Listen Here!
Invase, intruding, inevitable; these words all described the Shinigami's materialization within the 7th Division's barracks, despite the fact that by the time they would come to realize his presence, they would be completely and utterly overwhelmed. Unfortunately for those present, everyone was rather... busy. The Captains were busy clashing blades, forming Kido incantations, and perhaps even aiming to kill one another. Meanwhile, the vast and ever-looming presence known as Shobatsu, the Captain Commander of the Gotei 13 was busy with the adjudicator of the 6th Division. Perhaps the puzzle had been laid out too perfectly for the man. Was there something fishy going on? Unlikely, rather; this was all luck falling into place. With everyone busy and a plethora of things happening at once, it was understandable that the 7th Division could be targeted easily. When the instructor had physically manifested while lacking a spiritual presence entirely, he was just within the barracks of the 7th Division, his movements and manifestation were muted. Like an Owl, every decisive flap of the wings, or in this case movement of the body held no noise. Coupled with his suppression of his Reiryoku and thereby Reiatsu, the man's position out of sight,10 meters behind Ashura and Daiki who were no more than 5 meters from one another when he arrived along with Katsuo who was 25 meters from Ensō, incredibly focused on his training; this situation reeked of despair, especially given the fact that the man's left hand rested on the sheath of his Zanpakuto, propelling it slightly upward while his right hand gripped the tsuba of the katana. During his movement from his personal quarters to the barracks, he had assumed this position, but he elected to remain standing normally, which was why his sheathe was propelled higher than it normally would be. He had assumed a stance of
Battojutsu, but without a keen eye and awareness of this, one couldn't even begin to formulate an opinion, especially given the circumstances that were unfolding before them.
If an author were to annotate the story before them, they would have no choice but to call it tragic. With their guards down, given that they were just coming out of battle - two of them battered while the one in the courtyard hadn't engaged, electing to focus on his training - it went without saying that acting on this opening held no honor. There was no honor to be had in such a bleak world, especially when fun could replace honor. The three toys along with their barracks would be introduced to something that could potentially end their existence. Well, with his control over his Reiatsu and Reiryoku, no one would be dying unless they killed themselves — something that was not out of the realm of possibilities. In the same instant that he arrived at his current position, the three Shinigami would find themselves assailed by an invisible foe. Upon arrival, the man allowed for his Reiatsu to spring forth, stopping his suppression, but maintaining his masterful control so that he could layer the barracks with his Reiatsu, electing to intensify its effects around the three prominent, unsuspecting figures. They would first feel as if all of the bones within their bodies were being constricted - pressed against one another, not allowing for them to move. The scariest part about this assault was that it was indeed unprecedented and being conducted by a man who was talented in the art of stealth, but even more so in the art of killing. In the same way a meteor collides with planet and begins to break down its structure, the man's Reiatsu would make their bodies feel the full force of its paralytic effect, with every heartbeat the intensity grew stronger. This force was powerful enough to make them all fall face-first into the ground; the following concussive force that came as a result of gravity's mere existence would serve to break even the most durable man's jaw, not allowing for one to speak without noticing how much pain they were in. Momentarily, they would be sipping on a puddle of blood that would ebb from their mouths, flowing away from them just enough to prevent suffocation. Given that the three of them were subject to his immense pools of spiritual energy condensed into three points, it went without saying that their bodies would give in to such a force.
Without warning or notice, he had attacked them indiscriminately, but with precision. Why attack these three? Again, the answer was simple — they were easy prey. No one significant was present within the 7th Division, and he figured that testing the three of them and those within the barracks would prove interesting. Terror would grip the men as the true antagonist of the assault had moved alongside the paralytic effect that his Reiatsu held. Unique to Ensō, his Reiatsu was
Maddening. The paralysis working in tandem with this effect was supplementary, and yet it still held enough weight to cause the aforementioned effects. Unlike a phantom pain, the pain that these young ones would endure was true; something corporeal and not to be mistaken for a fake. As the paralytic effect washed over them, they would find terror turning into complete and utter
insanity. For each person, it was undoubtedly different. Diagnosing the three from his current vantage point, he knew all to well what effects his madness would have on them. Those within the barracks aside from the three would hallucinate, but not scream or yell. They would see loved ones who had long passed and become entrenched within a temporary, cruel dream. Some saw their dreams come true in their hallucinogenic state. One thing was certain, however, these maddening hallucinations had planted the seed of discord within those in the barracks, despite how sweet their dreams seemed. Bitter and sweet were two sides of the same coin, after all. The three that were subject to his tremendous spiritual energy being applied to them via his Reiatsu would have a different story told to them.
