Suppressing every trace of Reiatsu, Shiki Mirai closed the distance and finally got a clear look at the two figures.
They were human—flesh and blood, breathing hard, their faces caught somewhere between tension and zeal.
Both wore matching white robes. The fabric was of decent quality, but it had been sullied by sweat and battlefield grime.
Shiki sensed only the faintest trace of spiritual energy from them.
It was marginal—barely above that of the average Rukongai civilian. They weren't even qualified to enroll at the Shin'o Academy.
Yet even that tiny spark of spiritual awareness seemed enough to grant them sight.
They could see the souls—and were currently clutching the Chains of Fate of two freshly fallen soldiers.
The spirits' faces twisted in pain and confusion, their chests linked to their corpses below by those pale, glowing chains—chains that were now gripped tightly in the hands of these two self-proclaimed onmyōji.
Shiki's brow furrowed.
What the hell are they doing?
Each of them held a bizarre tool in their free hand—somewhere between an oversized rivet and a metallic spike. With those instruments, they jabbed again and again at the point where the chain met the spirit's chest—the anchor point, the most vital link in the soul's structure.
They're forcibly severing the Chain of Fate?!
Shiki nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.
Hollowfication, at its core, was caused by the unraveling and decay of that very chain. Once it snapped and began to rot, it left a gaping hole in the soul's chest—a void that brought pain, fear, and hunger. That hunger drove the soul to devour others, eventually warping it into a Hollow.
And here these humans were, accelerating the process manually.
With brute force.
Are they trying to make them fall faster? Or is there some other motive?
Whatever the reason, Shiki didn't care. He was a stationed Shinigami, and his duty was clear: to preserve the balance and guide spirits into the Soul Society.
To stand by and watch two mortals manufacturing Hollows in front of him?
Unacceptable.
He dropped the stealth entirely—Reishi bursting faintly beneath his feet as he flashed forward and landed directly between the two onmyōji and their prey.
"Let go."
His voice wasn't loud. His Zanpakutō was already drawn, the tip angled casually toward the ground.
"Souls fall under the jurisdiction of the Shinigami. Back away."
The onmyōji recoiled in surprise, hands slipping from their chains, nearly dropping their tools.
They stumbled back, squinting hard, trying to adjust to the purifying pressure radiating from Shiki—a spiritual force utterly unlike the battlefield's stench and bloodlust.
Their eyes trailed over his black robes and sheathed blade, recognition dawning.
The older one, sporting a goatee, straightened with a huff, his voice sharp and tinged with misplaced superiority:
"A Shinigami? Hmph! These two spirits were loyal retainers of the Oda clan! Even in death, their duty is to serve our lord as Onikirimono!"
"This is their honor, and our right!"
The younger one chimed in, tone even more aggressive:
"That's right! We're the Oda clan's official onmyōji—our job is to harvest and command demonic warriors! These two souls are our materials!"
"Shinigami should be over there, dealing with the wandering spirits! Don't interfere with our work!"
Shiki didn't respond.
His eyes locked on the soldiers' spirits—their expressions twisted in agony, chains forcefully pried, souls stretched to the brink of rupture.
They were still clinging to shreds of consciousness, but it was agony holding them together.
He said nothing.
His Zanpakutō flipped once in his hand, then he drove the hilt—not the blade—firmly onto each spirit's forehead in a smooth, practiced motion.
A gentle cleansing light flared to life.
The pain on their faces vanished almost instantly. Their spectral bodies relaxed, eyes clearing as they turned, faintly mouthing words of thanks.
And then—like a wind scattering dust—they dissolved into pure Reishi, ascending gently toward the sky.
They had accepted soul burial. Their journey to the Soul Society had begun.
The entire act took less than two seconds.
Shiki reversed his blade with a soft click, sheathing it at his waist.
It was done. There was no need to speak further with these two fools.
He turned, ready to walk off—to return to observing the battlefield, maybe even find better material for his "research."
"Hold it right there, Shinigami!"
The older onmyōji's voice rose, trembling with rage.
"You're new here, aren't you?! Don't you know the rules?! Do you have any idea who backs the Oda clan?! You dare destroy our materials for making Onikirimono?!"
Shiki paused.
He turned slowly, expression unreadable, eyes far too calm as he looked at the two men, now flushed with fury.
"Who?" he asked simply. Voice flat. No emotion.
Now he was genuinely curious.
When he'd first approached, he'd noticed there was a 13th Division soul burial team just a hundred meters away.
No way they hadn't sensed this. Newly dead souls. Minor spiritual pressure. Rituals being conducted.
Shiki had assumed they were just lazy—or waiting for the onmyōji to finish their business before stepping in and cleaning up.
But now, listening to these two speak, it felt… different.
They weren't just acting without fear—they were acting like they had permission.
The goateed onmyōji, seeing Shiki hesitate, smirked and huffed proudly:
"You might as well know! Lord Oda has already established contact with those beneath!"
"We've been granted official sanction to collect the spirits of the brave and loyal dead—turning them into Onikirimono to aid in battle!"
"This is a recognized right! A sanctioned privilege! Understand now?"
The younger one puffed out his chest, echoing:
"Exactly! Now get lost! Don't get in our way!"
"If we fail to create enough Onikirimono for our lord's forces because of your interference…"
"Even if you crawl back to the Shinigami World, the higher-ups won't spare you! The big names won't let this slide!"
This time, Shiki froze.
Established contact with "those below"?
Official sanction? Right to manufacture Onikirimono? Higher-ups involved?
Since when was the Soul Society openly sanctioning Shinigami to interfere with human wars?
Since when did they allow mortals to rip, bind, and weaponize souls through ritualized violence?
This wasn't just a violation of protocol—it was an insult to Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni himself.
Could it be… that someone within the Gotei 13 is backing this?
And not just any rogue agent, either.
These two idiots weren't bluffing. Their confidence, their authority—it came from somewhere high. Very high.
Shiki looked at them again—two petty men hiding behind borrowed power—and his gaze darkened.
...