Nail in Your Coffin

Something was stirring in the air.

In the streets of the first district of the Rukongai, just outside the Southern Red Hollow Gate of the, a large cloud of dust could be seen rising on the horizon. Mahiro Tatsuma, an unseated member of the Third Division, pushed up the brim of his wide-brimmed guard’s hat, which shielded his face from the bright sun beating down from overhead. He squinted his eyes, but because he couldn’t make out anything against the shimmering waves of heat in the air, he took out the pair of binoculars from his satchel and focused in on the distant disturbance.

“Woah,” he breathed.

The apparent dust storm was coming from an organized rabble of shady-looking individuals who completely filled the width of the street and who were now casually strolling towards the Seireitei. Well, casually strolling might have been exaggerating it a bit. They walked at a leisurely pace, but one or more of them were obviously exerting a great deal of reiatsu to stir up the dirt road and more or less alert everyone in the area to their presence. They appeared to be members of a Rukon gang considering the fact that every one of them sported a red bandana and carried either a, stick, pitchfork, machete, or any other rag-tag variety of weapon. There were a lot of them... maybe forty men in total, with a few disreputable-looking women in tow.

The question was... why were they here? Did they want to start a war against the Gotei 13? Were they planning to commit suicide?

Nonetheless, their presence should be considered as a serious threat, and Mahiro secretly stifled a sigh of relief. He normally hated being assigned guard duty, but now it seemed as though something major were about to happen. Maybe all his boredom would finally pay off.

“Edamura-san!” Mahiro shouted, calling his superior officer. Aochi Edamura, a Shinigami who physically appeared to be in his sixties and who had been one of the few “lucky” veterans of the war ten years before, emerged from the guard house. Sensing the urgency in Mahiro’s tone, he jogged at a quick pace, his stubby legs and ample girth creating a comical wobble, to cross the open courtyard. Edamura had been directly assigned by the First Division as the commanding officer for the guard unit stationed at the southern Seireimon. He had worked there ever since the gatekeeper had been killed in the Quincy invasion, but even so he himself was only a 10th Seat. At times, Mahiro wondered how much stock the Gotei 13 really put into their positions as guards, as the Twelfth Division could simply lower the barrier at any time if a threat were to be perceived. Sometimes, Mahiro was convinced that guard duty was assigned just so the divisions had an excuse to act official.

At last, Aochi reached Mahiro’s side. Panting, he took notice of the dust cloud immediately.

“Binoculars,” he huffed. Mahiro handed him the requested object, and Aochi fell silent as he sized up the incoming storm.

“Jumping Jehosophat!” he exclaimed, “Tatsuma-kun, we’ve got a code red on our hands!”

“What do we do sir?”

Instead of replying, Aochi handed the binoculars back to Mahiro and began to dab at the sweat on his bald forehead with a handkerchief.

“Look there,” he said, indicating one of the men in the front. By now, they were close enough to where Mahiro could see the large, circular red tattoo in the center of his chest, even without the aid of the binoculars.

“That there is the symbol of the Takeha-kai,” Aochi explained, “Also known as the Red Bamboo gang.”

“Are they dangerous?”

Aochi shot him a look, his thick eyebrows knitting together in a terrifying frown.

“If you had paid attention in the ‘Threats and Non-threats of the Rukongai’ briefing, you woulda recognized them by now.”

“Oh yeah, I knew that name sounded familiar,” Mahiro lied. Who the hell paid attention during Aochi’s meetings anyway? They were drier than the sand of Hueco Mundo, he’d been told. That said, for some reason he did recall something about treating the experimental chickens that had escaped from the Twelfth as “deadly threats,” but he hadn’t paid attention to tedious details relating to the various different gangs of the Rukongai.

Turning his attention back to the invasion at hand, Aochi continued. “They’re pretty dangerous,” he explained, “Although their turf doesn’t start until after district 50. They normally don’t operate so close to the Seireitei.”

“So that means...”

“That means they have a reason for coming all the way out here,” Aochi said, “But since they’re making this much of a show, they’re probably not looking for a fight. That said...” he jabbed his finger into Mahiro’s chest, “It’d still be a good idea to send a to alert the divisions of the potential attack. Which, I might add, if you had read chapter 675 of the Seireitei Guard’s manual, you would have already known by now.”

“It must have slipped my mind. I’ll send out a message right now sir,” he paused, allowing what he hoped would be a sufficient amount of time to pass, then asked, “And uh, which divisions would those be, sir?”

