The ground was charred, veined with hellish red. From the scorched earth, skeletons baked crimson-black clawed their way up, swaying toward the shinigami in an endless tide—death's legion marching out of a furnace.
Their target wasn't only Senjumaru; the wave widened until it swallowed everyone on the field.
"What good are these little bone grunts, huh!?" Ikkaku had rejoined the fight, spear-form Hōzukimaru flashing as he hacked down.
Clang.
Sparks skittered. Ikkaku's eyes flew wide—his full-force slash hadn't even severed a skeleton's forearm.
Unohana drew her zanpakuto and casually felled a few. "Third Seat Ikkaku, don't underestimate them. These are foes the Head-Captain cut down himself. Ryūjin Jakka's heat calls them back. They wear a portion of the strength they had in life."
Ikkaku froze, then stared at the mountains of burning bones. "These… all of them… were the Head-Captain's enemies!?"
A collective hiss passed through the shinigami. The skulls didn't number thousands—they rolled toward the millions, a hell-army without end.
Soi fong went still. "In all these years… how many has the Head-Captain slain?"
Shunsui's scalp prickled. "Why do you think they call him the strongest of the millennium?"
Cole snorted. "Just look at Ryūjin Jakka's personality—you can tell how wild the old man used to be."
A zanpakuto echoed its master. Judging by this blade's mania, Genryusai had once been pure battle-madness.
"Cole, there are too many—!" Sode no Shirayuki cried. The bone tide closed around her; with her body damaged and the air leeched of water, she and Rukia had almost no means to answer. In this state, she could barely match an average shinigami.
"So annoying…" Cole frowned. His golden staff blurred into light—one sweep shattered the ring of burning skeletons hemming Sode no Shirayuki in. But the tide didn't ebb. Wherever he looked, more bone-soldiers climbed free. When he glanced at Senjumaru—she was being hounded. No matter how strange her weaves were, Ryūjin Jakka's reply was always the same: one cut that drove her skittering.
Cole cupped his hands and yelled, "Hey, Loom Queen! Weren't you bragging? Royal covert ops and all that—so why is the old man chasing you around!?"
Senjumaru's teeth clicked. A millennium without crossing blades—she hadn't expected Genryusai to be this strong.
The golden loom bucked and sang. Bolts of cloth—each a different hue, each a different law—fell and struck. They slowed Ryūjin Jakka, but only barely.
Cole shook his head and went back to work, the staff crackling as it pulped skull after skull. Captains joined in—but the bones were endless, and on this scorched-red soil, every skeleton slain reknit itself.
"Careful," Unohana warned. "They're awoken ash. They do not die again."
"Just ash?" Cole crushed another skull, then blinked. "Weird. I can hear them—screaming. It's like their souls are still shackled inside." Each time his gaze snagged on a skeleton, flashes of their final moments flickered—Quincy, one after another.
Good thing Uryu wasn't here to see it.
Unohana could only shake her head. She'd never faced this technique in her own duel with Genryusai.
A voice rolled across the field, deep and implacable. "Those cut down by me do not fade, nor fall. They remain within Ryūjin Jakka and burn—eternally."
"Head-Captain!" Relief rippled through the ranks. Genryusai strode in, robes scorched away to corded muscle.
Ukitake bowed slightly. "Sensei, where did you go? We couldn't find you."
Shunsui sighed. "Old man, please rein your blade in. It nearly split us in half a minute ago."
Genryusai's eyes swept the carnage. "I pursued that demon blade—but it fled to the World of the Living."
"Kyoka Suigetsu?" Cole arched a brow. Only one thing could make the old man whiff a chase: domination of the five senses.
Genryusai gave the smallest nod and looked to the duel with Senjumaru. "Senjumaru. Restrain Ryūjin Jakka. I will deal with it."
Senjumaru's mouth twitched. Even with bankai, she was being driven. Restrain it? Right.
"Not that—this!" Cole jabbed his staff at the bone sea. "Handle the army first. The squad's getting cooked."
Then he couldn't help himself. "And keeping every enemy's soul in your blade? Old man, that's a little extreme."
Man dies, debts die—so people said. But the old man had consigned their remnants to unending flame, then summoned ash and soul together to fight again. Value squeezed to the last ember.
