Warning for some bloody violence on par with manga canon. An eleven-year-old raped by her neighbour was admitted the other day and I'm projecting.
Many thanks to Zephyrus Genesis, who let me talk at her until I sorted out the logistics of this chapter. And where a discussion of Unohana's shikai not fitting her original image as a bloodthirsty killer evolved to videos of bellyflopping manta rays.
Chapter 11.1
A crackle overhead. A burst of light.
Tsuzuki kept his posture prim and proper as decorum would dictate, even though nobody was paying him any attention. The heir of the Shihōin must always present an impeccable demeanour was a motto that Yoruichi had literally beaten into him, to the extent that his arm twinged in phantom pain every time he so much as thought about slouching.
He chanced a glance at Yoruichi beside him, seated placidly in seiza, not a trace of emotions on her features. No sign that she was irritated by the fact that she had been spending a few hours in the biting cold – or boiling inside too many layers of kimono, he was reluctantly impressed that he couldn't even tell which – in a crowd of stiff-necked nobles. Then again, this was the same woman who had punched Yammy with a broken arm without flinching, and then knowingly broke her dominant leg to kick his head in because she couldn't risk the downtime needed to disengage and activate shunko.
Another burst of fireworks painted the night red and green.
He fought the urge to shift, yet again. Seiza wasn't normally a problem for him; even back when he had been human he could do it for at least an hour. His old room at home didn't have enough chairs, so it was usual for his friends to use the seiza mats when visiting. And of course Kisuke's shōten didn't have chairs, except in his private laboratory where it had been a necessity. However, six hours was pushing it for him, even after five years of training.
Tsuzuki raised his eyes to the sakura trees swaying gently in the breeze, boughs heavily laden with pink flowers. Yozakura, the night viewing of the first bloom of cherry blossoms, was a tradition passed down since ancient times. The Five Great Noble Houses, too, had adopted this tradition. This year's yozakura was especially packed; everyone had come to see the newborn Hashiji princess. As always, the birth of a child was an event of tremendous importance, given the sheer rarity of a couple generating enough reiatsu to spark the creation of a new soul, not to mention the uphill battle of actually carrying to term. Even Yoruichi, with her enormous reserves and pain tolerance, would have been hard-pressed to manage it without outside support.
However, the presence of such a gathering also meant that the usually-informal hanami had turned into a formal reception that wouldn't have looked out of place in the emperor's court. Save for the clan head's immediate family and the council of elders, if the clan had any, every other attending individual had been drafted for security duty. Tsuzuki bit back a sigh and wished, not for the first time, that he had been allowed to join the retinue too – he had spotted Tessai discussing kidō execution with a few Nakatomi earlier, and Isshin had been his usual idiotic self over by the Shiba fireworks cannon, while he had been stuck pandering to some Kuchiki elders bent on trying to measure his potential against their own heir's.
Personally, Tsuzuki had nothing against Kuchiki Sōjun, who was a soft-spoken, mild-mannered man. The current lieutenant of the Sixth Division couldn't have been more different than the one he was familiar with in the future. Kuchiki Ginrei, too, was a dignified older man in whose bearing he could see shadows of the man Byakuya would one day be – but Ginrei radiated a warmth that his grandson lacked. But as was the case with the Shihōin, the council of elders seemed to be on a completely different level altogether. Perhaps the other three Great Noble Clans had the right of it when they chose to abolish their councils. The Shiba had cited the fact that the clan was spread throughout Rukongai as the reason for this, while the Nakatomi elders voluntarily disbanded their council upon them being elected to Council 46 several centuries ago, and the Hashiji was far too small to need a council. In fact, before the fortuitous birth of Hashiji Yukiko to the clan head, there was fear that the Hashiji would die out within the next generation. She was a 'rare child' indeed.
Abruptly, Yoruichi's reiatsu twitched, like the tail of an agitated cat, just a fraction. If he hadn't been next to her, and so used to reading minute changes in her reiatsu, he would never have noticed it. Tsuzuki stiffened, senses coming on high alert, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Then he heard it too, in the lull of the fireworks exploding overhead, the faintest splash of water.
'Wait.'
Tsuzuki slowed his breathing, easing his reiatsu until it bubbled just beneath the surface of his skin, without letting it escape. Outwardly, he remained politely interested in the fireworks overhead, but his peripheral vision was trained on the river.
Then red smoke exploded out of the ground a scant few metres from where they were seated, swiftly engulfing the area and rendering vision useless.
"Hadō #54, Tenran!"
Yoruichi's voice tore through the growing screams like the blast of wind that ripped through the thickening cloud of smoke, clearing the skies in an instant.
Beside him, Sōjun drew from a seiza position in a classic iaido move Tsuzuki had only ever heard about, his zanpakutō leaping from the scabbard into his hand in a quick draw so smooth that it had gone through the first attacker before his eyes had even registered the movement. But the sword hesitated in its motions, its wielder freezing.
