CHAPTER 14

"Is that really just a Zanpakutō's Shikai?"

The leader of the black-robed assailants blinked rapidly as his vision cleared. His eyes reflected the radiant transformation above—Haoyue and Yemu, once bathed in silver moonlight, were now saturated in divine golden hues.

His heart sank.

He'd witnessed dozens—no, hundreds—of Zanpakutō releases across Seireitei and the Rukongai. From textbook Shikai releases to the overwhelming authority of Bankai.

But nothing—not a single release—had ever come close to this.

Even among the Gotei 13's elite, even among Captains and noble clans… no Shikai had exuded such sheer pressure, such divine radiance. It wasn't just power—it was judgment.

"Apologies," Akira said, his tone calm, almost detached. "It's my first time using Shikai. Still getting used to it."

He tilted his head slightly and added, "Thanks for waiting."

Then came the words that carried weight like mountains:

"As compensation, I'll let you experience the strongest Flash Zanpakutō—something even Byakuya Kuchiki has never seen."

Before the last syllable could finish echoing—

He vanished.

Not vanished in the conventional sense.

Akira's body disintegrated into luminous particles—photonized—his form converting entirely into light. Golden motes scattered, then coalesced midair, forming a divine stream of energy that tore through the atmosphere.

Faster than Senka. Faster than Hirenkyaku. Faster than any Hoho.

Boom!

The black-robed leader's instincts, sharpened through countless battles, activated instantly. His eyes strained, his Reiatsu spread out like a net—tracking movement, pressure, vibration.

None of it worked.

He didn't even register the attack—only that Akira's lips moved slightly, as if to say something—but no sound came.

Then everything was consumed in blinding gold.

He didn't feel pain.

Not at first.

He only heard something—a wet crack. Then came the crunch of shattered ribs. The black robe disintegrated from the impact. Air burst from his lungs as his feet left the ground. His entire body was launched like a cannonball, riding a pressure wave that shattered trees and pulverized boulders.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The terrain became a warzone. Centuries-old trees splintered in half, craters ripped open the earth, and the momentum only stopped after he'd smashed through several layers of rock and earth, skidding like a discarded doll across the blood-soaked soil.

Thud.

He lay still. Until the pain returned—an unforgiving tide surging up from his broken chest and flooding his limbs.

Pfft—

He vomited a spray of blood into the open air. The remains of his uniform were soaked crimson. Cold sweat mixed with the blood across his pale, stunned face.

"What… what the hell just hit me?"

His voice trembled. Disbelief painted across every fiber of his broken form.

He tried to move. Failed. Then tried again, pushing his chin upward just enough to look down at his torso.

His ribs were mangled. The center of his chest was sunken in, and—just barely—he saw the imprint of a single foot scorched into his skin.

A footprint of golden light.

A voice echoed lazily from a slope nearby:

"Speed is power. Have you ever been kicked at the speed of light?"

It was him. Akira.

The leader—no, now little more than a broken witness—froze.

The voice had come late.

He realized then why he'd seen Akira's lips move earlier but hadn't heard the words.

Because the light had reached him before the sound.

Akira's movements were so fast they'd transcended conventional combat logic. The attack hit, sent him flying, and only then did the voice arrive—delayed by mere fractions of a second, but enough to deliver despair.

Just as his mind pieced it together—

His vision dimmed again.

A shadow loomed. When he blinked, all he could see was the sole of a shoe, glowing faintly with golden energy, aimed directly at his face.

Akira stood above him, expression cold, foot raised.

"Now," he said, calm as the moon, "care to tell me your master's name?"

The leader coughed violently. Blood spilled from the corner of his lips.

His body was crushed. His spirit broken.

Still, he forced a sneer.

"Even if I told you… it would change nothing."

"He's a being who stands at the apex of the Soul Society. A shadow behind the Gotei 13. A rule-maker."

He coughed again, choking on blood.

"You… you can't stop what's coming. All you can do is wait… wait for despair to descend."

"Even if you wield the strongest Zanpakutō of the flash system, even if you split the sky—your power alone can't rewrite the fate that's been set."

His voice was faltering, but his eyes still burned with defiance.

"You'll die… knowing you were powerless…"

He never finished.

Boom.

A golden imprint, wreathed in photonized Reiatsu, landed square on his face.

With a single step, Akira's foot struck the ground like a divine hammer. The earth shuddered violently, splintering in all directions. Cracks shot outward like serpents uncoiling from the underworld, writhing across the terrain in jagged chaos.