“The NINTH and the SIXTH you idiot!” Aoichi suddenly screamed at him. But Mahiro had expected such a reaction, and simply pulled the hat down low over his face to shield himself from the spray of saliva that accompanied the earful he was about to receive.

“You’ve been a member of the Third for more than seven years and you still haven’t been assigned a seat! And you wanna know why!? Ignorance and apathy! If you had a modicum of respect for hard work you’d coulda achieved Bankai by now, you useless son of a Hollow. Let me tell you, I have half a mind to give you a good wallop right here and now! If you’d just listen to the first thing I say we wouldn’t—”

“Well this is terrible dull, wouldn’t ya say otchan?”

Aoichi, who had the front of Mahiro’s Shihakkushou bunched in his fist, froze, his mouth half-open. Slowly, he turned to look at the man who had just addressed them.

“Oh I’m sorry, was I interrupin’ things here?” the stranger asked, grinning widely.

“As a matter of fact,” Aoichi growled as he set Mahiro down and cracked his knuckles. “You were.” And then he moved to attack without warning, taking a step forward to swing his fist...

In the next instant, there was a white blur as Aoichi was thrown back, disappearing from sight. A split-second later Mahiro finally processed what had happened, and realized that the man had caught Aoichi in the face with one hand before slamming him straight back into the ground. Chunks of tile flew from the newly formed crater, and Mahiro’s eyes widened in horror as he realized Aochi’s skull had likely been crushed by the impact.

“Edamaru!”

"Well, that was terrible dull, wouldn't ya say?"

The white-haired man straightened up before turning to look back in Mahiro’s direction. For some odd reason, Mahiro noticed in that moment that the man was blind, at least for the red bandana tied over his eyes… the same color as the blood dripping from his fingers.

More importantly, he was standing inside the Seireitei, somehow having passed through the Shakonmaku.

But Mahiro had little time to think about what he should do, as just then the Seireimon, apparently triggered by the intrusion, began to close. The ground shook beneath them as the Sekkiseki barrier began to descend. But the white-haired man seemed to be well aware of what was happening and, without much hurry, sauntered back towards the Seireimon before positioning himself directly beneath the falling wall. For the first time, Mahiro realized he carried a heavy wooden object with him, and his eyes widened with shock when he saw the crest engraved into the back of the shield. The Shihōin... but how?

The leader of the Takeha-kai drove the tip of the shield into the ground, placing his hand on the crest as the gate dropped down. There was a flash of light as four lines of blue reishi shot out from the shield, forming a rectangular barrier that completely halted the descent of the Seireimon. Upon contact there was an explosion of spiritual pressure, and Mahiro braced himself against the wind as he was pushed back.

When he looked up, he saw that the gate had been frozen in place, allowing the Takeha-kai who stood just outside access to the Senkaimon. Things had quickly gone from bad to worse, and Mahiro now stood alone against forty members of one of the most ruthless gangs of the Rukongai.

Slowly, his gaze drifted back down to earth before settling on the intruder. I need to send for help. He told himself. He could still sense a tiny pulse of Aochi’s spiritual pressure, but knew he needed immediate aid from the Fourth Division. If so, then why was his hand at that very moment drifting to the hilt of his Zanpakutou? He thought of Aochi lying in a puddle in the ground, and could only focus on one thing: slitting the throat of the man who had attacked him.

To speak of the devil, Mahiro found that his enemy was right in front of him... and that he had grabbed a hold of Mahiro’s sword hand, forbidding him to draw the blade.

“Not so fast, otchan,” the man said in his coarse accent. “I’ve got a message for you to deliver to ol' Kyouraku,” he said. Mahiro pushed him away as he jumped back. He kept his guard up, but he did not attempt to use his Zanpakutou, as he knew it would be useless at that point.

“Why should I take orders from you” Mahiro asked bravely. The man shrugged. “Don’t matter none to me,” he said, “But ya’ll end up pissin’ off the wrong people if you don’t.” He pulled out an envelope from his sleeve and held it out. Mahiro saw the crest—the same seal that had been on the Seiremon-blocking shield—but he did not immediately accept the letter.

“And one more thing,” the man continued. “Ya’r pal over there ain’t likely dead yet, and if ya’d like to keep it that way, I’d suggest hurryin’, if ya catch what I’m sayin.’”

Mahiro glared at him, but at last he reached out and took the letter in hand.

“Tell them Hein Ueda sent ya,” the man told him. "And that he's here to claim that empty captaincy ya've got."