A single drop of blood fell to the ground.
"Lower your weapons."
Slowly, very hesitantly, Sōjun lowered his zanpakutō. All around, silence fell as the other armed guards halted their advance, eyes fixed on the scene before them.
Byakuya snarled wordlessly and kicked futilely at his captor, until the knife slid warningly across his throat, drawing a thin line of red visible in the starlit night.
Kuchiki Akane growled low in her throat.
At a sharp glance from her father-in-law, she quieted, but her hand was white over the hilt of her own zanpakutō. "What is your goal?" Kuchiki Ginrei asked calmly but authoritatively, as though his grandson's life was not on the line.
"You wouldn't understand even if we told you," the man holding Byakuya aloft growled.
Yoruichi's reiatsu spasmed oddly at that line.
A gust of wind rustled through the sakura trees, sending a swirl of pink petals fluttering like the blades of Senbonzakura.
Tsuzuki's mind went crystal clear.
Didn't Byakuya's parents die during a cherry blossom viewing?
" – in exchange for your heir."
In almost slow motion, he could see how it would all pan out. Sōjun had always been more of a classical samurai; without his zanpakutō he would be no match for the group he could see loosely surrounding them in the shadows. If any of them had a long-ranged shikai attack or was even moderately proficient at kidō, Byakuya wouldn't be safe either.
There was only one choice, really. "Would a different heir suffice?" he asked loudly.
Sōjun's face went blank with shock. Yoruichi's eyes darted to him, lightning-quick, but she made no move to stop him.
Sharp eyes scrutinised him closely. "Shihōin Tsuzuki." There was a hint of – was that smugness? – in the man's voice. "Very well. Remove your weapons and walk over slowly."
Tsuzuki slowly got to his feet, wobbling as the pins and needles in his numb legs made themselves known, and removed the tantō strapped to his right leg. Clearly telegraphing each move, he raised both hands to let billowing sleeves fall to his shoulders, revealing a band of bo-shuriken around his left forearm. Unbuckling it slowly, he let it fall to the mat with a soft 'clink', and then slid the manriki chain out from where it had been hidden in the elaborate knot of his obi sash.
"Stop."
About thirty paces away, Tsuzuki halted as demanded. His eyes flitted over the two men who had stepped up behind the one holding Byakuya captive, before refocusing on their spokesperson. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the two raise his hand and mutter something too soft to catch. The effects were obvious, however, as his arms snapped painfully behind his back and thick manacles wound around his wrists, binding them in place amidst sharp gasps of horror behind him.
"Continue forwards."
Leaning forwards slightly to maintain his balance, Tsuzuki stumbled a few steps forwards, until he could see the quiver in Byakuya's lip, the way man carelessly let him dangle from one hand, trusting the knife held to the boy's throat to ensure his obedience. The way none of the three were paying the boy the slightest attention, eyes fixed on Tsuzuki.
His foot caught on a loose stone and he lurched, going down on one knee. There was a scattering of muffled sniggers. Through the curtain of hair half-fallen over his face at this sudden movement Tsuzuki snapped his gaze up, focused, and wrenched.
The man howled as razor-thin wires bit bloody gouges into his arm, forcing the knife away from Byakuya. The other end of the wire wound over the digits of his other hand, such that he had to choose between dropping Byakuya and losing his fingers. His grip loosened reflexively, and the boy fell.
A shadow dropped out of the nearest tree, caught Byakuya before the boy had even touched the ground, and blurred out of sight before anyone else could react.
At the same time, Tsuzuki rotated his left wrist and dislocated it with a loud crack that sounded disproportionately loud in the silence, slipping his limp left hand out of the manacles. Even as he rose his wrist was already glowing faintly green, bones realigning themselves and sprained tendons knitting themselves back together. As he kept his eyes fixed on the enemy a hand brushed lightly over his right wrist, and the remnants of the manacles shattered, the pieces dissolving before they hit the ground.
The entire process had taken less than five seconds.
Kisuke deposited the brat next to Akane, who immediate moved, half-shielding her son with her body. Yoruichi let her gaze settle back on Tsuzuki, who hadn't moved beyond getting to his feet, his shikai keeping the trio of men restrained. She had strong suspicions as to whether he had really tripped, or whether it had just been a diversion. Any sudden movement could have triggered Byakuya's captor to press down on the knife reflexively, but it was when covered by a supposed bout of clumsiness…
In no way did that word describe the young man who learned to move from the finest assassin in the history of the Onmitsukidō, who glided over the Shihōin's most sensitive nightingale floors with nary a chirp, while evading erratic sprays of shrapnel with an innate grace gymnasts would weep for. Yoruichi felt her lips twitch. Idiots who continued to look down upon Tsuzuki for his relative youth or his supposed Rukongai roots would only play into the palm of his hand.
