The night over Soul Society was uncharacteristically shrouded in oppressive lead-gray. No stars, no moon—only thick, ink-dark clouds pressing low above Seireitei, nursing a storm long in the making.
"Looks like heavy rain tonight."
Shihōin Hiroki's voice rang clear in the cavernous, opulent war-room of the Shihōin Clan.
He had just set down the scroll delivered through Second Division's most secret channels.
The intelligence inside was chilling—barely a month after Kuchiki Ginrei's death, certain restless "branches" inside the ailing Kuchiki Clan had reached toward other nobles, even into zones Captain Commander Yamamoto had expressly forbidden.
Greed and betrayal flourished in the power vacuum.
Hiroki drummed his fingers on the solid-ebony desk, producing dull, rhythmic thuds.
Better to uproot them completely than waste time on empty courtesy.
After all, the Kuchiki headache wasn't his; he had no patience for noble squabbles.
He glanced outside. A blinding flash tore the sky, followed by deafening thunder. The cloudburst finally broke, raindrops hammering the glazed windows in an unbroken, crackling roar that merged into white noise.
Perfect timing.
Hiroki pressed a butterfly-etched spirit communicator set into the desk corner.
"Fugaku."
A steady, respectful answer came at once: "Lord Hiroki."
"The rain is heavy."
"Indeed, my lord. The downpour is the best curtain." Uchiha Fugaku's voice carried a cold metallic edge through the downpour.
"Have you reviewed everything?"
"I've memorized it. The intelligence… is thorough." Fugaku paused. "Within the Kuchiki main family's second of three principal branches, six vassal houses and twenty-seven hard-line core members have been confirmed. Three sites show anomalous spirit-pressure readings."
"The plan?"
"All personnel are in position. The rain will mask every trace. Yashiro will coordinate." Fugaku's report was crisp.
"Good." Hiroki's tone stayed flat. "If you meet unforeseen strong foes—especially at those three sites—permission to go all-out."
"Understood, Lord Hiroki!" Fugaku's reply rang like steel.
Tonight's operation had joint backing from Second and Sixth Divisions.
Hiroki had labeled it "treason."
Second supplied the evidence, Sixth accepted and authorized it, then both enforced the sentence together.
That was why the Old Man Yama had been reluctant to give Hiroki Sixth: it governed the nobles.
Hence it held the right to punish them.
But Hiroki had offered too much.
Though nothing rare, the sheer volume would make life considerably easier for the Thirteen Divisions' Shinigami.
So Yamamoto had agreed.
The connection cut.
Hiroki strode to the huge window; rain sluiced down the glass, warping Seireitei into a blur of shifting light.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his deep-purple Captain Commander haori glinting coldly under the room's soft light.
A faint, almost cruel smile touched his lips.
"Ready?" Uchiha Fugaku stood on a concealed rooftop command post of the Onmitsukidō, rain streaming down his black combat suit.
His Sharingan opened silently; Three-Tomoe rotated, letting him see every movement in the district, any odd spirit-pressure flaring like a beacon in the dark.
Beside him stood Uchiha Yashiro—a minor name in the originals, yet now his aura was deep, restrained; within his pupils, patterns more intricate than Three-Tomoe flickered.
Yashiro's face was grave, eyes blazing with battle-lust. He bowed. "Chief, all 'Kamaitachi' squads are in place, concealed.
The heavy rain and Onmitsukidō stealth runes work perfectly; no heightened vigilance inside the target strongholds. We can begin 'Pruning the Rotten Branch' at any time."
"Good." Fugaku's voice grated like cold iron. "Time. Tell all teams: start the harvest."
"Yes, sir!"
Orders flashed silently through the squad spirit network.
Rain wove a curtain; killing unfolded in silence.
The quiet noble quarter became a stage for death's bloom.
Under the perfect cover of torrential rain and thunder, squads in black waterproof cloaks slipped like shadows from hell into one splendid mansion after another.
Their eyes, beneath hoods, all glowed cold, eerie crimson—Sharingan active.
Body Flicker Technique whispered; figures vanished in the rain.
At a target doorway, two chatting guards sensed nothing before their necks snapped and their bodies folded into darkness.
Inside, a minor noble head—vassal to Kuchiki's second branch—smiled smugly over a secret letter.
A deadly Shinigami already stood behind him.
Steel flashed; a wind-Chakra-coated, spirit-reinforced tanto slit his throat. Light faded from his eyes before a sound could escape.
A bloodline spurted, caught by an absorbent cloth hurled to the wall.
The entire sequence was lightning-fast and utterly silent.
Any rising spirit-pressure was strangled before it could erupt.
Identical scenes played out across multiple strongholds.
Uchiha Ninja lethal precision, Sharingan dynamic vision, and genjutsu interference made the purge terrifyingly efficient.
Even Lieutenant-level guards with sharp perception often died wordlessly under the stealth and lightning strike of Three-Tomoe elites.
"Zone One cleared—target and principal guards eliminated."
Reporting for Sector 3: light resistance, cleanup complete, outside perimeter undisturbed.
Reporting for Sector 7: target has achieved Shikai? Suppressed by Sharingan genjutsu, eliminated in an instant...
Over the comm channel, the operations team's reports were terse and cold, like a machine reciting numbers.
Uchiha Fugaku kept his eyes closed; the field of vision granted by his Sharingan let him clearly sense the energy fluctuations feeding back from every squad.
