Chapter 448: Me? I Fight Him? For Real?
Dan Heng slid to a halt beside March. His breathing remained steady, though his eyes were locked on the distant enemy. "March, are you confident you can finish off that Black-Robed Figure?"
"Huh? Me? I fight him?!" March's jaw dropped. She jabbed a finger at her own nose, then threw her hand toward the looming Black-Robed Figure. Just looking at the man's suffocating aura was enough to freeze the blood in her veins. She shook her head rapidly, her pink hair bouncing in a frantic blur. "For real? Stelle has been fighting him for so long..."
"I am certain." Dan Heng cut her off. His voice carried an uncharacteristic, absolute weight. "You saw it yourself. Your Zanpakuto strikes have a miraculous effect on those shadow clones. The energy structure of his duplicates is homologous to his main body. Your attacks are highly likely to inflict critical damage on him as well."
The archivist's cadence accelerated. "We have to seize the initiative. We cannot guarantee he won't summon another wave of clones, or that he lacks other hidden trump cards. The role of the main attacker has to be entrusted to you. Believe in yourself, March. Believe in your blade."
His words grounded her spiraling panic. March met Dan Heng's unwavering gaze, then slowly lowered her eyes to the pristine white katana in her grip. Sode no Shirayuki. Icy brilliance cascaded along the steel. A chilling, pure power pulsed from the hilt, syncing perfectly with the frantic drumming of her own heartbeat. The coldness did not bite; it soothed. A strange, quiet confidence took root in her chest.
"I... I'll try!" March took a deep, shuddering breath. Her fingers tightened around the hilt. The hesitation vanished from her eyes, replaced by a crystalline resolve.
"Good." Dan Heng did not waste another breath. He snapped his attention back to the epicenter of the chaotic battlefield. "We will carve out an opening for you."
He vanished. Dan Heng launched himself forward like an arrow released from a taut bowstring. Simultaneously, a sharp telepathic transmission pierced directly into Stelle's mind just as she clashed head-on with the Black-Robed Figure and skidded half a step backward.
'Stelle! Tactical adjustment! The two of us will go all out to pin him down. We need to create the perfect strike window for March! Her blade is our win condition!'
Amidst the shower of sparks and clashing steel, Stelle's golden eyes widened a fraction. Understanding clicked into place.
She angled her weapon, parrying a vicious downward cleave from the Black-Robed Figure. Using the kinetic recoil, she vaulted backward. The starlike brilliance of the weapon in her hands instantly collapsed inward.
Molten heat erupted. A heavy, scorching Flame Lance materialized in her grip, replacing her previous agile blade. The weapon radiated an aura of absolute, unyielding sturdiness, the pure essence of Preservation.
The sheer weight of the lance anchored her stance. Her fighting spirit flared higher than the flames licking the weapon's tip.
"Haa!" Stelle roared, her voice echoing across the stone hall. She lunged. The Flame Lance tore through the air, trailing a comet's tail of fire. She abandoned all delicate footwork. This was pure, domineering suppression.
She stopped aiming for lethal strikes. Instead, she used the massive weight of the lance and the absolute defensive bulwark of Preservation to bulldoze into the enemy's guard. She slammed her weapon down, locking the Black-Robed Figure into a brutal frontal clash and suffocating his movement space.
The Black-Robed Figure flinched. Stelle's sudden shift in aggression caught him off guard. He unleashed a flurry of rapid slashes against the Flame Lance. Blinding sparks and violent energy ripples exploded outward, but Stelle stood her ground like an iron fortress. He could no longer push her back.
Dan Heng struck. He moved like a phantom, bypassing the enemy's peripheral vision to materialize at his blind spot. Cloud Piercer thrust forward. No wasted motion. No flashy techniques. Just a singular, lethal strike. A concentrated point of cyan light condensed at the lead, aiming directly for the Black-Robed Figure's heart.
The timing was flawless. The strike arrived in the exact microsecond the Black-Robed Figure finished deflecting Stelle's heavy sweep, the exact moment his momentum died and before he could draw his next breath.
Caught in the lethal pincer, the inky darkness beneath the enemy's hood violently distorted.
He wrenched his wrist, violently knocking Stelle's Flame Lance aside. His spine twisted into a grotesque, unnatural angle. His left hand snapped up, forming a sword seal against the flat of his own dark blade. Pitch-black light surged.
Swish!
A shadow materialized directly in the path of Dan Heng's spear. It was dimmer than the previous clones, little more than a fragile silhouette.