And of course, none of them had thought to do a headcount. Such arrogance. She had felt the faint crimson mist that was Kisuke's reiatsu wink completely out of existence the moment Tsuzuki had tensed – really, though, the youth had no sense of subtlety. She was sure at least Ginrei and possibly Sōjun had been alerted when Tsuzuki's reiatsu drew back under his skin, as if a lake had just vanished.
Still, to release his zanpakutō within the scant second the smokescreen had lingered before her Tenran had dispersed it – Yoruichi fought down a grin. His learning curve was just as exponential as ever. She reached down, picked up the discarded band of bo-shuriken lying on the mat, and handed it to Kisuke who had stepped up soundlessly next to her. Kisuke rolled it up tightly, secured it, and then drew back his arm and flung.
Tsuzuki's arm came up, lightning-quick, and snatched it out of mid-air as it passed. With deft motions he strapped it back to his forearm, letting his sleeve fall back to show that it was loaded and ready.
As though it had been a signal of some sort, both sides shook themselves out of their stupor. The armed guards charged forwards, meeting the shadowed attackers in a metallic clang of weapons.
Yoruichi rose to her feet with feline grace, surveying the battlefield.
"Get the civilians together!"
The cry rose up around her, and hearing it, Tsuzuki took a few steps backwards. She could see most of his attention focused on Byakuya's failed kidnappers, using only his sense of situational awareness to avoid the clashes going on all around him.
A step, another, until he was out of immediate lunging range, and then he turned sideways so that he could see what was happening behind him. Almost immediately he was swallowed into the crowd, emerging a few moments later with a little girl tucked under his arm. Giving her a little push towards the defensive circle forming around the bulk of the civilians, he turned his attention back to the other fights. The girl ran, tripped, and only with a lightning-fast shunpo did Yoruichi catch her in time.
Pushing the girl behind her, a flick of her wrist scattered the tetsubishi hidden in the pouch of her haori over the ground, and the few hapless attackers who had not stopped their charge in time screamed as the sharp iron spikes shredded the thin soles of their waraji sandals, embedding into flesh.
"Watch out!"
Shiba Kaien, who had yelled the warning, leapt forwards and tackled Hashiji Kasumi out of the way in time, an arrow whizzing barely an inch from their heads. She curled into her infant daughter protectively as they landed, Kaien having braced himself on his arms to avoid landing on either of them.
Crackling yellow light flew past them, skewering the archer to a tree in the shape of a triangle before he could line up another shot, his bow dropping from nerveless fingers.
"Good job, Suì-Fēng!"
With a terse nod, the girl rushed past Yoruichi to land the finishing blow, just as another civilian staggered into their loose circle.
"Bakudō #9, Hōrin!" Kuchiki Akane stood, sleeves billowing, orange fire wound with yellow spirals streaming from her fingers. They snaked around the battles, here and there, entangling clumps of attackers and dragging them into the path of a well-timed Sōkatsui by her father-in-law.
Whirling around, Yoruichi brought her arms up just in time to deflect a barrage of shuriken, which sliced easily through her white gloves to impact against the metal arm guards beneath. She winced at the thought of the scolding she was going to get for letting them get damaged, but at least it was just the gloves and not her kimono. The elders would have her head if she tried to shunko in a kimono that cost half the Shihōin estate.
Despite superior skill, they were being pushed back, restrained by the need to defend individual civilians and the prospect of friendly fire. The guards' poor starting positions stayed their hands from their more destructive attacks, whereas the attackers had no such qualms.
"We need some time!" hissed clan head Nakatomi Kazuhiko, even as he wordlessly threw up a Dankū barrier that repelled a wave of purple fire. His wife Junko was kneeling on the mat, archaic symbols racing over the ground under her steady hand, blooming into the beginning sequence of a barrier kidō.
A gust of wind blew past, and then the hair that she had spent an hour pinning up was fluttering gently around her shoulders. She whipped around, and saw the thin nunchakus serving as her hair sticks buried into the neck of an assassin that had just burrowed out of the ground. What really caught her attention, however, were the clawed gauntlets glinting dangerously, wetly in the dim moonlight.
"They're using poison!"
Kisuke spun back around, taking in the details in one glance, and then he was racing across her minefield of tetsubishi, weaving through the remnants of sharp spikes without a stray glance downwards. A flash of purple hair caught her eye, then, and then she lost sight of them both in the crowd.
Wires materialised seemingly out of thin air around the bulk of the civilians, coalescing into razor thin threads that had the attackers pulling up short, eyeing the dome warily. At a slight gesture the entire construct began spinning rapidly, wind whistling a high pitch through the slanted cracks.
Tessai's reiatsu flared out a moment before a clatter of waraji sounded next to her. Breathing out a sigh, Yoruichi shook a stray strand of hair out of her face, slipping the kaiken dagger that had slid instinctively into her palm back into her sleeve.
"Tsuzuki-dono's barrier is only temporary."
She inclined her head briefly, eyes scanning the battlefield.
"What would you recommend?"
Tessai hesitated. "Four Dankū barriers, perhaps," he finally offered. "Until the Nakatomi finish their kidō."
