Bleach: The Shinigami’s Zanpakutō That Unleashed Bankai On Its Own

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The wave of Reiatsu hit like a tsunami, swallowing the Emergency Rescue Squad in an instant.

Seinosuke Yamada's pupils shrank as his breath caught in his throat, eyes fixed on the distant source. Even though it was only a sliver of the spiritual pressure, it felt like an invisible hand had clenched around his heart—one squeeze away from shattering it like crushed fruit.

Others suffered worse. Some went pale, drained of color and composure, while others flushed violently, struggling just to breathe. The weaker their Reiatsu, the heavier the burden pressing on them.

But just as quickly as it had come, the oppressive force vanished, snuffed out like a candle beneath a flood.

"What... what was that?" a soldier whispered, voice brittle, still trapped in the terror of that fleeting moment.

"The enemy has appeared," Yamada said calmly, though his expression had hardened. "And if I'm right, they've already encountered Mr. Moyu."

Medical Shinigami were known for sharp minds, and Yamada, despite his temperament, fit the mold.

"Then... should we—?" someone began, but the question was sliced off by Yamada's sudden reply—flat, cold, surgical.

"We proceed with caution. Do not engage. Avoid the battlefield entirely. Our objective is the Captain, not Moyu. His life or death is irrelevant."

The chill in his voice struck harder than any spiritual pressure. The squad turned toward him in disbelief, expressions blank, the echo of his words still lingering.

"Did you not hear me?" he asked, his gaze cutting through them like steel. In that moment, more than one soul realized that the fear they had felt under that spiritual pressure was not so different from what they now felt facing Yamada.

No one answered. One by one, they slipped back into the forest, resuming the search for Unohana Retsu in silence.

Yamada remained behind, eyes locked on the path where Moyu had vanished. "Mr. Moyu... may your sacrifice buy us enough time," he murmured without warmth. "For that, you have my thanks."

---

Moyu stood beneath the dark canopy, unmoving as his own Reiatsu surged outward to meet the fading pressure. He hadn't counted on support from Yamada's team; this was never their fight. He had come alone to find Unohana.

But something didn't add up.

What he'd felt just now—what the others had crumbled under—barely registered to him. Araki Makizō's report had described a physical-type Vasto Lorde, something monstrous, something primal. This... wasn't that.

"Too weak... or have I grown stronger?" he murmured, flexing his hand, uncertain whether the shift lay within him or in the enemy.

Then the sound came—dull, dragging footsteps pulling through the undergrowth, steady and heavy like dead weight. The Reiatsu rose with it, slow and unstable, thick with something off-kilter.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Slender but armored in black, its Hollow mask warped beyond reason into a grotesque, bull-shaped demon's face, fangs jagged, crimson eyes glowing with incoherent malice. A gaping hole yawned in its chest, leaking a white, shifting mass, while its legs had malformed into four monstrous limbs that bent at unnatural angles.

Moyu didn't need to analyze it. He could feel it in the air, in the erratic pulse of its spiritual pressure—this wasn't a natural evolution. Someone had tampered with a Vasto Lorde, twisted it into something broken.

"A failure," he muttered.

The Menos locked eyes with him and grinned. Thick steam hissed between its teeth as it raised claws that shimmered like curved blades.

"Die..." it rasped, the word guttural and primitive.

With a roar, it lunged forward, a missile of brute force tearing through the forest. Trees exploded underfoot, the ground cracked and churned, and the creature's claws descended in a savage arc meant to cleave Moyu in two.

But the blow never landed.

Zanpakutō drawn, Moyu had caught the strike midair. The blades ground against each other, frozen in place.

"If you want to see it that badly..." he said quietly, taking a measured step forward, his gaze cold and unwavering.

"Then open your eyes and listen. Listen, Whisper of the Wind."

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