[BSD-RP] The Valley of Screams

[Tatsu]

It was a sight so rare that those passing by would imagine they were hallucinating as Yasu Yugure sits quietly in her office, the door propped open, allowing for her to enjoy the weather while she worked. Surrounded by mounds of paper, the young captain was deeply involved with her work, but what exactly? Should anyone wander in, they'd be met with designated folders concerning several shinigami, each sitting on top of their respective towers. A few of them consisted of transfer papers and vital information surrounding that individual. The Kenpachi Games have elicited changes throughout the entirety of the Seireitei, and Captain Yugure was among those going through the sea of change.

The idle scratching of graphite is the only sound within the room as her focus is completely set on getting all of the resources together so that these three transfers would ultimately go as smoothly as possible. Despite her losses, the Captain still has no hesitation in going through with releasing Shusuke Kiyoshi back to the Sixth Division. After several more adjustments, her decision in regard to finding a capable replacement would happen in due time. The image of a scarred individual crosses her mind and she can only hope that the same mistake would not be repeated, otherwise, she'd consider herself a failure among her peers. A third shinigami sits just behind those two and eventually, will be graced with Yasu's attention.

However, there sits an envelope at the top of her desk, the purple seal of the First Division practically gleaming with its royal color, staring right at her. Beneath that envelope sits a file of a shinigami who hailed from the Seventh Division. Eying the tab, the name Nao Murakami sits emblazoned on that label and she sets aside what sits in front of her to take the woman's file and opened it to face a vivid-haired individual with a scar on her left eye. Yasu flips through the pages of information that her members managed to compile on the examinee. Though her expression seems rather dull, Yasu only imagines her own proctor and recalls her performance from then, frowning at the thought of a single instance but that disappointment quickly washes away.

Stretching her arms overhead, she gets up from her seat and lets out three short whistles and at her door are three shinigami sitting on their knees. Each of them gets a separate folder and the order to go to each respective division to finalize the transfer paperwork. One races towards the Fourth Division, another to the Sixth Division, and the last heads to the Eleventh Division. What's left on her desk is the folder in regards to the Captain-prospect and the summons that came with it. Yasu glances back, but her annoyance is more than apparent now that the sun shines down on her.

“It's always something with heat...”

---

Yasu Yugure's haori tail flutters as the door of the Senkaimon pry apart and through the blinding white space, she steps through and comes to the expansive view of the Valley of Screams. It takes no effort to zero in on the examinee who stood prim and proper as Nao waited for the captain to enter the playing field. Soundless steps are taken as the distance between the two combatants only become smaller and smaller. Yasu seems almost lackadaisical, rolling her shoulders back as the muscles in her body begin to loosen up and the joints pop rather melodically.

There are very few who have laid witness to this version of young shinigami, and rightfully so. She didn't particularly like this side of herself, but when the situation called for it, then she would oblige. An entity who served in each of the five divisions within the Onmitsukido, and climbed each and every rung of the ladder before she claimed the title of Vice-Captain and served under the renowned assassin for decades. And from then, she had pursued the title of Captain and held it for over a century, all the while honing both body and mind to the best of her abilities.

The distance between Nao and Yasu seems to settle just around several meters away from one another when Yasu's form is suddenly obstructed by something. Racing towards Nao Murakami is a spiraling weapon, forged in with blackened soul steel, launched in a blinding fury. Under the light of the sun that hovers overhead in this endless blue sky, and seemingly increases in speed to where it almost seems as though its form diminishes the closer it gets. If Nao were to be too focused on what was in front of her, she'd have missed the incoming blow to the center of her back. Poised and seemingly fluid, the tips of Yasu's fingers would serve the purpose of performing Daisan, piercing and cleaving right through the skin, muscle and the bones of Nao's body. Shinigami bodies were durable, but even something like this would prove fatal if left undefended. Extremely knowledgeable of bodily composition, her opponents' pressure points were constantly on display for her to pick and choose where she hit and how hard she would do it.

Though incapable of truly killing during an examination, if she came without the intent to, Yasu would be providing a disservice and stain the idea of one being a Captain. The image of Itsuki Asakura flashes through her mind and she exhales through her nose. Plenty of questions come to mind, and she wonders exactly what this person was capable of. What would she do for the haori they desired so badly? Would she run the division into the ground as her predecessor had done? Or would the division rise and be reborn from the ashes at her behest?

