Chapter Four
Krig was in a high rage. His furrowed brow and his clenched arms and hands showed this.
"Krig, I told you not to be so tense," Jakara tutted, "you look like you're about to burst, you're so stressed." Jakara offered him some tea, as if this would solve all the world's problems. Krig smashed the table. A crack appeared in the floor below them.
"Sir, with all respect, you must take this seriously!" Krig was like a teakettle left on the boil, which had just been put in a nuclear explosion. The table received more abuse, and then split in two under the force of Krig's assault. Jakara didn't like this. It spilled his tea.
"Krig, I have the situation under control," Jakara shouted, a new rage stirring in his gaze, "but I will lose control if you spill my drink again!" As well as raising his voice, this rage raised his spiritual pressure, and it took fifteen company members to restrain him, over a period of two hours.
When Jakara had calmed down, he stated plainly, "We're going. There's somewhere we must be." The front doors of the Fifth Company barracks opened with a swish and a thud. Three figures walked out into the autumn sunset, the cool golden light giving the leafless trees a brown cold glow. Two had swords by their sides, one did not. The walkways of the Seireitei echoed with the sound of sandals against stone.