Without wasting time to acknowledge his plan, Yoruichi whipped her head around, searching for a suitable kidō expert in the vicinity – "Akane-san!"
The other woman's head came up, and Yoruichi blurred over in a burst of shunpo, her formal kimono swishing across the grass. "Are you good at Dankū?"
A blink, and then a calm nod.
"We need a fourth," Yoruichi murmured, swivelling her head to and fro.
"One of the Shiba," Akane suggested. With the Nakatomi otherwise occupied, a member of the other kidō-based clan would be the best choice. Although the Shiba were usually more focused on the offensive hadō, Dankū would a staple in the arsenal of any kidō expert for its fast casting speed and utility.
A few metres away, Kaien's head turned in their direction, obviously having heard his clan name.
"Dankū," called Yoruichi succinctly.
The other clan head's eyes widened briefly in understanding, then he side-stepped an attacker, cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Isshin-jii!"
A few moments passed as the nearest Shiba members spread the call for Isshin, and then the man himself struggled out of the mess of skirmishes. Kaien pointed him to them, who were shuffling into position in three of the four cardinal points, the last slot left for him.
"Count of three, then? One, two, three!"
As one, four voices shouted, "Bakudō #81, Dankū!"
Risking another glance backwards, Tsuzuki heaved a sigh of relief, letting his dome of wires collapse now that there was no need for it. With a quick glance upwards, he guided the two coils of wire up and out through the opening at the top, and then looked back just in time to dodge an arrow aimed between his eyes, so close that it nearly shaved off part of his eyebrows. Normally he would have grabbed it instead of dodging, but if it was poisoned as Kisuke had warned then that would be a very stupid move.
Ducking another stray kidō, he scanned the vicinity for civilian stragglers, but found none. Alive, that was. His fists clenched as his gaze swept over a man face-down on the ground, a growing dark patch oozing onto the grass underneath his corpse.
'Shiba Ganjū is missing.'
A dull boom sounded in the distance where he knew the Shiba cannon to be, and he stepped into a shunpo to avoid a roaring conflagration skimming over the grass, tearing through the attackers. Making his way to the shimmering barrier, he arrived just in time to catch the end of Byakuya's explanation.
"– told him to hide in the reeds near the river."
The boy's voice was high but clear, with just the slightest quaver of anxiety.
Kaien cursed, eyes on the melee between them and the riverbank, where the fiercest skirmishes raged.
"Tsuzuki," repeated Yoruichi from her position inside the barrier, "can you open a path?"
The way Kaien's eyes snapped to him made him pause, glancing down at their attire. No wonder she had called him over. The other clan head wouldn't be able to make it through on his own – even though the men's formal kimonos were relatively looser than the women's, more than half his usual manoeuvrability would be gone. Tsuzuki had been making do with a lot of shunpo and near-misses, and he couldn't imagine how Yoruichi had managed in hers. At least the security detail had been allowed to wear less formal clothing, or they would have lost long ago.
Well, that thing he had been practising could be used in this situation, he supposed. Instead of answering her verbally, he centred himself with a deep breath, releasing the hold on his reiatsu. His shikai leapt to his command at a gesture, one wire weaving itself into the shape of a raft, the other reforming into the dome-shaped structure he was more familiar with.
Stepping onto the raft hovering just barely off the ground, he waved at Kaien. "Get on."
The clan head moved to obey, eyes wide in his face. The wire dome lowered itself around them and began its customary rotation, blocking any stray attacks. Crouching down and keeping a firm hold on the raft, Tsuzuki stretched his reiatsu senses to the maximum, and silently commanded the entire construct to move.
Behind him, he heard Kaien stumble slightly as the raft lurched into action, but most of his concentration was fixed on keeping the entire construct off the ground and finding the shortest route possible through the thick of the battle without accidentally slicing any allies apart. It would take a lot more practice, he absent-mindedly noted, before it would be a viable method to transport patients in a live combat zone. At least he didn't have to worry about Kaien accidentally falling off.
He focused on the reiatsu signatures winking in and out all around them, and inwardly heaved a sigh of relief when they began moving away, clearing a space for him to pass through. Nobody sane wanted to challenge a giant metallic structure surrounded by wickedly sharp blades, after all.
Clearing the last of the skirmishes, he let the raft land with a heavy rattle that made him wince – definitely need to work more on that – and unwound half the wire dome to let Kaien out. With a nod of gratitude, the other man slipped into the darkness, calling Ganjū's name softly.
Tsuzuki turned his own attention to the raft, enlarging it to fit three people and expanding the dome as necessary. It was probably a good thing Ganjū was still a child; there was no way this raft was going to fit three fully-grown adults – something else to iron out later. Good thing, too, that neither he nor Kaien were exceptionally tall – he briefly envisioned trying to fit Zaraki Kenpachi into the dome, and had to stifle an inappropriate snicker at the thought of accidentally slicing one of his spikes off.
