A cacophony of thunderous booms and rumbling persisted for what seemed a millenia, segments of the valley’s walls crumbling down as a result from the wanton destruction that seemed to stretch through much of the vacant space. Lingering around the haze that danced near him, smoke and debris began to rise up, spurring a fit of coughs from the young Angel of destruction, soon to obscure even that space around him. If nothing else, the young healer truly proved himself to be a master in regards to not only his control over the spells he commanded, but the fluidity and potency of their execution.
A single step from the testee found him sixty meters from his canvas of destruction. Despite being in a fight that could very well cost him his life, Yū could not shake the core of who he was, a healer. Concern for his opponent’s well being striking at the chords of both his heart and conscious, the young male commanding his fluttering familiars into the debris of the blast site with the spell’s destruction having finally calmed. It was an act that would ensure he could remedy any damage brought about by his own hand, while also confirming the validity of what he perceived...the capture and possible defeat of his opponent.
The butterflies followed their voiceless orders, dancing into the lingering veil of wispy darkness, a single silhouette sprawled on the ground, motionless. It was a defining moment, and certainly one warranting concern. True Kyomu had angered Yū, and this
was a Captain’s test, but had his emotions gotten the best of him? Regardless of how furious he was, how humiliated he felt he was still a member of the Fourth Division. It was his duty to heal not harm, his oath to save lives not end them, especially the lives of those meant to be his allies. What were the possible ramifications for such an act once word got back? Would he be punished? No certainly not, it was a test after all. If he returned while Kyomu did not it only meant that he was the stronger of the two, he couldn’t be faulted for such a thing...right? What of his fellow Squad members? They would perhaps undoubtedly be elated for a while, for who would question the strength of their squad henceforth? But, how long until their elation turned into silent fear and apprehension towards him? Worried about incurring his wrath and becoming one of possibly many victims.
There were many questions, many concerns...no true easy answer to any such thoughts.
“Oh god… did I go too-”
Voicing his concern his words would be short lived, the image of a blade extended from his chest would, or at least should, be cause enough to halt his running thoughts. A careful glance behind him would reveal nothing save the space of the valley behind him. Another illusion? No, where there was empty space, soon was replaced by a haze, not unlike the one that lingered near him prior to his relocation. The haze began to recede, Kyomu’s image slowly being unveiled absent of his haori, his right hand holding the blade that was thrust through the back of young Nakomoto, piercing through where his heart should have been extending all the way through his chest.
Within the crater caused by the Kidō Prince’s onslaught was the silhouette, still motionless on the ground. Through the veil of smoke and debris the body of Squad two’s Captain lay lifelessly..and then, the body was no more—Kyomu’s
Captain’s haori, tattered and burnt all that remains.
Yū’s attack was brilliant, his strategy and combo aggressive, he did well to leave Kyomu little quarter. The fact the Captain was forced to use such a technique surely meant that he had been at risk at some point. The Seraphim had meant to take the Phantom’s back, sought to misdirect him using speed, silence, a false image and subterfuge—powerful agents against the uninitiated and a lesser opponent...Captain Mukuro was neither.
The two had similar thoughts, each seeking to take the back of the other, causing their roles to remain the same, Yū remaining within the Captain’s clear field of vision. Something even the Healer was smart enough to understand, still leaving him with little answers to how he found himself in his current state of peril. It was clear that when he cast his binding spell he was facing the genuine Kyomu, evident enough by his proctor fighting off the stinging ribbons seeking to overwhelm them...and it is in that moment which houses the answer to the question which surely plagued the young healer’s heart.
Kyomu was a master swordsman, rivaled only by his speed. Where Nakamoto was a virtuoso in the Kidō arts, Captain Mukuro was a master of the blade, evident in his ability to completely erase the openings and deficiencies in a
certain technique. His blade, dancing at speeds eluding the gaze of some of the most astute of observers, striking out at various impossible angles enough to not only nullify the advance of that which sought to bind him, but to sever them into numerous minute strips. Still, it served only as a temporary fix for an ongoing situation, against a persistent opponent.