Cloud Piercer tore through the phantom's chest without a shred of resistance.
The shadow opened its mouth in a silent, agonizing roar before bursting into mist. The kinetic force of Dan Heng's sure-kill thrust bled away into the empty air, completely neutralized.
Stelle and Dan Heng immediately fell back. They regrouped, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their weapons raised as they locked eyes on their target.
The Black-Robed Figure's aura wavered. A jagged wound on his chest leaked dark, viscous energy, aggravated by his forced, unnatural dodge. Yet, the hand gripping his sword did not tremble.
Dan Heng scowled. His grip on Cloud Piercer tightened. Something was wrong.
Their coordination had been flawless. The pincer attack was perfectly timed. Theoretically, they should have crushed his defense or, at the very least, inflicted severe trauma on the already wounded enemy.
Instead, they had merely forced out a hasty substitution technique.
A chilling realization crept up Dan Heng's spine. He analyzed the previous skirmish. Stelle had fought this man to a standstill entirely on her own.
Now, with him providing lethal flanking support, the battle remained a deadlocked draw. In fact, as the enemy adapted to their combined assault, his parries were becoming smoother. More calculated.
Unless he had been holding back from the very beginning. Was he intentionally throttling the intensity of the fight? Was he stalling? Waiting for something?
'This guy...'Dan Heng's eyes narrowed.'He still has a trump card.''We cannot drag this out.' Dan Heng's telepathic voice cracked like a whip.'March, get ready!'
March stood near the rear of the grand hall.
She closed her eyes. She inhaled a deep, slow breath. The air entering her lungs felt laced with microscopic ice crystals. When her eyelids fluttered open, the usual bubbly, chaotic energy that defined her was gone. Only the absolute, piercing clarity of a winter storm remained.
"Everyone... is putting their lives on the line." She whispered the words to the empty air, to herself, and to the beautiful white blade resting in her palms. "Believe in me, Sode no Shirayuki... Please, lend me your strength."
Her resolve solidified into permafrost. She banished the last remnants of hesitation, funneling every ounce of her spiritual energy into the Zanpakuto. The weapon hummed, connecting violently with her soul.
A terrifyingly cold domain erupted outward, using her as the epicenter. It was vastly purer and exponentially wider than her previous Shikai releases.
Inside the cavernous hall of the Throne of Enlightenment, the stifling heat vanished. The temperature plummeted below freezing in a matter of seconds. Crystal-clear snowflakes materialized from the thin air. They drifted downward, blanketing the ruined stone floor and sweeping rapidly toward the epicenter of Stelle's fierce melee.
Each snowflake carried a soul-chilling bite. They landed on the residual dark energy scattered across the battlefield, quietly freezing and eroding the shadows that did not belong in this world.
March gripped Sode no Shirayuki with both hands. She raised the hilt to her chest, holding the pristine blade perfectly vertical, the tip pointing straight toward the vaulted ceiling.
She closed her eyes, sinking into the deepest depths of her inner world to commune with the spirit of the blade. She gathered a terrifying aura, accumulating enough raw, freezing power to shatter falsehoods and freeze souls.
The falling snow caught in an invisible gravitational pull. The flakes began to orbit her body. The rotation accelerated, whipping into a violent, miniature blizzard vortex.
Her spiritual pressure skyrocketed. Torrents of icy blue light bled from the katana, illuminating her determined profile. In that moment, bathed in the glow of the ice, she exuded an impressive, inviolable sanctity.
The shift in the atmosphere was impossible to ignore. The Black-Robed Figure, currently locked in a brutal clash of strength with Stelle, snapped his head toward the swirling blizzard. He instantly recognized the source of the fatal threat.
"Nuisance..." A raspy, mechanical voice spilled from beneath the hood, utterly devoid of human emotion.
The air around him warped.
The pitch-black longsword locked against Stelle's Flame Lance suddenly ignited. The dark embers that had been quietly smoldering along its edge erupted.
These were not normal flames. They writhed and twisted like living vipers, radiating a sickening, soul-scorching heat. A wave of pure, all-consuming malice washed over the hall.
The black-flame sword detonated.
BOOM!
An unmatched, cataclysmic force exploded outward. Stelle caught the brunt of the shockwave. A mountain-toppling impact traveled straight down the shaft of her Flame Lance. The webbing between her thumbs and index fingers tore. Her arms went completely numb. Even with the absolute bulwark of Preservation shielding her, the kinetic force was too massive. She was violently launched backward, her boots plowing two deep, smoking trenches through the solid stone floor as she fought to stay upright.
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