Immediately afterward—

Brilliant golden Reiryoku surged through the fissures, like molten lava erupting from a volcanic rift. The cracks filled with radiant energy, erupting upward in a column of dust and luminous fury, piercing the sky like a golden geyser of divine wrath.

"Wrong answer."

Akira calmly retracted his foot.

He didn't glance again at the headless corpse still twitching beneath the crater his foot had formed.

Twitching—and then, lifeless.

A body with no soul. A warning carved into the battlefield.

His voice grew contemplative.

"Shiba. Shihōin. Kuchiki. And… Tsunayashiro."

He spoke each name like a curse, each syllable dripping with the weight of history.

Among the Four Great Noble Houses, only Tsunayashiro had consistently plotted in the shadows. In his inherited memory—gathered from Soul Fragments and whispered legends—they were the most ruthless.

They had once married a woman from the 78th District of North Rukongai, not for love, but because her body hosted a fragment of the Soul King. They needed her—for dissection and experimentation.

That was the Tsunayashiro way.

"Speaking of which… Aizen."

Akira's brow furrowed.

Sōsuke Aizen, now dubbed "King Bi" by the Rukongai underground, had not chosen the same low profile as Yuan Shikong. Since Akira was targeted, it stood to reason Aizen had been ambushed too.

With that thought, Akira crouched down and pressed one finger to the earth.

"Bakudō #58: Kakushitsuijaku."

Golden sigils flared at his fingertip. Normally used to locate individuals, Akira had modified the incantation—using it as a Reiryoku radar rather than a communicator. His spiritual perception expanded rapidly—tenfold, a hundredfold, far beyond what most Shinigami could achieve.

Then—

He found it.

A spike in Reiatsu. Familiar. Unmistakable.

Aizen's Reiatsu.

Flash.

Without a sound, Akira disappeared. His movement surpassed Shunpo, resembling something closer to photon travel. Only a fleeting golden afterimage danced beneath the moonlight.

In under ten seconds, he had already crossed more than fifty kilometers.

He stopped on a cliff above a narrow ravine.

Below him—

Steel clashed with steel. Reiryoku surged. Death hung heavy in the air.

Six black-robed figures surrounded Aizen, moving like predators circling prey. Four corpses already lay in bloody heaps nearby—evidence of Aizen's earlier resistance.

Clearly, he had been given the same 'treatment' as Akira: a death squad of ten.

Now only six remained.

Pfft!

In an instant, Aizen's blade cleaved through one of the attackers. Zanpakutō reversed grip, he sliced upward, disemboweling the enemy, then raised his left hand fluidly.

"Hadō #33: Sōkatsui."

A torrent of blue flame exploded outward, branching like lightning made of spiritual fire. Two attackers lunging from behind were forced back, their robes scorched by the blast.

Even without a fully awakened Shikai, Aizen demonstrated terrifying prowess.

Relying only on basic Kido—his first-day spellwork—and instinctive swordsmanship, he tore through enemies with brutal finesse.

Sword-to-body contact was futile.

Kido broke through even mid-level Bakudō.

Their defeat was inevitable—it was only a matter of time.

Akira yawned as he observed the fight from above.

If Aizen had already achieved the heights of Zanjutsu, Kido, and Reiatsu control—perhaps even begun to glimpse Kyōka Suigetsu's true name—then this would have been worth watching.

After all, forcing a King to act in desperation was a rare sight.

A battle of that level? Every frame a classic scene.

But the current Aizen?

He wasn't even flirting with his enemies.

He wasn't posturing, wasn't monologuing, wasn't being theatrical.

He wasn't even pretending to be cool.

Akira sighed.

Boring.

"Shake—"

Just as one of the black-robed attackers raised his Zanpakutō and spoke the first word of its release incantation, a beam of golden light pierced clean through his heart from behind.

Crack.

The laser exited cleanly through his chest, blood spraying outward in a thin arc. His mouth opened to scream—to call his Zanpakutō by name—but the sound never came.

He died standing.

The blade slipped from his fingers, clattered to the ground—

Boom!

The same laser that punctured him then detonated on impact, erupting into a blazing orb of golden fire, expanding rapidly, its shockwave infused with concentrated Reiatsu.

The explosion consumed the surrounding black-robed figures, sweeping them into its devastating radius.

"AAAAHHH—!"

Their screams barely escaped before they were silenced completely, swallowed by the roaring inferno.

The light faded.

Silence reigned.

What remained was only smoke, scorched earth, and the scattered remains of would-be assassins.

They had been erased—not just from the battlefield, but from the narrative.