[22] Gillian (Bonus Chapter)
Whoosh!
Makoto's form flickered in and out of existence with each Shunpo.
Trailing behind him were over a dozen shinigami clad in jet-black Shihakushō, their sturdy frames exuding grit. Yet most kept their heads bowed, studiously avoiding his direction, straining to stifle their laughter.
Only the lithe figure at the head of the procession, draped in a pure white haori, occasionally glanced back with keen interest, her eyes fixed chiefly on Makoto's swollen face.
"Makoto."
"You sure you don't need to head back and recover?"
Unohana's gentle gaze met his, her tone so placid it carried no hint of mockery.
"No need!"
Makoto pursed his lips, turning aside with a sulky grimace.
He wanted to go back.
If only Saitō weren't chasing him across the Genji School like a vengeful wraith.
Still, it was bizarre.
Those words came from his blade, why was Saitō fixated on pummeling him alone?!
Where's the proof it was his thoughts?
Huh?
Makoto felt thoroughly wronged.
Left with no choice, he'd tagged along with Unohana to escape the heat.
"By the way, sensei."
"What are we heading out to do?"
Snapping to the task at hand, Makoto lowered his voice, addressing the woman he'd privately dubbed Unohana-mama.
Unohana cast him a faintly amused glance. But for those she deemed worthy of her blade, her patience was vast, and she answered in a soft, measured tone, "Word came from Senjumaru, spatial fluctuations from Hueco Mundo have been detected near District 35. It's a significant disturbance, likely a Menos Grande."
"A Menos Grande, huh…"
Makoto eyed the dozen-odd squad members behind him, understanding why they'd deployed Unohana.
Menos Grande, entities born from hundreds or thousands of Hollows devouring one another, came in three tiers, Gillian, Adjuchas, and Vasto Lorde.
Even the weakest, a Gillian, outmatched typical grunts. It demanded at least an 'instructor', the future equivalent of a lieutenant, as the main force.
A weaker lieutenant might not even cut it.
Since arriving in Soul Society, Makoto had yet to encounter a Hollow, and a flicker of eager anticipation stirred within him.
But when their group reached the site flagged by Senjumaru's alert, they found a quaint riverside village. Scattered fruit trees dotted the outskirts, and most homes were thatched huts. A few had fenced yards, with neat vegetable patches sprouting green shoots. In the distance, figures toiled in modest fields, while a tiny child struggled to cast a net by the water's edge.
A simple, pastoral idyll.
Yet, as the villagers caught sight of them, they froze.
Moments later, those working outside dropped their tools and bolted toward the village, fleeing as if from a predator.
Unohana and her squad, however, seemed unfazed, scanning the area briefly before striding toward the settlement.
Makoto, still in the dark, followed close on her heels.
By the time they entered, the once-bustling village lay eerily empty.
Only a handful of old men stood in the road's center, trembling as they awaited their approach.
At the sight of them, the old souls dropped to their knees in unison, heads bowed low.
Makoto peered into the shadowed homes lining the path, catching glints of fearful eyes peering back.
Oh...
They'd mistaken them for nobles.
It was an odd sensation, like stepping into a feudal era as some lofty official, a feeling that sat uneasily with him.
No, wait.
Makoto rapped his knuckles against his head, correcting the jumbled sense of time warped by Zaraki's endless carnage. A thousand years ago, the living world was feudal, right?
He'd need to adapt to the age.
Unohana and her crew were long accustomed to this, or perhaps, much like her approach to killing, they simply didn't care.
"Any signs of Hollow activity nearby?" Her voice turned frigid, stripped of the warmth she'd shown Makoto.
"No! It's been nearly a decade since the last one!"
"It's all thanks to the noble lords' efforts, we humble folk are eternally grateful, moved to tears…"
The lead old man wasn't just speaking for show. His forehead kissed the dirt as he wailed aloud, his deference so abject it bordered on groveling.
"A mistake?"
Unohana paid the old man's display no mind. Frowning, she drew a mirror, or perhaps a compass-like device, from her waist.
The Shutara Alert Device on its surface blinked red, pinpointing this very spot, mere steps away.
Yet the Pluses here were alive and well.
Makoto, recalling the source material, murmured, "If it were a Vasto Lorde, it could hide among the villagers, right?"
Unohana's gaze sharpened.
Vasto Lorde, the pinnacle of Menos Grande.
At that level, their forms shrank to near-human size, their power rivaling the future captain of the Gotei 13.
"No need."
She shook her head after a moment's thought. "A Hollow of that caliber would crush these Pluses' bodies with its mere presence alone. Unless…"
Her eyes swept the frail souls huddled in the huts, then she unleashed a pulse of reiatsu toward a specific point.
A fierce gust erupted from her, whipping dust into a roaring wave. The kneeling old men flattened themselves to the ground, drenched in cold sweat.
Makoto sensed it too, his perception unfurling. Amid the cluster of feeble reiatsu signatures, one swelled abruptly, several times over.
Wary tension coiled within him.
Before he could fully brace himself, a small figure burst from a hut, her unstable reiatsu flaring wildly. She hurled a clay pot with all her might.
"Die! Noble scum!"
Makoto's grip on his sword hilt eased.
Clang!
With a flick of his sheathed blade, he shattered the pot midair, spilling its briny pickled roots.
The shinigami around him tensed, eyeing the half-grown girl who'd charged out. Two raised their Zanpakuto, poised to strike.
"Stand down."
Makoto's curt command rang out, displeasure sharp in his tone.
These guys'll cut anything, won't they?
The blades halted mid-motion.
The pink-haired girl darted forward, collapsing beside an old man on the ground and clutching him tight. Tears streamed down her face, her voice quaking with sobs, "You noble monster! You came this morning, and now you're back this afternoon again! Are you not satisfied with that rice, Tawara-jichan worked so hard for it, it's all gone now! He needs to eat!"
Makoto froze, struck by her words.
In that moment, he glimpsed what Yamamoto meant by 'not seeing people as people.'
Unohana, unperturbed by the outburst, narrowed her eyes.
Not a Menos Grande disguised as a Pluses, then?
And… the Seireitei had just been here?
The whiff of conspiracy was too thick to ignore.
But before she could ponder further,
As they'd barely stepped into the village, a collective jolt ran through the group. Heads snapped westward, eyes fixed on the sky.
Violent reiatsu tremors pulsed outward. Even the Pluses, devoid of spiritual talent, shuddered as if thrust into a warped gravity field, collapsing in trembling heaps.
Breathing grew labored, muscles twitching painfully.
The girl, still weeping moments ago, felt it sharper than most, like a hand choking her throat, silencing her cries.
Bzzzz!
The air thrummed, vision wavering.
The dozen shinigami braced themselves, faces grim with foreboding.
Makoto tilted his head skyward, witnessing it for the first time.
Hundreds of meters above, a massive bone-white hand peeled back the 'curtain' of the sky. A corner tore open under its grasp, revealing a pitch-black void beyond.
A colossal, spiked bone mask emerged, its clownish markings glaring down from the heavens.
Slowly, the rift widened, unveiling the towering figure behind it.
A white, pointed high-heeled shoe stepped forth.
The earth quaked.
ROOOAR!
A subsonic bellow, silent yet deafening, threatened to rupture mortal eardrums, proclaiming their presence.
One, two, three…
As their numbers grew, the faces of those present shifted.
Menos Grande, Gillian.
A swarm of fucking Gillian!
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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