Chapter 48: Reality's Rift

A soft breeze swept across the barren ground, fluttering hundreds of black uniforms. A horde of more than 400 Shinigami quietly discussed amongst themselves, talking over the previous happenings. Murmurs droned, adding to the expectant air. Not too long ago, a thrilling duel had captivated a large majority of the bystanders. Previous years of the Shinigami Seasonal Gathering yielded little entertainment, kindling more volatile atmospheres. 

After the blood-boiling fight, another shocking incident spilled over into the Radical's side. A young dishevelled woman ruthlessly cut down three men, surviving the onslaught with no wounds. This particular event stirred only a few spectators, however, it didn't diminish the sense of awe. 

But these desirable moments soon died out.

Sakahone Saizou's entrance and grim spectacle pulled the audience back to reality. Deaths were common during gatherings, especially for the sanctioned duels. This season's first duel could have been labeled as an artistic performance. Still, this momentary performance didn't relieve the discomfort felt upon Sakahone's arrival. His debauched display of cruelty verified how distracted the Shinigami had become.

Sakahone's merciless execution brought reality crashing down. This event was not something to be celebrated. The seasonal gatherings were a constant breeding ground for political schemes and malicious ploys. 

Recalling the true dangers, lieutenants, bounty hunters, and bands of mercenaries resumed their guarded stance. Wary gazes glimpsed at one another as they determined if they had fallen into a trap.

No one was safe. The power struggle of Seireitei was ever-present. Soukyoku Hill's execution stand looms overhead, providing an ominous shade.

Caution permeated through the clusters of Shinigami. Conflicts were bound to arise when the period for sanctioned duels resumed. A small conference would be held afterward. Matters of a peaceful prospect could break down and brew hostilities. 

In this stressful state, two young women separated from the Radical's territory. By this point, all Shinigami organized for an inevitable eruption of blood. Those in the neutral territory skirted back or edged closer to one side, indirectly announcing their true allegiance. 

Hearts pumped, eyeing the two young women with hope and despair. Long-standing feuds were recalled, and subsequently, gnarled fingers clutched onto Asauchis and Zanpakutōs. Jaws clenched and stomachs churned in uneasiness. 

Ignoring the brittle tension, Yachiru and Batsu reached the core of the imminent carnage. Short shadows printed the stillness into the earth. Whistles of wind picked up light clouds of dust. Life on Soukyoku Hill was delivered an expiration date. Whether by execution or warfare, resistance was the natural course.

Batsu clamped her hand on Yachiru's left wrist, effectively halting the single-minded girl. Feeling a tug, Yachiru turned her head, finding Batsu's frowning face. 

The eldest spoke first, wanting to guide the wayward young woman.

"Yacchan. Calm down. Do you have a plan?"

"I'll challenge him."

Hearing Yachiru's head-first idea, Batsu shook her head in disagreement. She expressed her dissatisfaction in her voice. 

"That's not a plan. That could be suicide, but not a plan. Calm down. How about you come back with me, and we can-"

"Fighting him is the first step."

Yachiru interjected, disrupting Batsu. She tried to wrench her wrist from Batsu's grip but was unsuccessful. Yamamoto had seemingly drained all of her energy. As a deterrent, Batsu threw her head back and headbutted the weak, flailing girl.

*THWACK*

Yachiru felt her brain shake. Disoriented by the blow, Batsu's figure began to spin and distort. 

A sheepish grin spread on Batsu's face. With an awkward chuckle, she mumbled a woeful apology. 

'Might've overdone it. Sorry about that.'

Jumbled words collided inside Yachiru's burdened mind. She couldn't make out what Batsu said, let alone make sense of the dizziness. 

"Could… could you say that again please?"

"Errrm~. Hehe. One sec, got just the thing. Nee-san beats me up sometimes so I like to carry it around."

Batsu sported a wry smile as she reached into her kimono. She soon pulled out a small, lidded jar and unscrewed the cap. Batsu brought the open jar to Yachiru's nostrils. 

A bolt of clarity struck the dizzy young woman. Odorous smelling salts reorganized the synapses in her brain.

Leaving her stupor, Yachiru stared at Batsu, her overly calm expression remained unreadable. She alleviated Batsu's concern with a curt gesture. 

"Thank you. I wasn't thinking straight."

"It's okay!"

A wide smile shone under Batsu's glowing eyes. A light bulb popped above her head. She proposed another plan, one of her own making. 

"Yacchan, how about you forget this silly stuff and come spar with Nee-san and me? It'll be more fun!"

"Fun?"

"Yes! Fun!"

Batsu broke into a bright smile after hearing Yachiru repeat the keyword. Batsu then shoved the spare Zanpakutō into Yachiru's free hand. Satisfaction and relief poured into Batsu when the Zanpakutō was gracefully accepted. Releasing Yachiru's wrist, she urged the disheveled girl to follow her. 

"Come on! Once we finish up here, you can come back with us!"

"Thank you…"

Taking Yachiru's gratitude in stride, Batsu turned to head back. But she later realized that she hadn't perfected her ability to read Yachiru.

Standing in place, Yachiru pressed a small stipulation. 

"One moment, I have something to do."

A knot formed in Batsu's stomach. In a flash, she whirled around, finding Yachiru pointing her new sword at a person in the distance. Low conversations between hundreds of Shinigami died out. Suspicions grew as their sharp eyes fixed on the two young women. Sweating palms slid over Zanpakutōs as the unkempt girl lifted her blade, pointing toward the Centralist's side. 