Striking out at the ribbons, cleaving through those that entered a proximity of nearly two meters of his person, Kyomu maneuvered himself through the briefest of openings created by his blade, abandoning his haori to be ensnared by his opponent’s voracious spell as he himself
became imperceptible. All within one instantaneous moment, brief, timeless...ephemeral. With the fibers of his ensemble insulating his reiatsu and his own ability to suppress what couldn’t be restrained Yū would be none the wiser, forced only to respond and react to what he himself could perceive against an opponent he couldn’t sense, and who moved with nary a sound, disturbing neither the air or space around him as he moved.
The haze that lingered near him born not from the aftermath of the beautifully chaotic Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō, but the slight imperfection in Kyomu’s camouflage as it cemented itself, diverting the healer’s attention away from the very opponent he was facing that now stood just beside him, observing the power of the spell, both silent witnesses to its apocalyptic power.
When Yū finally did move, so too did Kyomu, still camouflaged until finally choosing to act. The thrust was swift, void of any actual murderous intent let alone conscious or subconscious effort on his end. Splayed along the ground was both the shadow of Captain Mukuro and his angelic testee, the blade jutting from him the only thing absent of such a thing. Genzōken’s power was in full effect, though the blade pierced him no actual damage had been dealt, however with a single subconscious whim that could change. It would take no effort for the Seireitei’s own menacing specter to give corporeality back to his blade, allowing it to sever the heart of the young blonde, ending his life.
Perhaps Yū could see this, and use his own frightening speed to react reflexively, moving fast enough to gain distance between himself and Kyomu’s blade, while leaving an after image to trick him, though was it a risk he could take? As an assassin Kyomu was extremely observant of his surroundings as well as the language of his opponents’ bodies. The slightest discrepancy, the briefest of twitches, tension from his muscles, or flickering of his reiatsu Kyomu would perceive it as the boy attempting some manner of counter-attack or response, and made sure the cold steel of his blade met flesh, drawing blood and carving out the still pumping heart.
It was a fate that demanded nothing short of the gods or perhaps the intervention of the Soul King himself. Yū Nakomoto would need both the speed, experience, reflexes and perceptive ability to notice the subtle, nigh non-existent discrepancies in the scenario he bore witness to, in order to be on guard enough to respond accordingly. Even then he still needed the ability to locate or perceive the whereabouts of his opponent, narrowing down his likely course of action and where he would be to set up the proper countermeasures. As a master in the Demon Arts perhaps a barrier could be set up in his blind spot to thwart an attack from such an obvious opening...still, any barrier or shield would be rendered moot in the face of Kyomu’s shadowless blade that could pass through even barriers with ease while its powers were active.
Maybe the delicate Seraphim would somehow notice the silent and invisible, practically non-existent specter haunting his shadow, and take flight with his shunpo an instant prior to the thrusting of the blade. He would still need to fear the likely immediate pursuit of his proctor who’s speed rivaled...no, surpassed his own. If Kyomu pursuited him and he perceived this, then how true was what he perceived? He had been repeatedly deceived throughout the bout, if he caught a glimpse of his opponent then was it a stroke of luck...or was it because Captain Mukuro allowed him to see him for some ulterior motive? Just how impossibly fast
was he? How deep did his deceptions go?
It seemed that every possible route available to the Healer brought him back into the path of the ghostly killer. Had the angel’s wings been clipped, or would the heaven’s grant their messenger a miracle in his hour of need? All the while Kyomu stood there, observing
everything while saying nary a word, making not a sound, absent of any actual presence. Passionless eyes stared on in apathy as if the blood in his veins ran cold, his chest appearing still, bringing to question if the man even truly drew breath. Truly the man was a phantom indeed.
