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Blood dripped everywhere.
Through the hyper-realistic playback of the ranking video, it felt as if thick splashes of ink were being flung straight into the viewers' faces, vivid enough to make them feel personally involved.
It even carried the unmistakable stench of blood.
The sudden shock naturally triggered widespread disgust and retching.
"Ugh—!!"
"The blood of the Quincy King smells awful!"
"Filthy, evil blood. It's stained my Shihakushō!"
"That was terrifying. For a second, I really thought my own throat had been torn open!"
…
The Soul Reapers looked repulsed.
The Arrancar wore expressions of open disdain.
The pure-blood Quincies, meanwhile, were still shaken and pale.
After watching this segment of the battle, the three major factions had wildly different reactions.
"Honestly… Yhwach has it pretty rough, doesn't he?"
"At the end of the last ranking, his left arm and half his body were burned away. Now he gets his throat crushed right at the start. At this rate, he's going to be branded as 'disabled' for life."
Inside the Thirteenth Division.
Kyōraku Shunsui lounged back with his legs crossed, leisurely savoring the cup of tea set before him.
"Ahh—!"
He downed it in one go.
Mmm. Excellent tea.
Especially enjoyable when you're watching a good show. Maximum entertainment value.
"I have to admit," he said casually, "the Eyed Monk really lives up to his reputation as the oldest being in Soul Society. He knows exactly how to kill someone's spirit before killing their body."
"How so?" Kyōraku raised an eyebrow with interest.
"No matter who it is, you or me included, people always throw out threats and trash talk in battle. It's one of the most effective ways to suppress your opponent or boost your own morale," Ukitake Jūshirō explained calmly.
"But when you lose your throat at the very start, Yhwach can't even speak anymore. His presence and momentum take a huge hit."
In plain terms, from that point on, Yhwach would be reduced to a toy, completely at Ichibē Hyōsube's mercy.
"Yeah…" Kyōraku chuckled softly. "Compared to losing ground in a fight, not even being able to speak for yourself is way more frustrating."
He stretched lazily as he spoke, clearly enjoying himself.
What a shame, though.
If only there were a jug of fine sake and a few lovely courtesans around.
Then he could truly indulge in wine and pleasure while enjoying the sight of the Quincy King getting utterly demolished.
Unfortunately—
Kyōraku's smile didn't last long.
The moment the next twist unfolded, his expression froze.
"I grant myself… a voice!"
Despite his Adam's apple and vocal cords having been torn apart, Yhwach suddenly spoke.
Not only that, the wound in his throat healed instantly, as if nothing had ever happened.
The abrupt reversal caught all the powerhouses of the Soul Reaper world completely off guard.
Before they could even process what they were seeing, the fully restored Yhwach launched a fierce counterattack.
"Sacred Extinction Arrow. Grand Holy Bow!"
Vast, dazzling blue reishi surged forth, rapidly taking the shape of an enormous holy bow. From its taut string, arrows were violently released, streaking straight toward the Great Monk's heart.
The situation flipped in an instant.
The battle's intensity shot straight into overdrive.
"What the hell? That turnaround was way too fast!"
"Granting himself a voice? How does that even work? Is he rewriting reality just by speaking?"
"That kind of power goes way beyond normal ability systems. This is top-tier rule-based authority, isn't it?"
…
All the mockery and ridicule vanished in that moment.
On-screen, those massive reishi bows blazing with blue light shut every sneering mouth at once.
With a powerful counterattack, Yhwach proved one thing clearly.
This long-anticipated clash between leaders was not a one-sided beatdown. It was a genuine battle between gods.
And the real show had only just begun.
"To reclaim everything by sheer willpower alone? Your ability really is bizarre," Ichibē Hyōsube said, his ancient, towering figure facing away from the camera as a vast, oppressive killing intent radiated from him.
At the same time, he reached back and grasped the brush on his back once more.
Turning sharply, he swung the brush in a sweeping motion.
A sharp whistling sound cut through the air.
The flexible tip of the brush was stained with nothing more than black ink, yet the instant it touched the holy bow, it possessed the power to sever anything.
Black ink rippled from the tip, painting a drifting, slender black line across the sky above the avenue.
Anything that came into contact with it—
There was no explosion. No shattering sound.
Each holy bow, powerful enough to obliterate an entire district of Rukongai, silently and eerily fell apart, reverting straight back into reishi and vanishing.
This strange, unsettling sight once again sparked an uproar of shocked cries.
"What… what even is that?!"
In the Eleventh Division, Zaraki Kenpachi stood there slack-jawed, completely dumbfounded.
What the hell?!
You can fight like that?!
Are these two seriously not magicians? Are they sure this isn't some kind of stage trick?
For someone like Zaraki, who believed with absolute conviction that "swinging your blade is the ultimate truth," everything that had just happened was far too surreal.
So surreal that his already simple worldview and combat philosophy couldn't comprehend it, let alone accept it.
This was absurd beyond absurd.
Absurd to the extreme.
"Captain, are we the ones misunderstanding things?" Ikkaku Madarame asked blankly. "So fighting doesn't actually require brute force? Rule-based abilities are the real endgame?"
His Zanpakutō, Hōzukimaru, whether in Shikai or Bankai, was just like Zaraki's style: straightforward slashing. That had always been his unwavering path.
But now—
That once unshakable belief shattered completely.
Straight slashes?
Slash my ass.
Those two monsters on the screen, with their outrageous, logic-defying rule-based powers, were the truly invincible ones.
I'm done.
Both Ikkaku and Zaraki took a massive hit to their spirits, collapsing to the ground like deflated balloons.
In that instant, their worldview and their understanding of combat were utterly overturned.
And this wasn't limited to the Eleventh Division alone.
Wherever the translucent light screen existed, every spectator without exception suffered the same soul-shaking impact.
The entire tone of the Soul Reaper world subtly shifted.
Simple blade swings, raw slashes, and the clash of steel no longer seemed to be the main theme anymore.
"..."
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