Everything was proceeding exactly as rehearsed, so smoothly it felt staged.
'Hmph, as expected of a rotten noble—climb the Kuchiki family tree all you like, but once you lose your fangs of vigilance you're nothing but a lamb to the slaughter.'
Yet just as he concluded the overall situation was locked—
A thunderclap!
Rumble—!!!
Three torrents of reiatsu—far more terrifying, condensed, and oppressive than any natural thunderstorm—erupted like primordial beasts startled from slumber, bursting from separate corners behind the rain curtain.
Invisible shock waves sent raindrops rolling backward, suspended mid-air!
The entire southwest noble district of Seireitei quaked beneath those three pillars of reiatsu; countless slumbering or uneasy nobles and Shinigami were jolted awake, staring in horror toward the three directions.
Captain-level!
Undeniably Captain-level reiatsu!
Yet not one of them belonged to the registered Gotei Thirteen. They felt ancient, decrepit, exuding a mouldering, near-death staleness—yet carried a dreadful power that made hearts quail.
Two of them were almost touching, like a dying star's final violent flare;
The third, however, was strikingly young, sharp, bursting with vitality, like the first dragon-cry of a newly-forged peerless blade bared to the sky!
'Tch! Rats hiding in an even deeper hole after all!' Fugaku's eyes snapped open; his Three-Tomoe Sharingan spun rapidly, reflecting the distant energy pillars that pierced the rain. His face darkened.
The target file had mentioned an 'anomaly,' but who could have guessed it would turn out to be antiques of this caliber and a freshly-minted captain? These Kuchiki 'loyal' retainers had buried cards this deep to protect themselves or to seize advantage!
Fugaku's heart sank. The plan was derailed—not from fear of their strength; he was confident against any single one—but from worry that such a titanic reiatsu release would provoke the full Gotei Thirteen and shatter the whole 'silent purge' masquerade.
'Immediately inform Yashiro and Izumi: each take one eruption point! Suppress with everything, finish the fight fastest! Don't let them link up!' Fugaku's voice crackled through the comm with urgency.
'I'll handle the last one myself!'
Meanwhile, inside the Shihōin Clan operations room.
On the huge curved reiatsu monitor, three glaring red dots were pinned, each peak piercing the vivid red line denoting Captain-level.
Alarms were muted, but the flashing crimson light played across Shihōin Hiroki's expressionless face.
'Hmph...' A soft, ambiguous laugh escaped Hiroki as he tapped the desk. 'Thought we'd quietly weed the garden, but turns out we kicked a boulder. Three captains... these Kuchiki vassals sure are "loyal," buried this deep.'
His tone betrayed neither joy nor anger, only the irritation of an expected headache arriving.
He glanced at the squad-status panels beside each eruption point.
Yashiro against the most ancient and decayed... a perfect whetstone to get familiar with the Mangekyo.
Fugaku's side... should be quick.
As for Izumi... Hiroki's gaze fixed on the blip marking Uchiha Izumi's position and the preliminary scan that popped up—
Target signature: high reiatsu (Captain-level), energy trait: sharp, no identifying crest.
At that moment a report came through: 'Lord Hiroki, the Gotei Thirteen divisions are reacting strongly! Captain-level officers are racing toward each eruption site!'
'Suì-Fēng, Shisui.' Hiroki chose his messengers without hesitation.
'Lord Hiroki!' 'Captain!' The two replies came almost together.
'Go extend a "warm welcome" to our "helpful" colleagues who are coming to "reinforce" us.' His tone stayed level.
Tell them the "Second Division stumbled on multiple noble plots during routine surveillance," the involved families "resisted fiercely" and "accidentally caused huge chaos," and my "Sixth Division is assisting with on-site order and investigating the facts.'
Ask them to "understand," "maintain vigilance, help cordon the perimeter," and await "joint-inquiry results.'
Remember: keep them calm, don't let them barge in and mess things up.
Give them solid reasons; the report will be on the Captain Commander's and Central 46 Chambers' desks tomorrow.
'Yes sir!' 'Understood!'
Suì-Fēng's crisp voice cut off as she vanished.
Shisui flash-stepped out without hesitation, his Shunpo blended with Body Flicker Technique, leaving only a faint water-trace through the rain.
At the Maeda sub-branch estate, subsidiary to the Kuchiki.
The fight here had already gone white-hot.
Uchiha Yashiro faced a figure seated motionless atop a huge spirit-stone cushion.
The old man's hair and beard were white, skin withered like sun-baked bark, as lifeless as a statue.
Were it not for the terrifying reiatsu that seemed able to crush space, and the glint of razor-sharp light within the cloudy eyes under half-raised lids, one would swear he had died centuries ago.
His name was Maeda Onikura, the last and deepest foundation of the Maeda house.
His reiatsu felt like a rusted blade—thick with the dust of history and bone-biting killing intent.
When the Onmitsukidō Ninja had broken in, he did not move, merely releasing the pressure of his presence to cow the intruders.
But the Uchiha killing intent never wavered, striking the very scale he guarded—the Maeda bloodline must not be destroyed!
'Stray mongrel, dare bare fangs in the Maeda estate!' Onikura's voice rasped like a blade scraping bone; as he spoke, an invisible gravity crushed the entire underground chamber!
Yashiro felt every bone groan, even breathing became labor.
Yet the pattern of his Mangekyo Sharingan blazed alight!
Mangekyo — Otogi Nami