ghost."
"Let's see if you bleed."
---
And then they were moving.
Blades clashed. The world blurred.
Each strike was a tidal wave of power.
He was thrown through walls, over rooftops, blood painting the air. Pain lanced through every bone. His vision blurred. His breath came ragged.
But he rose.
Again and again.
Because the ember never died.
---
The Claimbreaker System whispered.
[Kill or be claimed.]
He'd seen what death offered.
He wasn't interested.
A desperate gamble — Hirenkyaku to the side, Zanpakutō aimed for a gap in the Sternritter's guard.
Steel met flesh.
A howl of pain.
Light erupted.
And then—
Darkness.