"That is the power of my zanpakuto," Genryusai said. "Not my wish. I cannot change it."
"Figures." Cole clicked his tongue. "Explains why Ryūjin Jakka's so nasty—your younger self was worse."
Genryusai's face darkened; he launched for the center, joining Senjumaru.
Even together, they were pressed. A flare licked Genryusai's beard—singed.
Cole sighed. No point waiting. He looked past them—past all the shinigami locked in life-and-death—to the black tide that wouldn't stop.
"You lot—move. If you get flattened, not my fault."
He set the golden Ruyi Jingu Bang sideways on the ground. "Grow. Grow. Grow. Grow."
Before a hundred eyes, the staff ballooned—ten times, a thousand, ten thousand—until a golden mountain range ringed the field. Cole flicked a finger. The circle rolled forward like a titanic millstone, thunder shaking the bones of the earth. Everything before it—every obstacle—was crushed flat.
Tens of thousands of skeletons went down in sheets. Hands, femurs, skulls tumbled and skittered, the world a grinder's pit.
Shinigami flinched. If they'd still been in front…
"Cole," Shunsui called over the rumble, "these bodies are ash animated. Crush them and they'll reform."
"Relax. Not this time." The staff wasn't just heavy—it pinned the world. With the Sea-Setting Needle's suppression woven through, reformation crawled a thousandfold slower—long enough to matter.
They watched the pulverized bones fail to gather. The millstone rolled on, circling and circling, turning the legions to powder. Only a few skeletons still stood—harder than iron.
"Now those," Cole pointed, "are something." For an instant he saw their living faces—Quincy of terrifying caliber. No wonder they'd stood out even from the dead.
Unohana smiled. "In their day, they troubled the Head-Captain badly. In strength, not much worse than today's captains."
Cole nodded. The rest had crushed like chalk; these felt like forged steel.
He shattered the last of them, then lifted his gaze to the battle's heart—a sunburst world where heat hammered like tides. Soi fong slipped to his side and pressed a flask into his hand, cheeks pink. "Here."
He drank—and blinked at the lip print. "You sipped it?"
"How did you—?" She'd grabbed it from Second Division and, half running back, stolen a few nervous swallows.
"Honey," Cole said, grin tugging. "Didn't think our Commander liked it that sweet."
Soi fong went scarlet. "So what! Is that not allowed!?"
Assassins weren't supposed to be cute. Too bad.
Cole ruffled her hair. "It's good. I'll get you wild honey from the Living World—sweeter than this."
She shoved him away, burning. "Don't whisper in my ear—it tickles."
He laughed, took another pull, passed the flask back, and hefted the staff. "I'm going to smack that flaming sword. Don't see any backup coming."
Heat kept climbing. Seireitei had become an oven; shinigami were collapsing from dehydration—Ayasegawa among them. If this kept on, never mind the Royal Guard or noble houses—his friends would die.
"High and mighty, the lot of you," Cole muttered, shouldering forward. "World's burning and you still won't show. Not worried the fire will reach your thrones?"
He walked into the heart of the blaze. The temperature slammed him like a tidal wall. It felt like dropping into a star's core—because in truth, it wasn't far off. Ryūjin Jakka's peak sat at fifteen million degrees—hotter, perhaps, than a sun's heart.
Ahead, Ryūjin Jakka, laughing like a god of fire, hacked down another cascade of cloth and even knocked Genryusai back. Cole inhaled, set his feet, and raised the staff.
"Big guy—let me cool you down."
Ryūjin Jakka's eyes went white-hot with shock. "Human brat—you dare approach me?"
Wrapped in Zanka no Tachi, Nishi (West—Remnant Sun Prison Garb), its body radiated fifteen million degrees—enough to reduce a captain to ash. Yet this human stepped this close.
It moved to meet him—but Senjumaru didn't waste the opening. A thousand blue bolts fell; the cold in that weave was deeper than any ice peak Hyōrinmaru had ever birthed. Movement faltered.
The golden staff fell.
A thundercrack split the world. The fire-god slammed into the earth, hammered down by one brutal blow.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!] [[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]