The atmosphere froze over as Yachiru displayed her clear intentions. 

"Shijima Chigiri. I request a duel."

"…"

Hundreds of Shinigami sucked in, holding their breaths, awaiting the sentence. Half-lidded, lethargic eyes swept to the center of the hill. They stared at one another as silence fell over Seireitei. Disaster rallied its banners as hearts thrummed in unison. 

The armies took stock of the conflict, noting the aggressor's similarities to the challenged. Exceedingly calm expressions, gloomy eyes, and thin frames aroused similar images. Yet their respective statures were all too visible. 

One was a noble. His Shihakushou is clean and fitted. Though his outward manner is apathetic, it maintains the elevated status he holds. Within seconds, he stands, surrounded by an entourage of twenty guards that recently left their lady. The twenty guards stand at attention, spreading in a skirmishing formation. 

The other is a delinquent. A true vagrant. Her blue kimono is in tatters, splitting at the seams. A detached attitude mirrors her adjustment to the lifestyle in the Rukongai slums. At her side is a single, shapely young woman with a worried expression. The two young women examine the twenty guards. 

The noble's and the vagrant's stoicism overcomes all, suffocating every Shinigami on the hill. The challenge is left unanswered as the two continue to stare at one another, their thoughts unknown. 

Chigiri propped his arm up, readying a gesture to send the guards forth if he deems it fit. At this simple gesture, 400 swords unsheathed, the shrill sound of steel leaving scabbards cuts through the soundless daylight. 

**SHIINNGGGG~** **SHINGG~**

No one moves. No one breathes. 

Chigiri's lips parted, allowing his words to blanket the tension. 

"Is it fun? Threatening noble clans? Do you truly expect no consequences to befall you? 150 steel swords stand behind me. Are you prepared to destroy Seireitei, you lowly cur?"

His provocation was met with a calm, collected response.

"I do not wish that. I simply asked for the opportunity to cross blades. There is no need for such excessive animosity."

"Is that so?"

Keeping his vision on her unmoved face, Chigiri's fingers twitched. The sound of a hundred breathless gasps and sliding feet resonated. 

*Whish* *Whish* *Whish* *Whish* *Whish*

Five figures landed at Yachiru and Batsu's side. Unable to take her eyes off Chigiri, Yachiru resumed her negotiation. 

"If I have offended you, I apologize. Though I will not retract my challenge."

Chigiri offered no retort, sealing his thin lips with no emotion. Encircled by glinting steel, Yachiru kept her composure, seeking to lower the seething hostilities. 

"This does not need to involve anyone else."

A lone voice shouted from the neutral territory, trying to reason with the twitchy, disturbed Shinigami armies. 

"Why don't we all calm down?"

"This disagreement doesn't involve 'unaffiliated' Shinigami, Hikifune-taichō. Not when the Shihōin, Shiba, Kuchiki, and Kotetsu heirs stand at this cur's side."

Chigiri's blunt rejection put a stopper in Kirio's plea. Hearing his objection, Batsu felt slightly confused. She quickly glanced to her side where she found Furoufushi, Chika, and three people she didn't recognize. Knowing the three unknowns were noble heirs relieved her. 

Another voice interjected from the neutral territory. This time it was a masculine voice. 

"Stop this farce. A war is the last thing Soul Society needs. The number of murders is growing by the day. Don't be the next disgrace of the Shinigami."

Everyone's vision amassed in the direction of the voice. Standing, arms crossed in disdain, a tall man of 190 cm observed the strife. Dressed in Shinigami garb and a captain's haori, an aura of authority and contempt bled from his firm figure. Lengthy white hair hung above his shoulders. A considerable scar streaked across the left side of his face, running from his left eyebrow to his jaw. His indigo pupils were intense as a frown settled on his face.

Alternating his glowering gaze between Chigiri and Yachiru, he criticized them. 

"This child's play is meaningless. Such trivial conflicts have no place on this hill."

"Ha! Ignore that guy, I wouldn't mind a little action. Ryōdoji's always got sticks up their asses. Go ahead, Ganryū's just a little bitch is all."

A vulgar comment came flying in, clearly upsetting the tall white-haired captain, Ryōdoji Ganryū. A snarling scowl rested on Ryōdoji's lips as he scanned to his side, huntng for the culprit. 

His eyes landed on another captain who was sitting on a literal throne of sweating Shinigami subordinates. Ryōdoji's mouth spat out a name as if it were venom. 

"Shigyō Nobutsuna."

Reclining in his 'throne' like royalty, Nobutsuna's lanky body slouched into his seat. His enormous height of 197 cm could be seen in his idle pose. Wiry, long legs sprawled out onto a small 'ottoman'. Unconcerned with his subordinates' discomfort and onlookers' opinions, he rested his chin on his fist. Pale-skinned to an unhealthy degree, his body was swathed in a number of accessories. 

His hands sported black gloves. A stoat fur hung from his neck, draping over his Shihakushou and ripped-sleeved haori. A personalized dark purple balaclava wrapped around his head, exposing only his face and spiky black hair.

Thick black eyeliner decorated his eyes, giving weight to his greyish pupils. A prominent nose sat above his imperial-styled facial hair. A condescending sneer bared his yellowing teeth. 

Nobutsuna's cheeks puckered as he snorted and spat viscous phlegm into the dirt. 

"Snnn~cck~! *Ptui* The one and only. Now, are you crazy bastards starting or not?"