Jatiri was in a race against time, turning up near the Tsunayashiro manor at a moments notice, and inspecting the surrounding compound for patrolling guards. Most would’ve considered him downright suicidal for being rash enough to undertake such a hazardous operation, yet the boy appeared consistent with his usual cool-headed demeanor; he came off almost unfazed by the current events, despite his awareness of the clan’s prestige, renowned as the most influential and powerful of the four noble houses for their outstanding contributions in the documentation of Soul Society’s history. His adamance in compiling a scoop —the greatest scoop at that— thrusted him towards this slaughter house, igniting a brewing fire in his eyes. Nonetheless, his life was on the line, so he knew to be extra cautious.
Each step that he took was light and delicate, as he glossed over the starry sky, gazing upon several of the emerging figures ahead of him, who travelled in an orderly fashion. He couldn’t be too sure, but he felt that there might’ve been a greater influx of guards than normal tonight; he couldn’t help but wonder whether his informant,
Shiraseru, was still alive. Perhaps, he’d lost his head by now, reduced to little more than free-flowing reishi. The thought of this turned Jatiri’s stomach inside-out; he couldn’t afford to think this way. The frantic servant must’ve contacted him because of an obvious lack of trust that he bore for the noble house in which he served; most likely a consequence of the Tsunayashiro ancestor who destroyed the original monument all those years ago. Ultimately, his informer wanted to do the right thing by turning the heirloom over to Gotei 13 in order to restore Soul Socitey’s long, lost history, and maintain balance among the noble houses. Jatiri, driven by a fresh sense of honor and passion, was willing to throw his own life away to save this lesser noble, though the young boy stepped aside in this instance, allowing the ninja-like guards to pass, unhindered, while the kido spell Kyokko, granted him a veil of invisibility. He noted the Tsunayashiro clan’s Kanji, etched along their headbands as they past.
’Hm, there are over fifty heart beats scattered across this forest alone. A dozen ground units circle around the complex, joining by the large, wooden gates ahead simultaneously, before alternating their routes. What’s disconcerting are the individual guards who’ve camouflaged themselves within the tree tops, surveilling. I’ll have to keep this in mind as I proceed.’
Jatiri’s skillfulness in perceiving vibrations came in handy, enabling him to distinguish the various presences, lurking within the woodlands. He pressed onwards, commencing a shunpo; when suddenly, the guards who’d recently marched past him, turned to face in his direction. It was as if they‘d detected the rapid distribution of his weight as he prepared to lift his foot, regardless of his invisibility. Hesitating at the very last moment, Jatiri thwarted his Shunpo, standing completely still, and holding his breath as an additional cautionary measure. He couldn’t afford to blow his own cover; there was far too much at stake. Additionally, killing these guards would’ve been too messy, and he had no desire in making enemies out of the Tsunayashiro clan, only to be hunted down like a hollow; not to mention, those who were spectating from afar, awaiting to alert the entire household, should anything or anyone come to light. Considering these circumstances, he decided to remain motionless, as violence would’ve foiled the mission.
A single guard out of the contingent, strolled towards Jatiri, briefly staring him down from behind, or so it seemed. After a short while, the foot-soldier returned to his flock, having been convinced that all was well, as they continued down the pathway. Jatiri, exhaling and catching his breath, was thoroughly relieved. These guys were no joke, and now he knew that too.
‘It’s not too late to turn back..’
Said an old, raspy voice in the boy’s head, perpetuating the likeness of his own thoughts. In turn, a subtle grin materialized upon his face, as he carefully advanced towards the wooden gates. The lurking ninjas had begun to disperse again, and when the time was right, he shot over those gates, like a canon ball, descending near the manor’s double-doors, like a muted comet. To his surprise, there had been fewer guards stationed outside the manor, though he’d assumed that these soldiers might’ve possessed greater combative prowess, judging by their composure; these tenacious guards seemed to be tactically positioned with the intent of subduing intruders. Three of them stood upon the rooftop, two in front of the double-doors, two by the large, wooden gates, and three who hid behind assorted marble statues.
’Getting in will be easy, it’s finding your way out that may prove to be troublesome’
Said the same, aged voice from before. In this exact instance, the double-doors opened wide, as two additional guards materialized in order to temporarily relieve the former of their station. Jatiri utilized this opportunity to scurry inside, trailing behind the vacating ninja duo as they entered the manor, mirroring their pace. When the doors closed behind him, he became acquainted with a forbidding energy that latched itself onto the gloomy hallways, making him uneasy. Slowly distancing himself from the guards, he took a sharp, left turn, whereas they took a right, diligently progressing down the halls. Where could the servant be? As fast as he could pose this question, a squad of ninjas marched towards him in a hasty manner. Jatiri, refusing to be trampled, paced backwards, cutting a corner. The guards, bombarding the floor with their heavy footsteps, tramped onwards.
‘Where the hell are they headed in such a rush?’
He paused to think, before pursuing them from a safe distance. Along the way, he came to realize just how spatial the manor truly was. If it weren’t for his avid sensory skills, he would’ve lost track of these fleet-footed bulls a while back. They made their way to what appeared to be a small, empty chamber. Here, an old man was being held captive in a life-sized bird cage. His arms and legs were bound by weighted chains, depriving him of mobility. Opening the cage, the ninjas seized him, dragging him out by his long, braided, white goatee.
