Wrapped in suffocatingly dense Reiatsu, Araki Shūto launched forward in a classic swordsman stance.
Ketsureigan swept horizontally. As Araki twisted his body, the vicious blade light cut toward the boy's lower body.
The rage-filled strike was blocked by the long blade in Naraku's hands, sparks flying as steel clashed.
His Zanpakutō shuddered violently. The sheer force transmitted along the blade made Araki's forearms throb and go numb.
In that moment, he finally understood what his subordinates had gone through.
Setting aside that freakishly abnormal Reiatsu that didn't feel like Level 10 at all, this kid's raw physical strength was terrifying—completely beyond what a Shinigami should reasonably possess.
Unstoppable.
His brutal slashes didn't bother with logic or finesse. Araki's stance broke in an instant, his body nearly pitching sideways.
Then, the air around them thickened with an overpowering stench of blood.
The liquid in the blood pool was rising.
Naraku instinctively held his breath, eyes widening.
Ketsureigan can do that too?
Bloodshot eyes fixed on Naraku, Araki Shūto ground his teeth and spat:
"Blood Tide."
The instant the words fell, the entire underground chamber turned blood-red. The space itself became viscous.
The air seemed to transform into slick, flowing blood—shifting according to Araki's will.
Hidden currents surged.
Invisible impacts hammered into Naraku's body over and over again, giving him no way to fully guard, only dodge as much as possible and protect his vitals.
Araki watched it all with icy eyes, calmly waiting for this disrespectful dog's death.
"Just slowly accept the end that's coming to you."
The storm of unseen blows rained down on Naraku from angles he couldn't fully defend against, each impact thudding dully against him.
The sheer force kept his stance from fully stabilizing.
Victory felt so close that Araki could already picture the brat's corpse.
But as time went on, the Blood Tide didn't stop—and Naraku still didn't fall.
On the contrary.
He was gradually adapting to the rhythm of the blows. If his brain couldn't memorize the timing, then his body would.
Pain was the best teacher.
As his guard grew more practiced, more and more impacts were blocked or deflected. That was when Araki started to panic.
He finally realized things were sliding out of his control.
"Would it kill you to just die obediently?"
"I'll have the Central 46 bestow a heroic title on you. Your name will be praised by thousands, recorded forever in Soul Society's history."
"That's an honor most Shinigami will never touch in their lifetime. Isn't that why you joined the Gotei 13 in the first place?"
Through the crimson mist, Naraku lifted his head. His bright eyes locked onto Araki's twisted face, and he bared his teeth—white and sharp in the red haze.
"When did I ever say I was in the Gotei 13?"
Araki stared at the almost unscathed figure not far away, and a chill surged from his tailbone straight up his spine.
Every hidden current had been blocked.
The Blood Tide could no longer lay a finger on him.
Araki glared at the figure in black walking steadily toward him, a rising wave of absurdity and terror crashing through his chest.
Is this really a Shinigami?
In the next instant, the unseen currents shattered. A cold flash of steel tore through the mist, punching out from the other side.
Blood flowed along the blade's edge.
An instant later, the crimson fog exploded outward. Araki Shūto dropped to his knees, stiff as a puppet, a massive gash running from his left shoulder all the way down to his right hip.
He was one diagonal cut away from being cleaved in two.
As the shriek of clashing steel faded, Naraku, expressionless, lifted his leg and drove a brutal kick straight into Araki's body, sending the struggling man flying.
Boom.
The heavy crash was accompanied by the unmistakable crack of breaking bones.
Araki Shūto collapsed on the ground, limbs twisted, unable to even twitch.
"Y-you killed a noble without authorization. The Central 46 will have you executed."
The researchers huddled together, trembling as the blood-soaked figure suddenly appeared before them. They clung to each other, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests.
"Who said he's dead?" Naraku curled his lip in disdain. "Letting him just die like this would be way too cheap."
"Now then, everyone."
"The time has come to choose."
"Surrender, or—"
Before he could finish, someone cut him off, blurting out in sudden hope, "You'll… spare us?"
"It was all Araki Shūto forcing us. I—I can give you proof of his crimes."
"After I break all five of your limbs, then you can surrender."
Naraku's Zanpakutō hung loosely in his hand, its tip resting against the ground. A single bead of blood rolled down the gleaming blade and fell into the sticky pool beneath his feet.
The killing intent in the room was suffocating.
He had no intention of feeling the slightest pity toward a bunch of willing accomplices.
If Araki Shūto's sin value was 1000, then this group of "researchers" was at least in the 900s.
Even if they weren't worth much to siphon power from, they absolutely couldn't be let off lightly.
"We surrender!"
They weren't idiots. A Shinigami who could beat Araki Shūto into the ground was not someone a bunch of desk-bound researchers could possibly bluff or challenge.
Forget crossing blades—just making eye contact with him made their scalps tingle and their knees go weak.
"Then start talking, in detail," Naraku said. "Araki's ambitions, his plan, how far along things are."
"Make it good. Maybe you'll get a lighter sentence."
Before he could even start listing the Central Prison's more creative punishments, they were already spilling everything they knew like beans from a bamboo tube.
In short: the Araki family wasn't satisfied with its current standing and wanted greater power. At the same time, their family produced Araki Shūto, who happened to wield a Zanpakutō that controlled blood.
Driven by ambition, they turned their hands toward Rukongai.
They cultivated rebels, used the name of "rebellion" to rampage through the districts, and harvested residents from all over.
They used the blood and souls of commoners to forge an unstoppable monster.
At that point, Aizen appeared quietly at Naraku's side and picked up the thread in a calm voice:
"The direction of their research is wrong."
"Whether Hollow or Shinigami, both are made of reishi. The difference lies in the soul. But in all of Soul Society, there are almost no researchers who touch that field."
Naraku let out a soft sigh, a flicker of tiredness passing through his eyes.
He liked to think his moral baseline was pretty flexible. He could ignore the deaths of strangers if he had to. But to do this for the sake of status and power…
That was still a bit too much for him.
The Araki family, however, had easily smothered their own consciences and treated all this as routine work.
From there, they followed procedure. With Aizen's help, Naraku bound everyone with Bakudō and hauled the whole lot back to Seireitei.
After delivering the criminals to the Intake Room, Naraku returned alone to his quarters.
But when he slid open the door to the living room, he saw Shutara Senjumaru already waiting for him inside.
"First mission outside the prison, and you already look exhausted."
The "bad woman" lifted a smooth, pale finger, picked up a glass of wine, and smiled.
"Want a drink?"