---

 

[Nao Murakami]

Nao’s eye was set on the blue sky when Captain Yūgure’s arrival was announced by way of the familiar Senkaimon, its brightness gleaming out in the distance. From within the glare a silhouette came to be, traced against the backdrop of white with what she now understood to be her proctor’s signature; a monotone and faint intent that spoke of someone who viewed this encounter as nothing more than an obligatory duty to be completed, brushed aside, and forgotten. There were numerous reasons as to why one would intentionally dull their Reiatsu, though to which end the pink-haired Captain sought, Nao couldn’t quite yet tell. Soundless steps brought life into the Captain’s figure, her muscled flesh, Shihakusho and the famed Haori to bear under the light of the sun. Closer and closer the inevitable clash came with every lifeless stride made, the silence of the Valley lifted only by the crack of the Captain’s muscles. A sound surely denoting the commencement of their battle.

With her joyful gaze never lifted from Yasu’s person, and senses honed in on the brawler’s signature, Nao awaited for her proctor to arrive at a distance just right to initiate formalities. At the mark of ten meters, the examinee offered a respectful bow.

“I am honored to be in your presence, Captain Yūgure.”

Her proctor continued forward without a peep. Nao rose, still smiling, her fist and palm coming to meet out front in a gesture of respect the Captain would surely recognize.

“I hope–”

Listen While You Read

A revolving shine ran across her sight, the sun’s rays reflected upon something, and whatever that something was, Nao didn’t want ANYTHING to do with it; she could feel it itching to drive itself into her flesh. It had come to life before the Haori-wearing brawler seemingly from nothing, the speed of its travel equally as dumbfounding, leaving its creator but a mere blur in the hellish backdrop. Nao’s blonde body hairs stiffened as the intent struck her cold; suddenly, a chill ran down and then up her spine as her opponent’s Reiatsu came crashing down like a crippling wave, the bitter taste of killing intent touching her tongue…Nao’s eye widened with disbelief.

Iron?

She gagged, blood rushing into her mouth, then gagged again, forced to spit out crimson onto the cracked earth, splattering in waves. Yasu’s form appeared from behind, out of Nao’s own shadow, the brawler’s hand dug wrist-deep into her back. All the while, the black spiraling object had severed the gap and was imminent to lodge itself into the examinee’s heart.

Oh my…

Her single eye shifted to look back, a bloodied grin taking over her face, transforming her shock into a devilish confidence.

Simultaneous to Nao’s body bursting into a wall of blood, hundreds of ghastly forms erupted at once, the near translucent silhouettes’ intent to rush out into the red abyss in all directions. The specters were gone as quickly as they’d come, an interval of time quicker than an instant, their snuffed existence leaving behind a lingering, playful smile. There was no sound made, no trail left, no Reiatsu signature to trace, the hot wind sweeping by as the Captain’s immediate view was left barren.

An abrupt heaviness befell the examiner, surely the experienced fighter able to recognize the force birthed against her by the heightened release of Reiatsu. Although no physical form manifested, she would sense an immense pressure materialize at her sides and from behind in a shape vaguely resembling Nao, if she were so able and inclined. This dense Reiatsu instantaneously transformed into blade’s edges as they each sought to sever Yasu in half down the middle, from scalp to groin, in accordance with the sword-stroke from which it was born: Agitowari. Now with nothing impeding its path, Yasu would need to deal with her own swirling projectile. From the moment of Captain Yūgure’s established intent, to the culmination of Nao’s response, so happened to be within a single breath; a clash of intents so quick, surely to be missed by the blink of an eye. In this instance, Nao had posed several questions to which she deeply wished to answer: her opponent’s capacity to respond by way of physical speed was a foregone conclusion, and as such, her desire was to test the woman’s capacity for both physical and spiritual perception. More importantly, she wished to establish the woman’s understanding of swordplay, for she knew little of her opponent’s mastery over the blade.

Clack!

If Yasu were to survive, of which Nao held no doubt, she would find herself in a hell littered with red-haired enemies. Under the scorching heat she would look upon an endless sea of Nao’s, as far as the eye could see, hundreds upon hundreds, some on the tips of the dunes and others in between boulders, all of them facing the examiner with Umōmaru drawn and pointed down at the earth, with not a drip of concern, a sheepish close-lipped smile etched on their faces. Seemingly an impossible feat, to be split into so many versions of oneself, and to maintain them with such precision...was generally saved for the greatest pioneers of the art; every single one of them bore the same absence of Reiatsu.