A rustle of grass caught his ear, then, and instantly all mirth disappeared from his mind. Tsuzuki frowned, letting one of his throwing darts fall into his hand, turning to the open doorway.
"Kaien-dono?" he asked, just to confirm, though he was already sure Ganjū couldn't possibly be that quiet. No one trying to sneak up on him would be an ally.
Only the glint of metal in the dim moonlight saved him, as a blade thrust into the spaces between the wires making up the dome, and he threw himself sideways in time. Crashing into the razor-thin wires on the opposite side and feeling them bite into places where his metal arm guards didn't reach, Tsuzuki used the momentum to bounce himself back to his feet, just as another blade slammed into where he had been.
More than one person, then.
Keeping the construct ready for a quick getaway was pointless if he couldn't defend himself, and with that in mind, he let the dome collapse fully, freeing one of his wires.
A glance around showed him eight attackers surrounding him in a semi-circle, spaced far apart enough in a staggered formation that none of them would be caught by friendly fire nor in the backlash of his attacks. His eyes narrowed even as his hand brushed across the available wire, sending a current of electricity down it with barely a thought.
His instincts screamed as he jerked backwards, dropping to a crouch as an arrow whizzed past his ear.
Something was wrong, he could almost feel it, but there was no time to ponder that train of thought further when the eight he could see began launching long-ranged attacks in no apparent order. Someone had drilled that tactic into them – even half the Onmitsukidō weren't so disciplined under pressure.
A magnet would be really useful right about now, he reflected as he dodged a blast of red fire, and nearly missed the projectiles that were hidden in its shadow. Well, two could play at that game. The next time a stream of kidō came at him, Tsuzuki loosened a barrage of bo-shuriken from both hands, adding a touch of reiatsu to increase their speed even as he formed a wire shield in front of him to deflect the score of shuriken flung his way.
Two down, at least six more to go.
With where the arrows were coming from, though, if he had sufficient time, he could follow them back along their trajectory to find the original archer.
A dull boom sounded, followed by the unmistakeable blaze of yellow. Someone – probably a Shiba, knowing their predilection for this particular kidō – had gotten impatient and unleashed a Raikōhō. With the civilians safely out of the way, more and more destructive attacks were being brought out.
His fingers closed on the last throwing dart in his holster.
A faint frown creased his brow and he gave an almost unnoticeable sigh.
As though sensing weakness, the remaining six closed in. Tsuzuki didn't need to see the widening smirks on their faces to know what they were thinking. He was alone, immobile, almost unarmed – both his shikai wires were clearly visible, with one of them lying on the grass and the other wreathed in lightning – there was never going to be a better time.
They were right, too, except for one thing.
Tsuzuki let the last bo-shuriken fly from his hand, watched it get dodged almost mockingly by one of the advancing attackers, and let his hands drop to his sides.
Whatever gave them the idea that he was unarmed?
The unassuming sandalwood fan slid out of his obi sash. Covered in white silk, it looked like one of those flimsy things nearly every noble in attendance was carrying as decoration. Snapping it open, one could see a swooping hawk in mid-flight and a short poem embroidered on the outside, elegant and ornamental, and totally useless in a fight. None of them even paused in their strides.
Tsuzuki flipped it around with a twist of his wrist, and swept it across in a wide, horizontal stroke.
So close and caught completely off-guard, they had no chance of dodging the beam of yellow energy that hit them before they could react.
"Hadō #32, Ōkasen," he murmured softly as all six collapsed to the ground. With the necessary symbols and the incantation for the kidō already inscribed on the inside of the fan, just the application of sufficient reiatsu would activate it. Rarely any of the top level shinigami used kidō in a serious fight, since the casting sequences for the common kidō were easily identifiable, making even the highest level kidō insultingly easy to dodge or deflect if one was fast enough. Unless, of course, there was no casting sequence in the first place.
The ability to inscribe pre-activated kidō on objects beforehand was a closely-guarded Nakatomi family secret, and one such object, even one with such a low-level kidō, would easily cost several prime-location mansions nowadays. Although, technically speaking it was no longer a Nakatomi-only technique. To be fair to them, the fan had probably been well-protected with layers upon layers of redundant mechanisms and a self-destruct function designed to obliterate the entire fan if anyone had ever come close to discovering the secret behind the technique. However, frankly speaking there was likely nothing that could guard it forever against the man who had managed to recreate both the White Bone Pond and Blood Hell Pond after seeing them once. Not that anyone was going to tell the Nakatomi that.
The whistle of an arrow sliced through the air.
Tsuzuki raised his index finger and pointed, casting the only kidō he could manage without an incantation.
A jet of red energy shot through the night, narrowly missing the trunk of one of the sakura trees. And then there was suddenly a body falling, bow clattering to the ground beside him, both having appeared out of nowhere.
He only knew one person who favoured invisibility kidō, especially one that could conceal reiatsu.
