"Who exactly are you in contact with?" Shiki asked again, his voice quieter than before—devoid of anger, devoid of emotion.
In the Soul Society, guiding the cycle of souls was a foundational duty.
To interfere openly in the wars of the living—to allow humans to forcibly bind souls through such cruel means and force them to keep fighting—was a fundamental violation of that order.
Especially under Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, the iron-fisted and righteous Captain-Commander, such behavior would be met with zero tolerance.
To orchestrate such a scheme—and to make even patrolling Shinigami turn a blind eye?
This had to be bigger than low-level corruption.
Possibly… a noble clan.
The thought flashed across Shiki's mind.
The noble structure of the Soul Society was vast and convoluted. Some of the great houses possessed powers and privileges even the Gotei 13 couldn't fully regulate. If one of them were involved…
The goateed onmyōji's face darkened, as if torn between revealing too much and wanting to scare Shiki off.
In the end, he settled for intimidation.
He pointed toward the chaotic main battlefield. His voice carried a warning.
"Take a good look. Do you see any other Shinigami stopping us? You think they can't see what's happening?"
"You think they can't sense it? If no one's come to interfere, then maybe—just maybe—you should understand that this isn't your place."
"Some things… aren't for you to meddle with. Walk away. That's all I'll say."
Both onmyōji straightened their backs after speaking. The last traces of anxiety vanished from their expressions, replaced by sheer arrogance.
They knew the rules: a Shinigami must never raise a hand against the living. That was inviolable law.
So no matter how cold this Shinigami's expression, as long as they remained human, he couldn't touch them.
Confident, aren't you? Shiki turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the battlefield.
Looking, sensing—calculating.
His spiritual perception spread silently.
He locked onto a target: at the edge of the battlefield, a soul whose Chain of Fate had just snapped—its chest now hollowed, its form distorting and swelling, a pale bone mask slowly emerging across its face.
The spirit emitted a low, feral groan, staggering toward another nearby soul.
That'll do.
Without a sound, Shiki vanished from the onmyōji's sight.
In the next instant, he reappeared beside the newly-born Hollow—its form twisted like a stretched, malformed simian. It moved sluggishly, still disoriented.
Shiki didn't draw his sword.
He simply extended his right hand, palm forward.
"Bakudō #8: Seki."
A soft yet forceful repulsion wave burst from his palm, slamming into the Hollow's chest.
Boom!
The creature let out a confused grunt as it was launched backward, flying through the air in a crooked arc—
—and landing squarely a few feet from the two onmyōji.
Dust kicked up around it.
The Hollow staggered up, dazed.
Then its hazy vision locked onto two figures—faintly glowing with spiritual energy, weak, alive.
Perfect prey.
"ROAR!!"
Its voice was sharper this time—filled with hunger and rage.
It dropped to all fours and lunged.
It was faster than it had been a moment ago—much faster.
"R-Reishi Orb!" the older onmyōji shouted.
They hadn't expected this. A moment ago they'd been threatening a Shinigami, smug in their supposed protection. Now a monster—grinning, masked, murderous—was charging them.
Panic overtook them.
They flailed, raising trembling hands, palms together. Straining their meager reserves of spiritual energy, they forced out two dim, fist-sized Reishi orbs.
"Go!"
They hurled the orbs in desperation.
This "Reishi Orb" was the most primitive kind of spirit attack—barely qualifying as magic, let alone anything approaching Kido.
Just compressed spirit energy thrown like a rock.
Thud! Thud!
Both orbs struck the Hollow's bone mask. It flinched, momentarily stunned by the impact.
The two onmyōji took that opportunity to stumble backward, panting, soaked in sweat.
Their energy was spent.
The goateed one tried to speak, but his voice shook:
"J-Just… a minor demon…"
"SKREEEE!!"
The Hollow's roar silenced him.
Rather than retreat, the pain only made it more furious.
With a snarl, it extended its clawed, mutated limbs—faster than a blink—and grabbed them both.
Its icy, corrupted spiritual pressure surged around them.
And now, for the first time, their bravado collapsed entirely.
"Help! Shinigami! HELP US!!"
They screamed, their voices cracking. Tears and mucus streamed down their faces. One of them lost bladder control—the stench was instant.
The Hollow didn't hesitate.
Its jaw unhinged, revealing rows of shark-like teeth.
CRUNCH!
Bone cracked.
CRACK!
The second one followed.
Blood and other fluids splattered the earth.
The Hollow held their twitching, headless corpses for a second, then discarded them like trash.
It licked its bloodied lips, savoring the taste.
Just as it moved to continue—
A single bolt of silver-white lightning ripped through the air with a shriek.
The Byakurai pierced its mask clean through—shattering its skull into fragments.
The blast continued, carving a black scorch along the ground.
The Hollow's decapitated body stood for a moment.
Then—whoosh—it dissolved into black Reishi dust.
Shiki stood nearby.
Lowering his hand, his fingertip still crackled faintly with residual charge.
He looked down at the two mangled corpses, then toward the dissipating remains of the Hollow.
He sighed.
"Too slow."
He turned.
At that moment, Shiba Kaien landed beside him.
The 3rd Seat of the 13th Division looked grim, his eyes scanning the bodies, the traces of Hollow Reiatsu, and the utterly calm Shiki standing in the midst of it all.
His brows drew together. The atmosphere here was… wrong.
Shiki met his gaze.
"3rd Seat Kaien," he greeted calmly.
...