Although many would look upon Nao’s manner of response with wonder as to her history in the Gotei 13, and whether she held any ties to the Second Division, the answer was a simple no. It would come as no surprise that the Phantom’s Division were regarded and believed to house the fastest and most capable Shunpo practitioners in all of the Soul Society, a thought skirting the edge to truth. There were several Shinigami heralded as the fastest in the Seireitei, most unsurprisingly in or from the Second, among them the Captains Kyomu, Yu, and Yasu, but it seemed that a new player had entered the proverbial arena.

Nao’s understanding of the Art of Deception was, in truth, limited when compared with the soulless Second, and a further expansion of that truth was that she rarely employed active subterfuge. What one may perceive as her attempting to utilize deception in general terms, would simply have been born from the natural tenants of Shunpo, and in some cases, through some of the countless forms of swordplay at her disposal.

In truth, the Captain hadn't given Nao a moment to think, most of what had transpired a byproduct of centuries of fashioned instinct; though she held no ill-regard for her proctor, the rules were to approach the confrontation with the intent to kill, and so she had. As the real Captain-hopeful among a sea of imposters peered at her examiner, in wait for what certainly would be a remarkable response, a dull, aching pain found its way to her back…where Captain Yūgure’s hand should have been lodged deep. She hadn’t struck Nao, that was indisputable truth, so what gave? Could it be…that the woman’s intent to kill was so powerful that reality had taken Yasu’s side, forcing Nao to experience what should have been?

...Scary…scary.​

 

[Tatsu]

There are little surprises to the Captain in terms of combat, and for her not to take into account someone whose file exemplified the mastery of their hoho would be foolish. Time and time again, Yasu would lay witness to renowned masters casting away their shells in order to avoid a disaster becoming them because of her unpredictability and upfront style of combat. From her mentor, casting away his muddied haori, to her proctor, leaving behind his medical bag in his wake. Nao Murakami follows in their footsteps with her use of Utsusemi and further expounds upon that mastery through that sea of red and black that surrounds her nearly soundlessly as the space before Yasu is abandoned.

What replaces that empty space is a gradual heat that surrounds her from her sides to behind as Nao's reiatsu comes to fruition and threatens to cleave her body in two, swinging with fervor as all examinees should possess. And with the incoming projectile, it seems as though Yasu is sandwiched in between two opposing forces. one of which was of her own accord.

The Captain lets out a gentle exhale through her nose when the fingers aimed to pierce through her examinee's body spread apart and catch the tsuka of her zanpakuto as it sailed towards her and place it above her head, she battles Nao's release of reiatsu with her own. However, rather than have it spread, the wispy and thick purple aura looks murky as it sits concentrated around her from head to toe to everything she possesses. As it comes crashing down, the seams split apart at the highest point of contact as the ethereal construct connects with the flat slide of her zanpakuto's handle and completely shatters as it meets a force of equal resistance.

In the midst of watching Nao watching her proctor deal with the rather voracious blow using her reiatsu, she readies herself, amongst the sea of images that seemingly begin to grow denser as time ticks away. The gentle shine of her unsheathed blade twinkled in between images left behind with a calm and collected demeanor. Yasu acknowledges the attitude she's been presented versus the other cases of examinees losing themselves over the initial attack. No proper enemy would allow one the luxury of exchanging pleasantries in the way that Nao had addressed her so kindly. The young captain would have to make up for that at a later time.

However, she had plenty to do before then.



Nao is poised, lying in wait for whatever may come, however, the sight of what lies in Yasu's hand would serve to disturb what she imagined to be an iron weapon. Resting in the captain's grip is only the handle of the shinigami's zanpakuto, completely void of its sharpened steel and instead, it leaks a viscous, black liquid that poured from its habaki. Yasu had haphazardly thrown her sealed zanpakuto at Nao. A master of the silent release, the thing that aimed for Nao was nothing more than the small handle by the time it reached Yasu's hand in its diminished form. In the midst of its spiraling descent, specks of her Shikai would come to encapsulate both air and earth in a linear fashion from where it was released just several meters away upon its release to where it now resides in her hand.

"Kōzō Nashi." (構造なし, "No Structure")

With a violent swing of her arm, Yasu's Shikai comes to life as streaks of needle-like slivers rocket out with one another in flurries of hundreds. She utters the name of Kurosawa's base ability, a structureless whip that appears never-ending as it continues to pour from the handle, growing thicker with the seconds that pass. To idly wait and watch would prove to be detrimental, even while constantly moving. Those needle-like projectiles have spread outwards in tandem to the utter of those couple words, all with the intent to pierce right through each and every figure that has crossed the battlefield through multitudes of the black swamp barrage in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees.