It was probably a good thing that he had chosen to pull out Kisuke's childhood fan – obtained legally, the blond had promised – instead of one of his shikai special abilities. Or chopped off the lower half of his formal kimono so that he could move, but he had the suspicion that the cost of repairing that would have come out of his already pitiful salary. It was a really good thing that he didn't have to pay for his own meals except for the rare occasions he chose to eat out.
With another flick of his wrist, the fan snapped shut, and was stowed back in his sash. Now that the element of surprise was lost, it would be more of a hindrance than an advantage.
Another rustle of grass had him tensing, but Kaien's reiatsu washed over him and a moment later the man stepped cautiously out from the shadows, Ganjū held firmly with one arm.
"Apologies for not assisting."
Tsuzuki shook his head briskly. "None was necessary." Seeing the clan head continue to frown guiltily, he added vaguely, gesturing to the ground. "I have yet to use my zanpakutō." There. Let Aizen wonder what that implied, if the megalomaniac was indeed around. He would have to inform either Kisuke or Yoruichi as soon as possible, but it was nigh on impossible for him to sense the blond's reiatsu in this chaotic mess, and he would be headed back to Yoruichi's position in a few moments anyway.
Kaien's face cleared as he took in the wires, one still in the disc-shaped raft that had brought them to the riverbank, the other, spitting blue-white sparks, reforming into the dome. His eyes travelled to the fan tucked into Tsuzuki's obi, and he gave a wistful sigh. "The Shihōin really spare no expense when it comes to equipment."
"It was a gift," demurred Tsuzuki as politeness would dictate. "From a friend."
Kaien blinked, but before he could respond another shower of fireworks scattered across the field, far too close to their position, and he automatically tugged Ganjū closer to him protectively. Tsuzuki ducked back into the dome, resettling on the raft. After making sure that Kaien had settled Ganjū securely between them, he lifted them off the ground.
The addition of a third person, despite his size, made an unmistakeable difference. Tsuzuki gritted his teeth and raised his reiatsu output further, fighting to hold their combined weight clear of the grass. Definitely. Needed. More practice.
The heat of the battle had died down somewhat, but the occasional ping of stray projectiles deflecting off the protective dome told him that this method of return was the right choice. It would have been nearly impossible to escort Ganjū safely back across the middle of the battlefield, with all three of them in formal kimonos, and to skirt around ran the risk of running into an ambush in the dark.
Now he just had to make sure he could get them. There. In one. Piece.
With her keeping a level eighty kidō active, Yoruichi's reiatsu was like a beacon on the field. Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes shut, relying entirely his reiatsu sensing skills to guide them. The raft shuddered slightly underneath them, and he gritted his teeth, forcing it to remain afloat for that last few metres to the barriers behind which the civilians were gathered.
"You're clear!"
Hearing Yoruichi's voice, Tsuzuki let the entire dome dissolve, and waited for Kaien to herd Ganjū clear of the raft before he deactivated his shikai altogether. He landed on the ground, still in the crouched position he had been earlier, his zanpakutō materialising in its sealed form next to his hand. His head bowed, and he drew in deep lungfuls of air, fighting to keep his limbs from shaking.
It took more effort than it rightfully should to reach out for his sister's reiatsu ribbon, glowing brightly not a few metres away, and send his message.
'Possible code double-zero involvement.'
There was a slight pause, as though Yoruichi had forcibly swallowed her first response.
'Acknowledged.'
She didn't ask if he was all right, which he appreciated. She didn't need to; he would just have responded with some variation of "I'm fine" anyway. To some extent, it was true – he was fine. Save for a few bruises and one cut along his arm from being thrown against the wire dome earlier, he was uninjured. His reiatsu might have been a little lower than what would have been reasonably considered comfortable, but he was used to fighting under far more unfavourable conditions, against far worse odds. He just needed a few moments to catch his breath.
His zanpakutō was in his hand between the space of one breath and the next.
Time, which he might not have.
Tsuzuki launched himself backwards, using the hand that had been braced against the ground for added leverage to propel himself away, just as a sword thrust out from beneath the ground where he had been crouched. His back collided painfully with the Dankū barrier, and he winced as it forcibly knocked the breath out of his lungs, leaving him vulnerable for a moment.
He clumsily brought up his zanpakutō in his semi-sprawled position, using both hands to brace his sword against the first downward swing. Drawing one leg underneath him, he attempted to lever himself into a standing position, but stepped on the trailing hem of his kimono and very nearly overbalanced. Scrambling to keep himself in some semblance of a defensive position, he had to let go of his zanpakutō, splaying both hands on the ground.
His attacker grinned, teeth visible in the moonlight, and brought his own sword down for another slash.
Tsuzuki's mind slipped blank, and the downward swing seemed to happen in slow motion as his eyes tracked the movement. His forearms tensed as he braced himself for the impact.
