The battle on the plains raged with unrelenting intensity.
Thick, almost suffocating spiritual pressure swirled in chaotic waves, covering the vast expanse of the plains and gradually creeping toward the town of Ryuhon Street. Because the Technology Development Bureau hadn't yet been established, the city's surveillance system remained incomplete.
Whenever incidents occurred in Ryuhon Street, the Fifth Division—responsible for rescue—was always tardy, often arriving only to clean up after the mess. At least, Kisaragi Akira didn't place his hopes on them.
Besides, the current swarm of Kirian posed no real threat to him. At most, they would take a bit of time to deal with.
And honestly? Enemies this durable were rare.
The Thunderfire Sword quivered in his grip. As its solidified light resonated with the surrounding spiritual particles, gusts of wind erupted and swept forward. Thanks to his increased spiritual pressure and mastery of kidō, its destructive power had far surpassed its initial form. In close combat, it now rivaled even a physically enhanced shikai blade—and that was just the melee application; its ranged potential remained deadly.
As the Kirian swarmed him, one low-level giant bared its massive jaws, red spiritual energy coalescing between its teeth into a searing crimson orb. The sphere detonated, slicing through the air in a devastating beam.
Dodge? Too late.
Instincts screamed. Without hesitation, Kisaragi Akira flung the Thunderfire Sword like a spear, smashing directly into the incoming beam. When the two forces collided, the resulting shockwaves radiated outward, rippling across the plains like a lake's disturbed surface. Dust churned endlessly, filling the air as if there were no ceiling.
The Kirian roared on, undeterred. Kisaragi Akira curled his lips in disdain. With the dual-wielding phase over, it was time for a change of tactics. Sheathing his blades, he tied his haori at his waist to avoid impeding his movements.
When the violet flames surged, his already imposing presence intensified further, provoking even more terrifying roars from the Kirian. The scorching aura warped the air, making ordinary Shinigami choke. Electric arcs hissed and twisted like dragons among the flames. His spiritual pressure surged, radiating a heat that forced the Kirian to recoil slightly, their crimson eyes fixed on what they perceived as a mere insignificant insect.
"Transformation complete!" Kisaragi Akira declared, his arms expanding behind him, muscles bulging with concentrated power.
"Take this—Meteoric Rampage!"
His body shot forward like a shooting star, breaking through the charged air. The fist that followed shattered the skull of the Kirian directly in front of him. And it was only the beginning. Another punch crushed a nearby clawed limb.
Blood mixed with spiritual energy rose into the air, a spectacle of violence. He seized the nearest Kirian by its long black hair, bones grinding audibly under the strain of his muscles, and swung it down like a massive hammer.
BOOM!
The ground trembled as if shaken by an earthquake. Dust and debris flew as he dashed through the clouded battlefield, fists striking relentlessly.
Clear impressions of his blows appeared on the massive Kirian bodies, which crumbled like porcelain dolls. Cracks spread like spiderwebs, and the red of blood seeped from the fractures. A burst of crimson erupted into the sky, fragments instantly transformed into spiritual particles, scattering across the plains.
Abandoning his dual-wielding style seemed to unlock something within Kisaragi Akira. His ferocity left even the observer beneath the binding kidō barrier momentarily stunned.
The youth charging into the Kirian horde with unrestrained violence left the hidden figure in shock. He had expected Kisaragi Akira to temper his reckless style after joining Genryū—but it had only intensified. With or without a sword, he was unrecognizable in combat. Even the notion of facing another powerful enemy didn't seem to faze him.
The Kirian fell in waves, leaving Kisaragi Akira standing, breathing heavily, reveling in the thrill. The fights with Yamamoto were one-sided—painful and unsatisfying. Here, each punch counted, and each strike left a visible impact.
He wiped sweat from his brow, glancing toward the edge of the plains. Where were the backup Fifth Division members? They should have arrived by now.
Then the abyssal darkness hovering overhead began to expand once more. Tooth-like cracks spread endlessly, spiritual pressure radiating outward like ripples, chilling everything in their path.
Kisaragi Akira inhaled sharply.
"Small fry first… now the big one shows up?"
The oppressive aura of the high-level Wastode filled the plains, thickening the air into a suffocating, ocean-like density. This was even worse than the earlier encounter with the Yakkukas. His expression turned serious. Reckless? Yes. But not stupid—he knew when to strategize. Escape was already too late. The moment this spiritual pressure manifested, the situation had reached its peak. The only option: hold them off and wait for reinforcements.