The train of black sludge grew longer and longer and coating the stage on which they both once stood, sending more of these specks all around the combat zone. Instead, Nao, in order to evade a fatal blow, creates a sense of nonexistence as neither she nor the images left behind possessed an inkling of reiatsu. Even then, these arrays of projectiles seemed endless as they only continued to grow in numbers, spawning off of one another to eliminate any openings. So thin, that even a prick would go unnoticed unto skin, but all the more dangerous if Nao was unable to keep track or defend properly as they swarmed the expansive distance, bubbling and growing erratically despite the Captain looking as focused and fluid as she was.

Yet it seemed as though Yasu was a being of relentlessness, going so further as to send the elongated whip directly towards the Nao's physical body at the moment which the existence of her clones would go extinct. Her eyes were wide, brimming with wonder for this Captain-hopeful to come back at her with like-fury. Danger once more races towards the examinee, and the closer it gets the more distorted its shape would become, rippling as it begged to grab a hold of this newfound subject. From afar, Yasu bellows, beckoning to Nao with two pointed fingers--

"Kakatte koi!" (かかって来い, "Bring it on!")

 

[Nao Murakami]

Listen While You Read

Captain Yasu Yūgure.

A name and title befitting the woman who held them, for what was on display could be described as nothing less than absolute excellence; from the efficient and frighteningly precise movements, to the intensity of killing intent, and most captivatingly, the sharpness of a mind capable of recognizing and dispatching incoming threats with seemingly careless ease. The Kenpachi Games truly hadn’t done Nao’s proctor justice, the bout between Captain Hageshi and Captain Yūgure, although a grand spectacle on the merit of the sheer power displayed, had fallen flat. It was one thing to watch a battle from afar, and an entirely different thing to be in one; from what she’d observed, and now experienced firsthand, the Captain of the Ninth was a powerhouse.

It was no surprise, then, that the examiner’s rebuttal came with equal measures of effectiveness and nonchalance. That twirling something, to which Nao’d mused could have been her opponent’s Zanpakutō, was affirmed when deadly precise fingers snatched it seamlessly, the weapon cleverly raised above pink locks, a dense purple aura emanating over muscled skin. Three ethereal blades edges were met with the Zanpakutō’s reinforced handle, the red-orange Reiatsu screeching before giving in and shattering into thousands of pieces; the tension caused a shock of power to swirl about the examiner, tossing the wind into a violent outburst, the ground beneath her cracking, eventually settling into a stillness that always preceded the storm.

Hmm?

The Captain’s Zanpakutō…was bladeless? A concern alleviated immediately by the memory of her opponent’s participation during the Games, although it came as a surprise to not hear a release command. She’d learned of some Shinigami capable of the feat, seemingly a rarity among the ranks, yet unsurprisingly not for those of Captain-class. Specks of the notorious black ooze sprinkled the area where Nao once stood.
​

"Kōzō Nashi." (構造なし, "No Structure")​

A verbal cue that wasn’t necessary to understand what was to come, Nao’s senses speaking the tale to be told. A violent swing forced the world to reel in the horrors birthed by the Swamp Queen, black tar spewed in every conceivable direction like a hydrant of vomit, continuing to pour out shamelessly from the bladeless weapon’s hilt. It was quite an appalling display, particularly in person, though Nao would be certain to keep that sentiment to herself. Raven liquid turned to solid needles, observed until they shrunk beyond the perception of physical sight, though visible still through the most accurate of all perception. Every single little, tiny, nearly non-existent darkened needle and their trajectory was made clear in her mind’s eye. Nao shared the belief that it would be ill-advised to simply evade the onslaught, to which seemed feasible…for a time, though to what end; the outcome of such a path was inevitably grim. Sludge continued to pour and then morph, buzzing through the Valley heat like stingers attached to invisible insects, piercing through Nao after Nao, leaving in their wake bloodied corpses of punctured black.

