The trajectory of the blade—untraceable.
Without even releasing her Shikai, the sheer spiritual pressure emanating from her was enough to overwhelmingly crush the Hollowfied Love Aikawa, whose spiritual energy far surpassed that of an ordinary captain.
What kind of terror was this?
With a single casual swing of her blade, the current Captain of the Seventh Division, Love Aikawa, was... dead?
Even though Shunsui Kyōraku had mentally prepared himself for such a possibility, witnessing the overwhelming devastation up close sent a chill down his spine.
This reaction wasn't an exaggeration; it was instinct—a primal fear of an entity capable of killing him effortlessly.
Sensing the deadly threat emanating from Unohana, the Hollowfied Yoruichi Shihōin, Shinji Hirako, and Kensei Muguruma abandoned their original opponents and moved as one to attack her.
Yet, facing these captains, whose spiritual power and physical strength had surged to terrifying levels in their Hollowfied states, Unohana's face split into a satisfied, almost maniacal grin.
"Yes… keep entertaining me~"
The next moment, she clashed with the four captains, their collision sending waves of devastating spiritual pressure rippling through the battlefield.
Watching this scene, Kyōraku, unsure of how much rationality remained in Unohana in her current state, made a swift decision. He turned and shouted to the remaining Shinigamis in the courtyard:
"Take the injured and retreat with me and Captain Kuchiki immediately!"
Without hesitation, Kyōraku and Ginrei Kuchiki unleashed their full power, forcing back the other Hollowfied vice-captains and officers. Together, they led the surviving Shinigamis towards the Kido Corps stationed beyond the barrier.
In mere moments, just as Kyōraku reached the edge of the courtyard with the survivors, he sensed one of the four captains' spiritual pressures plummet rapidly.
She was strong—far beyond comprehension.
There was no need to worry whether Unohana could win; the concern was how long the four captains could endure against her blade.
Or worse—whether Yoruichi might manage to wound her.
If Unohana were to enter that bizarre Hollow state as well, even Yamamoto Genryūsai's Bankai might not be able to suppress her.
Despite his trust in Unohana's immense power, the mere possibility that Yoruichi's instincts could wound her sparked a sliver of fear in Kyōraku's heart.
But at the time, the situation had been too dire for hesitation.
---
At the edge of the battlefield, Makoto arrived just in time to witness a horrifying sight. Muguruma, nearly bisected at the waist, lay broken at Unohana's feet.
Despite being surrounded by Hollowfied captains, Unohana seemed exhilarated, her Zanpakutō swinging relentlessly. Her lips moved as if she were muttering to herself.
"Yes, that's it…"
"Give me more carnage and delight!"
"This long-lost feeling… it's exquisite. Hollowfication—this can't be all there is. Transform completely for me!"
As her attacks shifted, she began avoiding vital areas, instead inflicting calculated, agonizing wounds as if to provoke the captains into deeper Hollowfication.
When some injuries became too severe for even their accelerated regeneration to heal, Unohana audaciously used healing techniques to prolong the fight.
She was… utterly insane.
Makoto froze, staring at this unfamiliar version of Unohana.
He had long known of her past as the first Kenpachi, but the stark contrast between the gentle healer and the blood-soaked warrior left him momentarily unable to process the sight before him.
From the perspective of spiritual particles, the Unohana of the past resembled a budding white camellia—delicate, restrained.
But now, her spiritual body was bathed entirely in crimson energy, like a fully bloomed red camellia exuding an intoxicating, deadly beauty.
Simultaneously terrifying and breathtaking.
In the next instant, Makoto's pupils constricted as Unohana, having dispatched the captains' limbs and left them regenerating on the ground, suddenly appeared before him.
Her Zanpakutō hovered less than an inch from his throat.
"Oh? It's you, Makoto?"
Gone was the warmth and grace in her gaze. What remained was icy indifference and killing intent, even as she addressed him.
Makoto's heart leapt at the faint recognition in her voice, but her next words send a chill dow his spine.
"Since you've finished with Soi Fon, it's your turn to fight me. Satisfy me properly this time."
Her eyes dropped to his empty waist. "Where's your blade, Makoto?"
Makoto swallowed hard, a sense of foreboding washing over him. Approaching her now had clearly been a mistake.
"Sensei… this state of yours…"
"My state?"
Unohana stepped closer, pressing against him fully. Her Zanpakutō grazed his neck, cold as ice.
In that instant, her blade's chill, the heat of her body, the oppressive killing intent, and the stench of blood coiled around his senses.
Death, life, carnage, passion—all merged into one overwhelming sensation.
"Makoto~"
Unohana's icy voice whispered into his ear.
"This is my true self. The Unohana you admired, revered, and idolized never existed. What a pity—I seem to have given you the wrong impression..."
"But no matter," she continued, her voice dipping lower, her eyes locking onto his with unmasked bloodlust.
"I'll correct that misconception now. With my own hands…"
Her tone turned deathly cold.
"I'll carve you apart piece by piece, so you can fully experience the love your teacher feels for you. How about it?"
Makoto barely had time to react when Unohana suddenly froze. Her body stiffened as something encircled her from behind—a pair of arms. Makoto had closed the gap entirely, pulling her into an embrace.
!?
Unohana's eyes widened.
=====================
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