Then he threw his entire weight onto his arms, flipping himself in a handstand as he simultaneously deflected the blade using his metal shin guards and kicked the attacker in the face. Both of them went sprawling, but he could hear the other man's sword clatter to the ground, which gave him the precious few seconds needed to get to his feet.
'Shield! Now!'
His reiatsu surged outwards in response to Yoruichi's panicked cry, pouring out of him with no regard for elegance or finesse in his haste. He had a brief moment to think a very incredulous what when a roar of fire blazed past, so close that he could feel the heat scorch his face, past the arms he had instinctively thrown up to protect his head.
"I'm so sorry, Tsuzuki-san!"
Tsuzuki lowered his arms cautiously, taking in the blackened char that had formerly been his opponent. "Hideaki-san," he greeted cautiously, stripping off the ruined remnants of his gloves. Having taken the brunt of the kidō, they were little more than ashy strips now. Had he not raised his reiatsu pressure in time to negate the bulk of the Shakkahō, there would have been two smears on the ground.
Hoshino Hideaki skidded to a halt in front of him, bowing repeatedly. "I'm so sorry, I was aiming at him!" Indeed, his aim had been impeccable – had Tsuzuki remained in his downed position, the kidō would have gone completely over his head, and he would have suffered second degree burns from the proximity at worst. A small price to pay, given that the original blow would have been fatal.
"Do you understand, now, why the Academy insists that we communicate our intentions before we attack?" There was no point rebuking Hideaki further – he knew better than anyone else how close he had come to accidentally killing one of his allies. His ambush worked brilliantly in theory, and would have been perfect had he known for sure that Tsuzuki would not get up in time. However, when the extent of his ally's abilities were still relatively unknown to him, it had almost resulted in a costly error.
Kisuke would have thrown a Rikujōkōrō at him, while either Yukimaru or Yoruichi would have bodily knocked his opponent out of the way. Even Isshin would have used Oni Dekopin or a similar hakuda attack instead of his zanpakutō. Certainly, none of them would have selected a wide-area indiscriminate attack, knowing that there was a chance that Tsuzuki could have been caught up in it.
But there was no time for recriminations. Drawn no doubt by the opening of the barrier to allow Ganjū through, the remaining enemy forces had gathered like moths to a flame.
"Ten seconds," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
Hideaki gave a resolute nod, retreating to the edge of the Dankū barriers. He clasped his hands together, head bowed as if in prayer.
Tsuzuki picked up his zanpakutō from the ground and strode forwards calmly, sword held ready at his side. His left hand dropped casually to his side.
The enemy surged.
Nine.
A gust of wind blew across the field, blowing the fallen sakura petals wildly about. Two of the attackers fell, screaming, clutching bleeding stumps where there had been limbs. Many of them whipped their heads about, trying in vain to find the invisible enemy hiding amongst them. Then one of them, closest to the two young men, turned and charged at the two of them in rage, weapon raised.
His sword sliced through Tsuzuki, and the afterimage dissipated, as insubstantial as the wind.
In the middle of the crowd, Tsuzuki landed in a swirl of pink petals. "Way of Onmitsu, third of the Shihō: Utsusemi," he whispered. His right hand slid his zanpakutō into his obi, while his left hand snapped the fan open with a flick of his wrist. As they began to realise he was there, they screamed and charged, but they were too late.
Five.
The fan swept across his front, flipped casually into the air, and landed neatly in his right hand to complete a full circle, the back of the fan facing outwards the entire time. Yellow energy blasted outwards in a ring, with him as the epicentre, knocking them back several paces.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hideaki's head come up. Spitting and snarling with fury, the enemy rushed towards Tsuzuki, converging on his position.
Three.
Unnoticed by the frenzied crowd, which was focused entirely on Tsuzuki, Hideaki raised his arms, both palms outstretched.
Two.
Channelling as much reiatsu as he could handle to both legs, Tsuzuki jumped.
One.
Twisted in mid-air, he could see Hideaki's lips moving, and though he couldn't hear anything over the wind rushing past his ears he knew what the other was saying.
Zero.
"– kkahō!"
Red fire streamed from both of Hideaki's palms, washing over the gathered crowd in a tidal wave. They tried to scatter, tried to turn and run, but save for the ones on the very fringe it was too late. Hideaki had opted for area of coverage instead of destructive power this time, so most of them would live, but a quick scan of the area showed that none of them would be in any shape to continue fighting.
"Suì-Fēng!"
Yoruichi's shout cut across the deafening silence. Tsuzuki's head jerked up, and he burst into a run as soon as he had pinpointed the girl's location, dropping into a tuck and roll just as a burst of fireworks exploded near his shoulder, shredding his tympanic membrane. He went down on one knee to maintain his balance, healed the damage to his inner ear with a single thought and snatched Suì-Fēng up.
A flicker of forest green reiatsu behind him let him know that he was not alone. Tsuzuki curled himself around the unconscious Suì-Fēng, absently running a basic diagnostic kaidō over her as Katsuo leapt over their heads, silver daggers flashing. Nothing in her status caught his attention, and he refocused outwards, senses alert for more incoming danger.