Cracking his knuckles, Kisaragi Akira let a series of red sparks explode from his fingertips, weaving them into the abyssal darkness. "Since you came, here's a little welcome gift."
From the shadows, Saru Apollo froze mid-step, his elegant composure shattered. Ahead of him, an unexpected burst of crimson emerged.
"What… is this?"
Before he could process, sparks danced wildly within the red, shrieking like birds. When the crimson flames ignited alongside azure flames, a deafening explosion erupted.
The black corridor shuddered. Dust and debris swirled violently, shockwaves tearing through the air with ear-splitting roars. Crimson lightning and azure fire: next came "Praise the Sun!" The blinding light flooded the dark corridor, raising the temperature to unbearable levels.
Mixed with the sound of the explosions were faint, almost imperceptible cries and curses. When the chaos subsided, Saru Apollo's elegance had vanished, replaced by charred ruin. Golden strands of hair were scorched, his superior high-level spiritual form now looking battered.
Even as one of the top-tier Upper Hollows of Hueco Mundo, Wastode, he had never experienced a Shinigami delivering such an unrelenting, high-level kidō strike without warning. Where in Soul Society had they even found someone of this caliber?
Kisaragi Akira squinted at the emerging figure from the crater, recognizing immediately—this was a Wastode.
Lower-level Kirian were striking and obvious even from hundreds of meters away. At the intermediate stage, they became distorted, animal-like. But as an Upper Hollow Wastode? They resembled humans and Shinigami almost entirely.
"Excellent… a big catch," he muttered. The initial Yakkukas invasion had been outrageous, and now a top-level expert had appeared, just as the Fifth Division was still en route.
Saru Apollo dusted himself off, spiritually mending his burnt flesh at an astonishing rate. Kisaragi Akira's envy flared—if even half that power was his, he could challenge Yamamoto head-on.
"I am Saru Apollo Glanz," he announced, restoring his poise, though the forced smile radiated cold, instinctive disdain. "Your earlier display was impressive. To show my gratitude, I will return you to Hueco Mundo and place you in a specially prepared vessel."
"Almost forgot—your name?" he asked.
Kisaragi Akira's chest swelled. "No need to change, no need to bow. I am Aizen Souzuke!"
The hidden observer beneath the kidō barrier inhaled sharply, struggling to control the sudden spike in blood pressure. Saru Apollo paused, then smiled, amused.
"A fine name. I shall inscribe it upon your container…"
Before he could finish, Kisaragi Akira's Thunderfire Sword ignited with flame and lightning, launching at him. The resulting spiritual explosion shook the plains.
He had been charging for this all along. Though he knew he couldn't win, he understood one truth: if he didn't strike first, he would end up as nothing more than a specimen.
"How despicable!" Saru Apollo bellowed, startled by the Shinigami's merciless initiative. This youth, compared to the legendary Kyuuchiyashiki Kenpachi a century ago, lacked all moral restraint.
Saru Apollo's spiritual pressure surged, forming radiant spheres of energy from his fingertips. Kisaragi Akira's eyes widened at the loss of his Thunderfire Sword strike. Before he could even react, a catastrophic energy wave slammed into him, hurling him across the plains.
A meteor traced a perfect arc across the sky, slamming into the ground with a massive crater. Though only two levels separated them, the Wastode and Kirian were on completely different planes. This single strike could have obliterated dozens, if not hundreds, of Kirian.
Dust rose from the crater, and just as Saru Apollo feared he had accidentally killed his target, brilliant lights shimmered through the haze. Kisaragi Akira stood, even more determined than before.
Noticing the kidō-formed Thunderfire Swords appearing behind him, Saru Apollo's frown deepened in confusion.
Kisaragi Akira concentrated his spiritual pressure, conjuring sword after sword. Once he reached his limit, he gestured like a general commanding legions.
"Vermin who covet the King's treasures… perish!"
The Thunderfire Swords struck in unison, illuminating the sky, massive pillars of light tearing at the boundary between heaven and earth. Yet, despite the spectacle, Saru Apollo, fully prepared, remained largely unscathed, his spiritual barrier absorbing the impact.
Kisaragi Akira's heart sank. If the Fifth Division didn't arrive soon, even Yamamoto might be powerless to save him.
Just as he readied himself for what seemed certain death, a figure shrouded in dense kidō light appeared, radiating overwhelming spiritual pressure. Kisaragi Akira's eyes lit up.
"Souzuke!"
Aizen: "?"
Despite all his disguises—height, form, even spiritual signature—this one had recognized him. How?