As the sea of her ilk fell lifeless to the dusty red earth of the Valley, a single red-haired swordsman strode purposefully toward the Captain from the front, her Reiatsu subdued yet ever so perceptible, the cadence of her Geta methodical and steady, resounding against the backdrop of the buzz. The once jovial smile had turned neutral, a modest expression of respect echoed within her eye. In her right hand resided Umōmaru, firmly pointed downward diagonally, the sharp edge facing the cracked earth. Try as Yasu’s black hell might, every bit of the brawler’s ooze that made it near two meters of Nao from all sides, hardened or not, simply ceased to exist –cut cleanly and finely down to the very last Reishi, thousands of times until nothing was left; an ordeal made soundless and unassuming from the application of Muon'agare (無音流れ, Soundless Flow), a style touted to have been devised and mastered by Yachiru Unohana.

And so Nao continued her stride, some thirty meters away, untouched, her Zanpakutō never moving, steady in her gentle grip…though if one were to ask the question: was Umōmaru’s blade growing…longer? They would certainly be met with ridicule, unless…it really was, at a rate so slow to be impossibly imperceptible?

The needles continued onward, past this strangely impervious and visible version of Nao, reaching out within fifty meters of their Queen…until they struck something and just stopped.

Listen While You Read
​

"Kakatte koi!" (かかって来い, "Bring it on!")​

Nao grinned from ear to ear.

“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”
“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”
“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”
“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”
“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”
“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”

At the final and thunderous ring of Nao’s rippled proclamation, a dome of red-orange and teal flames erupted where the black sludge needles had stopped, encasing the two combatants under a serene display, the once barren earth, its dunes and rocks, no longer shriveled under the demands of the sun. To assume that these flames, the force and heat that was born from them, were themselves the resistance that met Yasu’s onslaught would be a mistake. On contraire, these momentary flames were but a prelude, for the most part harmless, that beckoned something greater–instead, the outer layers of the impending and temporarily halted wave had been cut out of existence, every microscopic bit, with her sword. Although Nao hypothesized that she may be capable of halting the advance indefinitely with merely the edge of her blade, again, to what end? No, her intent wasn’t to prevent, but rather to contain and then exterminate. Fire was, truly, the purest exterminator.

A spiral of red-orange and teal flames was born from the dome, a swirl no larger than a foot in circumference, roaring down in an attempt to catch up to the still marching Nao. When the flames finally reached her, they encased her entire being, briefly obstructing her from view, and once these fires fizzled away, the transformed Umōmaru arose, glimpses of pulsating feathers seen within the bubble of her person. When had Nao done all of this? When had she uttered the command, and activated Shikai? The answer to that question would never come to light, and frankly, there was no time to dwell on it.

A warping roar boomed from every unit of space surrounding the two, the once harmless dome consumed by an ever encroaching wave of explosions that breathed out hellish fire, eating away at the black sludge without remorse. Where the first wave of blasts freed the space infested by the black ooze, a new line of Umōmaru’s infused feathers rushed forward at timeless speed, continuing the sequence, made evident only by the frantically increasing frequency of the earth-shaking shock-waves, a single detonation covering sizeable ground; the seamless torrent of fire suffocated the two combatants, consuming all in their path indiscriminately. No matter the consistency, hardened or in liquid form, the immense Reiryoku infused within the feathers would bring forth a force powerful enough to crush the ooze’s sturdy exterior into nothingness, the heat of the fires eating away at every last bit of Reishi the sludge held onto in an attempt to survive. It was only a matter of consequential moments before the explosions and flames reached the immediate vicinity of the Captain and Captain-hopeful, having erased ooze, earth, and all other elements alike, leaving desolation and smoldering craters in their wake.

Her proctor’s final swing hadn’t gone unnoticed, the black rope of sludge firing out ahead. It slurped about, gargling as it bubbled, shifting in form as it neared…

A white line emerged across the Captain’s abdomen, immediately turning to a red-orange, growing to the size of a blade’s edge, leaving nothing but a gap of inches between her top and bottom halves, Nao now able to see her beautiful work beyond. Within this gap, an ominously large blade made of Reiatsu came to life, only visible to the spiritual senses, delayed existence traced back to an outstretched Umōmaru before dissipating, pointed in the examiner’s direction; a thin slice of angered crescent wind followed, screeching past the severed sludge and flesh-less gap cleanly, followed by a second and more volatile gust that ruffled the bisected woman’s garments and hair; Nao’s shifted position came into view, before it was gone again as Yasu’s severed halves fall back into the oncoming destruction. Nao had thrust her blade a thousand times in such quick sequence that it would seem but a single stroke, folding every instance of manifested Reiatsu onto itself like a forged blade, made so extraordinarily dense and sharp that it cut straight through everything in its path: the elements, ooze, and Captain alike.

