the STORMKILLERS

“Do you feel it wise to send Captain Itada into the fray? His skill is not in question… but his temper….” An elderly voice, gruff and demure signaled out into the pit of discussion within the inner sanctum of Central 46. 

In retort, another, more masculine and filled with experience would enter the fracas.  

“The time for diplomacy has since pass. These Hollow are not waiting negotiation, they want a response—he is our message.” 

The two bickered back and forth, seemingly disregarding the separation of power and duty and displaying their assumed accurate reasons. It would end, however, with one lasting comment, given by the elderly male who grinned beneath dappled lips.  

“Captain Itada is the most qualified to handle this situation and he knows the limitations we’ve placed on him. This matter will be handled swiftly and without error.” 

The opposing force simply sighed, giving into the appeal before silencing herself. With all in a 

Acceptance, the feminine general entertained the notion. 

“While hesitant, I’ll side with you….Now, where is Captain Itada?” 

Pause. 

“He’s already en route.” 

---

Present time… 

The former district was perforated in both body and blood as crimson red stained the ocean of sallow white that fell from the skies. The calamity was ungodly and while the Shinigami held their position, were they fell in numbers, the hollow incursion seemingly swarmed in unending numbers. From the dimensional rift in which they came, two replaced every one slayed, and for every two new Hollow subpoenaed, a Shinigami depleted in strength. Valiant effort aside, they were fighting a losing battle. Until… 

SWUUUUUSH !  

A convulsion rippled through the waves of hollows as a single fissure cut deep into their numbers. Speed unanticipated and with strength unchallenged, endless, lifeless corpses flung into the air and scattered across the winds as the prompt incursion thinned the Hollow numbers.  

While the fissure continued to line through the numbers in quick succession, it was short-lived as a single “thud” beckoned a resonating quake, sending a mountain of dark ghouls fleeing unwillingly. The snow became restless and lobbed into an upwards torrent around the interlude before subsiding in a descending shower. In the center of this artificial strom, a single man stood. In his right hand, a blade while resting flaccidly on his opposing shoulder, a single Adjuchas corpse.  

“I suppose you’re the Puppeteer of this invasion.” Itada beckoned in a humorless tone. Tossing the cadaver aside, allowing its bulk form to smack against the snow-felt ground, the Taichō faced the Arrancar whose power eclipsed every individual opposition on the battle field. Two giants had finally met, and what was to would be titanic.  

Two apex predators of different colonies, yet shared identical confidences. Just as violent, just as deadly, these two grim reapers surely impacted the field without even single blade swung. Hesitation didn’t settle within the Shinigami who knew of Itada’s strength as they happily moved out of his caution zone. The hollows reacted similarly, possibly knowing the sheer volume of potential extermination that oozed from the Arrancar, as pungent as an unshakeable stench. Yes, these two combatants were the wolves that forced the voluminous sheep around them to flee; justified only by the raw fear that clouded their minds.  

Thorough eyes rested on the form of the mysterious swordsman and while physically unfazed, Itada could sense an ominous aura that came with the man’s presence; it was similar to that of death. Steam lifting from his blade, the Arrancar’s reiatsu elevated and as he spoke, the Captain slept in his own silence. Until… 

The opponent blinked himself to Itada’s rear, his blades effortlessly gliding through the physical space in attempts to lop his target’s arm from his body. However, as a flicker of the eyes ushered in the Arrancar’s speed, a subtle breeze welcomed the twin Katana that divided into nothingness. A single footfall to the Arrancar’s southern flank, nonetheless, welcomed Itada with open arms. 

“I can’t recall.” His words, in response to the Arrancar’s final statement would beckon forth a single, diagonal slash meant to cut deep into the spinal realm of the Hollow evolutionary. The battle of two titans would commence.  

As the two blades collided, Itada remained unfazed by the shower of scattering sparks creating from the friction alone. Needless to say, the secondary strike was rendered futile by a simple step on the pivot. Falling back on his left foot, the Captain quickly escaped the range of the downward strike. Just as the Arrcanr’s blade met the conclusion of its fall, however, Itada quickly leaped back, adjusting himself and gaining minimal distance from his opposition.  

