Blood.
Blood was everywhere—permeating, surging, awakening something primal buried deep within every living being. A thing called— slaughter!
Makoto's breathing quickened almost instinctively. It wasn't just Unohana's seemingly cruel and decisive words that spurred him; it was the oppressive presence of the Minazuki domain. His instincts were screaming, impossible to suppress.
The next instant, before he could react, Unohana's figure flickered, and his throat was pierced clean through by her zanpakutō, Minazuki.
"Cough… splat…"
Blood splattered.
Gripping her blade with one hand, Unohana's gaze remained calm. The elegant lines of her chin, now exposed with her braid undone, were framed by an air of cold indifference.
But what stood out even more was the ghastly scar just beneath her collarbone—a glaring reminder of her dark past.
"Makoto, your silver tongue holds no meaning in the heat of battle. Focus your attention through your eyes. And… draw your zanpakutō to heal yourself," she instructed, her voice cold as ice.
As her words hung in the air, Unohana elegantly withdrew Minazuki from Makoto's throat, stepping back a good twenty meters. Blood spilled freely, splashing onto the ground.
The next moment, as Makoto's foot stamped against the earth, grass began to spread rapidly across the entire domain of Minazuki.
Scarlet and green intertwined, creating an eerie and mesmerizing spectacle.
Makoto's throat, too, began to heal swiftly under the power of his zanpakutō, Shinro Bansho.
It was then Makoto discerned something unique about Minazuki's domain. Within its influence, not only did his mind grow unnaturally heightened and frenzied, but even the spiritual particles within his body became hyperactive. This led to an astonishing acceleration in the healing of injuries.
Minazuki… truly embodied the complete depletion of oneself—until life and death.
Exhilaration and primal instinct surged within him, drowning out logic and reason.
As Makoto met Unohana's gaze, her cold, murderous eyes staring at him as if he were already dead, instinctively, a part of him already began marking her as an enemy.
In that moment, Makoto began to understand the meaning behind Unohana's earlier words—
Within Minazuki, there is no room for restraint.
Humans are born alone.
This place reflected the depths of Unohana's inner world—a solitary battlefield where slaughter was the sole means of self-gratification and fulfillment. This was Minazuki: a domain where all existed solely for combat and carnage.
Towering trees began to grow violently.
Unlike the sparse few that had sprouted during his earlier fight with Byakuya, these trees now erupted everywhere within Makoto's line of sight. The expanding grass forcibly absorbed spiritual particles from Minazuki's domain, transforming them into the structure of these colossal trees.
From afar, it seemed as though the grass was greedily drinking in the blood that formed Minazuki's domain, fueling its unchecked growth.
The lush green of the vegetation now bore a faint, ominous crimson hue.
Yet Unohana's lowered gaze remained unchanged. She neither reacted to the transformation nor made any move to stop it. Instead, she continued her steady approach towards Makoto.
In her presence, words felt utterly meaningless. The overwhelming pressure of her killing intent and icy stare stripped language of its weight.
Behind Makoto, countless massive trees twisted and coiled, taking on various forms.
At that moment, Makoto removed his glasses, crushing them to shards with his fingers. The warmth that had always radiated from his gaze vanished completely. When he reopened his eyes, his expression mirrored Unohana's cold indifference and simmering thirst for battle.
Once, in his quest to achieve bankai, Shinro Bansho had forced Makoto to endure countless nights of torment, killing him again and again in his dreams to help him grasp its true essence.
A zanpakutō is the reflection of its wielder's truest self—its desires and pursuits.
Makoto had often wondered about the seemingly contradictory nature of Shinro Bansho: its whimsical, almost childish personality versus its merciless brutality during training.
Only now did he begin to truly understand. Beneath the constraints of rules, ethics, and morality, a hidden instinct lay dormant within him—an insatiable lust for battle.
And here, in Minazuki, unbound by the restrictions of the ordinary world, that primal nature stirred awake.
"Hehehe… Master!"
The spectral form of Shinro Bansho appeared by Makoto's side. Its usual cutesy demeanor was tinged with an unsettling excitement, its voice gleeful as it urged him on.
"Let's fight! I've been dying to fight alongside you, Master!"
Makoto smirked darkly. His voice carried a chilling edge as he spoke:
"Sensei, perhaps you wanted me to cower before your true self, to sever the bond between us, to make me fear you. But…"
His lips curled into an eerie grin.
"Sensei, you've only made me more excited. This side of you is so beautiful, it makes me want to claim you completely."
For the first time, Unohana's steady gaze wavered. Her eyes widened ever so slightly.
It was like a killer, who had carefully concealed their murderous nature for years, finally tearing away the facade to unleash their savagery on a seemingly innocent pupil—only to realize that the pupil was an even greater monster, reveling in the bloodlust.
"Sensei, I hope you don't mind me being a little rough with you now."
Makoto's voice dripped with dark amusement as a forest of colossal trees surged forward like a tidal wave, aiming to crush Unohana completely.
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