’It’s Shiraseru! I’m sure of it!’
Jatiri asserted internally, as he caught glimpse of the geezer. Provided that he lacked the proper evidence to prove that this was indeed his guy, he couldn’t find any other reason to explain why this elderly man was being imprisoned. Still, the fact remains, Jatiri had never seen his informant, nor could he have heard his voice. They’ve only texted via Denreishinki; although, the past few months of exchanging messages had convinced him of the old man’s sincerity.
’Well, I don’t necessarily have to kill these fools; a quick one-two oughta’ knock them off their equilibrium.’
Although he vowed to avoid violence at all costs, the current situation called for adaptability. There was no use in waiting, as he had no idea where the guards would transport the servant next, or if they‘d been instructed to execute him right here, and now; either way, this might’ve been Jatiri’s one and only chance to secure the rubbings, and amass his greatest scoop ever; There’s no way that he’d allow the Tsunayashiro to succeed in committing this atrocity. Stuttering before the masked men, Jatiri’s frame acquired a marked distortion, —though the guards wouldn’t have been privy to this— as his fists cycled about with tremendous rapidity, colliding with the base of each of their necks. He’d held back just enough to knock them out cold in near-simultaneous successions. Sighing before the old man, Jatiri exposed himself by revealing his form, before stripping Shiraseru of his blindfold. Acquiring a set of keys from the pocket of a downed soldier, he managed to remove the man’s restraints, patting him on the back.
”J-Jatiri?”
Uttered the old geezer with a shaky voice; Jatiri nodded, lugging several of the blacked-out guards, and flicking them into the vacant room. He’d disposed of all but one of them.
Shiraseru lowered his chin.
“They were really going to execute me..”
His voice trembled as he spoke.
”Look, we don’t have much time; I need you to listen to me.”
Jatiri pointed to the fallen soldier.
“You’re going to have dress in this ninja attire, and disguise yourself among the patrol units, so I can get you the fuck out of this place.”
”You get me?”
The gramps straightened up his face, retrieving the ninja garments, and suiting up. As Jatiri proceeded to toss the last, remaining body into a separate, compact room, a pool of energy washed over the entire vicinity. This spiritual pressure was astonishing, perhaps even fitting of a captain-class shinigami.
”Shit, you wouldn’t know if there’s any other way out of here, would you?”
”Of course, I know of a few hidden exits.”
”Great, I’ll be right behind you then. Remember, and I can’t stress this enough, blend in.”
He stated, while nudging the man forwards. Jatiri’s form became obscure, until he vanished from sight once more, pacing behind the gramps. Elsewhere, various,
immense spiritual-signatures began to surface, prompting Jatiri to shake his head in disbelief. Meanwhile, the old man was holding up just fine; his effortless amble was convincing enough, and neglecting interaction with the drifting guards was an excellent touch to the masquerade. Eventually, Shiraseru was within view of a man who stood in the shadowy corner ahead. Jatiri, scanning the concealed figure, found no trace of spiritual energy. Whoever he was, he was proficient enough to silence his Reiryoku altogether. This spelled trouble for Shiraseru, who possessed an average level of spiritual power, lacking when it came to suppression.
The pale-skinned man stepped out in front of Shiraseru, blocking his path. His viridescent eyes peered into the masked man before him, scrutinizing his obsidian costume.
”You. State your business in these parts.”
Said the man, authority brimming from his tone. Shiraseru, befuddled by the olive haired shinigami, was absolutely speechless. Unbeknownst to Jatiri, this figurehead was a member of the Tsunayashiro clan, so perhaps Shiraseru’s newfound fear was warranted. Jatiri on the other hand, arranged his feet, prepared to batter the man, if necessary. Things were taking a turn for the worst; Shiraseru’s body was starting to tremble, and the pale-skinned man grew impatient. When the geezer turned his head to search for Jatiri, a sharp hairpin surged through the air, piercing through his left shoulder. Shiraseru shouted from the climbing pain, gritting his teeth.
The man’s olive hair fell to his shoulders.
”Answer me.”
Supplementing hurried steps, Jatiri pounced forwards. He couldn’t resist his inner, militant nature any longer. After coming this far, he refused to return empty handed, or concede without giving up his life. Even if he might’ve been making a terrible mistake, he would accept his fate. As his soaring, left fist neared the man’s chin, a high pitched inflection rang through the halls.
NAMA-SAN!!!
A short, fat man called out to Jatiri’s prey, hobbling towards him. The young boy, paralyzed by the sudden disturbance, discontinued his assault.
Sir! seven guards have been found unconscious, and the servant has escaped from his cage!
Nama snatched the fat man’s collar, fuming from the nostrils.
”What? How could this be?! Alert the fucking guards!”
The men fled the scene in search for their prisoner, who’d already been a step ahead of them, thanks to the Golden boy. Luckily, Nama wasn’t skilled enough to sense Jatiri’s swift maneuvers. Things always had ways of working themselves out, he thought. The abrupt turn events allowed the two to regroup with Jatiri supporting Shiraseru, while retaining his invisibility. They sauntered towards a wall which caused a hidden door to appear.
Supposing that things turned out for the best, they would evacuate the territory, and Shiraseru would lead the boy to the ancient rubbings, enabling him to compose his grandiose scoop. However, if any more unforeseeable interruptions were to arise along the way, the boy would do his best to adapt to the situation at hand; failure was not an option.