“If you wish to bark falsehoods, I’d recommend you do so with your blade at my throat.” 

Pause. 

“Not while your words hold the weight of a mere feather.” 

Clenching the handle of Seken Chōdairyū tightly, Itada awaited this proclaimed gap in skill to manifest itself.  

My ego, my honor. Another use of the Hollow’s stepping carry carried the floor general to Itada’s forefronts. This emergence steered in the tip of his blade, thrusting forward with the aim of spearing the captain in the center of his throat. Cautious eyes and a fine comb for battle, however, made the evasion plausible. A right-handled grip pulled the man’s Zanpakutō upwards, the tip of the Arrancar’s blade daggering into the nigh-impermeable steel of Seken’s flat. 

My arrogance. In response to Itada’s circumvention, the opposing Zanpakutō swept through the air, cutting flakes of snow clean in two in attempts to cleave into the Captain’s shoulder. Fine eyes quickly shifting to the impending edge, a strand of Itada’s black mane was sliced before the blade met absently with the very air it cut through. A Shunpo having guided the Shinigami to his rear and as he located himself, the Seiryū’s foe did the same; they now stood face-to-face once more. 

My pride. Itada’s weapon felt the weight of his grip as the Shinigami rested in the snow for but a moment; his next action came in a disappearing act. 

“You speak too imp of my kind, Hollow.” Having emerged to the Arrancar’s left, a dual-clasp would carry Seken across the opposition’s arm. The aim? To sever the limb that dangled from the man’s shoulders. This occurred in the same breath as Itada’s words.

“You carried your forces into our realm, and you speak of our arrogance. Incongruous.”

A false success hidden in fool’s gold. Itada looked on with still eyes as the wind casted away the fabric he cut into. This stripping of textile, nonetheless, only welcomed acerbic disappointment. A slash meant to sever mountains, the skin of the Arrancar was seemingly unscathed and devoid of imperfection. There was no regeneration; the Captain’s eyes would have caught it. A deflection hasn’t surfaced; the force alone would have rattled through his muscles. No, the cryptic Hollow had taken the full brunt of his attack, and without so much as a scratch, precluded its deadly intent. 

A realization was soon followed by an unexpected and dangerous whirlwind ensnared the two warriors and numerous clashes of steel formulated within the annals of the eye of the storm. Snow gathered and debris was collected beneath the weight of the two spiritual pressures as the Arrancar and Shinigami dealt battle within his trap. Tremors pulsed and the surrounding area suffered from simply being in their presence. The brown-haired foe had went on the offensive, and only to the most trained of eyes, it was apparent, Itada took the brunt of this lashing; yet he didn’t falter. No, the intent in his gaze hadn’t even changed. 

“If you doubt our power… I implore you—show me the power that’s catered to slaying a false god. I grow tired of these games.”

His tone was even and beyond the wreckage, beyond the malice, the Arrancar could see, he could feel the seriousness in Itada’s words as his reiatsu elevated. When the onslaught silenced, one would find Itada’s armor slightly tarnished, and the robes beneath it, cut in various places. Nonetheless, what remained the most surprising were the fissures and impressions along the Captain’s skin. To those who believed in lore, one could say they resembled the scales of a Dragon. 

“If we’re so lowly, prove your mettle..” The Seiryū exclaimed.

As the final blow dug into his case-hardened scales, the rear foot of Itada’s slid deeper into the muck that encircled the two. Palpable force was placed into the strike and from centuries of combat under his belt, it was apparent that the onslaught would end following its conclusion. And it had. The battle subsided and simmered into nihility as the two titans’ allowed their energies to fade to standard levels and with that, the storms that pledged the Rukongai died soon after. They were separated once more at the behest of the Arrancar’s Sonido and with his reemergence; sophisticated conversation was expected to arise.  

“I am Seiryū Itada, Captain of the Seventh Division.” The title seemingly came with the introduction of oneself as the aristocracy in the man surfaced through structured wording and a casual tone. Concurrently, as he spoke, the scales sunk back into his skin and a faultless face would beckoned the next question. 

“And you are?”