There was a sudden outpouring of reiatsu, and the shimmering Dankū barriers vanished. In their places rose a single crystalline structure, comprising panels layered upon panels of individual hexagonal barriers that could withstand the assault of an army. The Nakatomi had finished.
'Everyone take cover in twenty seconds!'
Kaien's voice sounded in his mind, with the hollow echoing quality that indicated the usage of Tenteikūra.
Scrambling to his feet, Tsuzuki's eyes widened as he stumbled, and he looked down incomprehensibly to see blood pooling on the ground, the edge of a deep gash just visible below the hem of his kimono. When had he been injured? Was it while he was luring the enemy together for Hideaki, during the burst of fireworks that, or some time in between? It didn't matter. He only had three choices: the Nakatomi barrier, the sakura trees, or the river bank.
Twelve seconds. Definitely not enough time for him to heal himself enough to get Suì-Fēng to the Nakatomi's barrier. Already, the structure was sealing itself up, the nearest shinigami having escaped inside, followed closely by several enemies. It would be suicidal to go that way.
Cramming his reiatsu into his leg in a makeshift splint to keep himself from bleeding out, Tsuzuki hauled Suì-Fēng up unceremoniously. Broken bones grated against each other as his injured – more like fractured, he thought briefly – leg shook and threatened to give out, and his teeth bit through his lip with the effort of not making a single sound. Injured and carrying someone unconscious, he would be an easy target for any more enemies left in the vicinity.
Pouring the rest of his available reiatsu into his good leg, Tsuzuki made a split second decision and took off for the treeline in the distance. They wouldn't fire the cannon directly at the sakura trees, he hoped – though it was hard to tell with the crazy Shiba – but the riverbank was fair game, especially since the enemy had originally come that way.
Four seconds left. He could see the shadows of the outermost branches on the grass before him, the thick tree trunks beyond just barely visible in the dark.
Then Suì-Fēng went tumbling from his arms, crashing into one of the trees, and it took him a heartbeat to realise that he was falling. His palms hit the ground with a sharp sting, and he choked back another cry of pain when the bones in his fractured leg twisted, but muscle memory had ensured that he had fallen without injuring himself further. He laid there for a breath, muscles spasming, before logic reasserted itself with the urgency of the situation and he curled himself into a ball.
He wasn't going to make it to cover in time. But he should be far enough from the centre that if he was lucky, it wouldn't be instantly fatal and he would have time to heal the damage.
"Hadō #88, Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō!"
A tower of electrical and spiritual energy that even he could feel exploded from the Kakaku Hō, following Kūkaku's triumphant shriek. Tsuzuki winced – so maybe his propensity for this monstrosity was inherited after all, though it made him shudder to think he had anything in common with his crazy aunt – and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable pain.
"Bakudō #81, Dankū."
Eyes snapping wide open at the familiar voice, Tsuzuki cautiously uncurled himself.
Urahara Kisuke stared down at him, silhouetted against the sparks flying from the repelled kidō less than an inch away from them. "What would you do without me?" he asked rhetorically.
Author's Notes:
When Orihime visited Ichigo's room in canon both of them were shown to be kneeling on seiza mats.
Yukiko's name means 'rare child'.
Iaido is a type of sword-drawing technique that prioritises smoothness and speed, then flicking the blood away and resheathing the sword in a single move.
Ōkasen is the only kidō below level 60 that Kisuke was ever shown to cast in canon (Tsuriboshi notwithstanding, and Reigai-Kisuke did use Haien, but his version of the former looks modified and the latter is animé-only). This is my explanation for why he's so good at such a low-level kidō (that isn't in the Academy list!) that he used it against Aizen of all people.
To cut a very long story short, once upon a time a curious cat decided to spend a year's worth of her allowance (which had been meant for skincare products and pretty things of the sort a proper young noble lady should have) on a kidō-inscribed fan from the Nakatomi for her best friend, who had been going through a kidō phase (that he never actually grew out of). And that was how the Nakatomi lost their most precious secret technique, carefully guarded for six millennia, to a bored teenage boy.
And being a spirit, he had a lot more bored teenage years to go through. None knew that better than the Royal Guard, who had very quickly learnt to start hiding every trace of their inventions, whether usable or not. Except Kirinji Tenjirō, because two freaking giant PONDS were impossible to hide. Senjumaru Sentara could never prove he had gone anywhere near her loom, but where else would he have gotten a sample of that reiatsu-concealing prototype material she had developed purely as a proof-of-concept? Or Nimaiya Ōetsu, who had left one of his defunct models out for just a moment – and a few years later, Shihōin Yoruichi shot to infamy after reportedly having achieved bankai in three days.
To be fair to Kisuke, he had an invitation. The first time. It really wasn't his fault that they couldn't figure out how to un-invite him after that.
=D
Undergoing rewrite on AO3 (link in profile).