As the blasts and fires of her own making licked around them both, the wonderful warmth forcing an elated smile onto her once serious expression, Nao looked upon her proctor’s disintegrating body with trepidation; a part of her wished this marked the end of their confrontation, and wondered if she’d gone too far, hoping that Captain Nakamoto and his medics could return the young Captain to full health.

...But something stirred within her; she knew deep down there was no way…that it would end like this.​

 

[Tatsu]

“Rise from the ashes, Umōmaru!”​

A cacophony of voices rang around her and the Ninth Division Captain's field of vision is abruptly disrupted by the light that emanated from the flames manifested upon Nao's release of her zanpakuto. Such was an acceptable answer to get after egging her on with just a couple of words. Emanating light that rivaled that of the sun, Nao's Shikai has appeared on the playing field and burst with fervor. Heat completely encased the area around them and she couldn't help but start to feel stuff from it. She was unsure of just how she continued to face these fiery individuals, but it seemed as though the young captain had some sort of gravitational pull with these folks.

But nonetheless... fire and explosives were something that she was faced with time and time again. Her body was highly durable, especially in extreme temperatures and physical attacks. Although infused and expressive by the amount of reiryoku Nao poured into these multitudes of feathers, the most disturbed thing between the two combatants was the space around them as feathers met with the blacked sludge. The Valley of Screams rumbled with the sounds of battle, earthen towers shaking, breaking, and space displacing from the ruptures of Nao's feathery assault, leaving dirt and debris to cross areas around them.

An aqueous approach meets with the concussive force of incendiaries. It seems as though these two opposite forces have come to a standstill under Nao's supervision at the use of her flames to incinerate the make of her black sludge to nothing. Though it seems Nao has even more tricks up her sleeves when Yasu's body is subjected to an ominous glow before her bare abdomen and her body seems to split apart from such a sickeningly quiet and lethal advance. To have been halved in such a way was truly concerning, and from it, came the destruction of anything in that path of disaster towards Yasu. A distorted space existed in between them, and one of complete carnage.

Nao had truly come back at her proctor with all the intention to kill her, and perhaps if this were a less-experienced Yasu, she may have succumbed to that deadly force.



Nao Murakami is a dangerous long-range combatant. Yasu recognizes just how honed Nao is in terms of zanjutsu and her speed is fluid. The amount of control Nao has over her reiatsu is more than apparent. She has shown plenty when it comes to situations in her favor, but the scales would begin to tip.

What Nao perceives to have been Yasu's crumbling body is only a tattered and torn haori, reduced to half of a whole from the manifested reiatsu blade. Although younger than her examinee, the Ninth Division captain is among those who withhold their mastered titles in terms of shunpo. The area in which Yasu once stood is emptied of a body, and the area is lacking any presence that she once possessed. Too much concern for her proctor would only serve as a distraction.

The long train of viscous black tendrils that have come apart from that ruthless, halving swing only becomes whole again and continues its undisturbed path towards the Captain-hopeful and detached from the hilt of the Captain's zanpakuto. Hidden in lieu of her own destructive tendencies, the sludge moves to take a hold of the ginger-haired shinigami's blade and claw its way up in quick succession to make Nao's upper body submissive to the black net and susceptible to being crushed in absolute from the compressive force that which it is capable of. If Nao were to attempt even the smallest form of resistance, she'd find herself practically cemented in place. In tandem to ensnare the shinigami in the ever-constricting form, Nao would feel nothing but the tearing of flesh as the sludge threatens to disarm her completely and rob the wielder of her limb and weapon attached.

Through the fire and the flames and multitudes of dust and clouds created from the mayhem, Yasu emerges, lacking the prestigious white coat and spiritual presence. As if the Captain-hopeful had yet to cease that suffering, the immense pressure of Yasu's knee embedding itself into her examinee's nasal cavity would only add insult to injury. The pressure is lethal, the amount of force and power capable of shattering the examinee's facial structure into bits and pieces, completely disorientating the sufferer and sending her head snapping back with such a force, that the only saving grace to keep it from breaking is Yasu's hand against the back of her head.

The expression Yasu holds lacks any form of emotion, her purple orbs simply locked onto every part of Nao that resides before her. The grip on her zanpakuto's handle is rather loose, but whether it is due to the lack of concern for her own well-being or due to keeping her form as fluid as possible is unknown. The Captain of the Ninth Division hovers just mere centimeters above her opponent's body, waiting on whether or not Nao would concede or continue to fight.