Ensō was a cruel clown indeed, especially given the fact that he had attacked the Division just to satisfy his own desire to play. To prey on those without defenders — the broken, the battered — was the utmost euphoria. Any who dared to come within range of this Reiatsu would not recognize the man. It was one of the few times in his centuries of living that he allowed for the unique effect of his Reiatsu to exhibit itself. As such, he appeared to not have a face. Instead, his face was replaced by three orbs that would peer into one’s soul. Even if one was smart enough to attempt to unravel the veil of madness, they would find themselves clashing against it again and again, as their lust for blood would grow and the hallucinations would intensify. Despite their recent efforts and the current onset, the three men would attack one another if they could lift themselves off of the floor. No matter how broken their bodies became until their very essence withered away, they would fight. No arms? Legs will do. No legs? Use your teeth. By any means necessary, they would assault one another should they find themselves able to lift themselves off of the ground and surmount the barrage of constant hallucinations that they were being hit with. This fine-tuned control allowed for the man to exert his spiritual energy in this finite space without a single drop leaking outside of the barracks. Fine-tuning it even further, there was no need to really pay attention to the area. After all, no one had paid attention to the men thus far, and one of them had gone as far as to release their Shikai during a spar. This situation was just
perfect, and the instructor couldn’t thank himself enough for using the commotion within the Seireitei to enjoy himself.
Daiki, Ashura, and Katsuo would each see ten different Shinigami attempting to embed their Zanpakuto within the men from multiple angles, striking for their vital organs while they were being weighed down and forced to the ground. A hallucination strong enough to kill them, if he ramped up the exertion of his Reiatsu, but for now it was a hallucination strong enough to incapacitate them. Cruel and true to the man, the three would see themselves in their original positions, but would disappear from one another’s sight, having it replaced with these foreign attackers. A clown’s tricks can be rather straight-forward, and that was exactly what the instructor was doing for each of them. On top of paralysis, terror, bloodlust, and the sheer edge of pure insanity that would befall them, they would be plagued by personal hallucinations that were the most effective out of everything they would see. For Daiki, his great-grandfather would appear, spitting insults at the man while staring down at him. For Ashura, a vision of the man he knew as his father would cloud his psyche, turning away and letting the boy know how much of a disgrace he was — going as far as to disown him. If a spirit was to be broken metaphorically, this would likely be the time in which that happened. These personal attacks were all a byproduct of that which each of them knew — their past. With these tangible images coming to fruition, and the layered assault, the mental attacks were uncanny and perhaps even worse than a physical attack. Let us not forget poor Katsuo, however, who was currently witnessing his mother. Tears fell from her cheeks as she looked upon the boy with great sadness. He would know why, even before she opened her mouth to speak.
”Daiki, you are an absolute disgrace to the Komamura name! How dare you call yourself my great-grandchild! You are a shame to our family! For this, you shall perish!” Coupled with the foreign attacks that were Shinigami who didn’t care if they were attacking a foe who was already beaten and battered from an earlier altercation, these words would etch themselves into the fox’s mind as Saijin Komamura’s golden pupils focused on the product of his bloodline.
”Ashura, I didn’t raise you to be a failure. But look at you, you’re just that. Get out of my sight, you are not my son.” Piercing words came from a father that turned his back on the boy who was being attacked from multiple angles by ten Shinigami. The father had disowned his son without remorse, leaving him to die at the hands of Shinigami who lacked honor.
”Katsuo… My sweet boy…” His mother’s words slipped out of her lips as her streams of tears continued to ebb down her face, sheer sadness enveloped her as her gaze was set on him.
”Look what you’ve become… Your mother didn’t raise you to do the things you’ve done. I can’t bear to see you like this.” With that, she turned her back on the boy, leaving him subject to the ten blades bearing down on him. Complete and utter heartbreak was sure to ensue.
There was no pity for these men. In fact, Ensō merely watched the scene unfold before him. The presence of the three eyes that hid his identity and figure as well as this attack that had blindsided the men was nothing short of a test, and yet it was a test where failure could potentially mean death. A concealed presence — both spiritually and physically — paired with masterful control over one’s Reiatsu and Reiryoku was nearly impossible to combat. One should always be on their guard, but given their circumstances and the clown’s unpredictable nature, he wouldn’t blame them for falling victim. He hoped dearly that they would provide more entertainment and perhaps even their bodies that were being attacked internally and externally would manage to wade the torrential waters that sought to drown them in the same instant that the instructor had appeared.
”You poor, poor things, aha!”” A mischievous cackle found itself escaping the man shrouded in mystery as the events unraveled before him. Surely they could make him draw his blade. Maybe they could even force him to show them a technique or two. Was it likely? No, but one could dream.
