Shinigami: Medicine Can't Save The Soul Reaper Society

In the next instant, under the furious and anxious gazes of Sung-Sun, Apacci, and Mila Rose, Tier Harribel was sent flying like a ragdoll—slashed away with overwhelming force…

"Harribel-sama!!!"

Boom!

Harribel's body was hurled dozens of meters through the air before violently crashing into a massive, gnarled dead tree. Only then did she finally come to a halt.

Even so, the impact was so severe that she coughed up a mouthful of blood.

But what was even worse…

Harribel lowered her gaze to the massive sword in her hand, which was rapidly decaying and crumbling apart, as well as the wound on her chest tainted with an eerie aura of rot.

The wound… was small.

Yet, despite unleashing all of her spiritual pressure in an attempt to purge the thin layer of black mist clinging to the wound, it had no effect whatsoever.

That barely visible wisp of black mist, using the wound as its entry point, was swiftly corroding her spiritual body.

As Baraggan Louisenbairn slowly approached her, his hollowed-out eye sockets seemed to look down upon Harribel with condescending arrogance. His voice, deep and chilling, rang out.

"Rest assured. You will die slowly in the embrace of decay. And when your remaining soul and body have completely rotted away, they shall become part of the God-King of Hueco Mundo. Consider this my final mercy to a fellow Vasto Lorde."

"Hah? The God-King of Hueco Mundo?"

Harribel, whose chest was gradually succumbing to numbness from the spreading decay, no longer struggled. Instead, she leaned completely against the withered tree behind her, her emerald eyes as calm as a still lake.

"A coward who relies on sneak attacks. A disgrace who threatens others' subordinates. A feeble ruler who fears any challenge to his rule. And you dare call yourself the God-King of Hueco Mundo?"

For a brief moment, Baraggan's movement halted, and the black mist surrounding his body seemed to freeze.

Then—rage.

An oppressive spiritual pressure surged from Baraggan as he turned his gaze away from Harribel. With a cruel sneer, he gave an order to the Adjuchas lurking behind him.

"Tear those three to pieces… slowly… in front of Harribel!"

"You—!"

Harribel's eyes widened in fury as she instinctively tried to get up.

But at that moment, she suddenly felt something press down on her shoulder, preventing her from moving.

The next instant, a voice—gentle yet calm—spoke from behind her.

"Don't move anymore. If you do, you really won't survive this…"

Stunned, Harribel turned to look behind her.

The dead tree she had been leaning against seemed to blur and shift, and out of it emerged a shadowy figure.

A humanoid form, draped in a gray cloak. A mask partially obscured their features, leaving only glimpses of their face visible beneath the hood. Long black hair cascaded down their back, reaching their waist.

A Hollow?

But… why couldn't she sense any spiritual pressure from them?

Both Harribel and Baraggan were momentarily at a loss, caught off guard by the stranger's sudden appearance.

Before Harribel could ask anything, she saw the figure bend down. The pale hand that had been resting on her shoulder slowly reached downward—toward her chest, where the decaying wound lay between the markings of her "Mounts."

…???

Harribel's eyes twitched.

"Wait, you—"

Just as she was about to speak, the hand pressed directly onto the wound.

Harribel was startled and hastily warned him.

"Cut off your arm! That's Baraggan's decay! Anything it touches will rot away completely—"

Baraggan's skeletal face twisted in amusement, as if he had just witnessed something utterly ridiculous.

"Foolish. You would willingly touch my decay? You will disintegrate before you even realize it—"

But before Baraggan could finish, the figure's fingers curled around the black mist of decay clinging to Harribel's wound.

With a simple movement—press, rub, pinch—

And in an instant, the decay that had already seeped deep into Harribel's chest was plucked away, held between the stranger's fingertips.

The sensation was immediate. For Harribel, the loss of feeling in her chest vanished. In its place, she could distinctly feel the lingering warmth of the person's touch against her skin.

As for Baraggan—he was utterly stunned.

A spiritual being had physically touched the aura of decay… without showing any signs of decomposition?

Impossible!

He knew better than anyone.

There was a secret about his power that no one else had ever known—not even his own Fracción.

Even Baraggan himself could not withstand the effects of his own decay.

That was why he was always careful. Every time he unleashed his Respira, he ensured that it never touched his own spiritual body, lest it corrode him as well.

Yet this man…

This man had taken his Respira into his bare hands—without a single trace of rot.

How?!

The figure, still holding the writhing black mist between his fingers, lifted it to eye level. His pale, slender fingers stood in stark contrast to the inky darkness of decay.

At such close range, Makoto could now observe the essence of Baraggan's ability more clearly.

"Fascinating," he mused internally.

On a microscopic spiritual level, Baraggan's decay didn't just break down spirit particles—it aged them, forcing spirit particles into accelerated deterioration.

To Makoto's knowledge, there was no spiritual body in existence capable of resisting such a power.

Not the Vasto Lorde-class Hollows.

Not the Captains of the Gotei 13.

Not even Unohana, whose spirit particle structure he had studied for years, would be able to withstand it.

Of course, there was one exception.

Makoto himself.

His "Perfect Spirit Body" remained an anomaly—an enigma he had yet to fully understand, let alone analyze.

Still, that didn't mean Baraggan's ability posed no threat to him.

While his body might endure it, his internal organs were still structured like any other spirit particle-based entity. If he were to inhale this decay—

Then in just a few seconds, his entire body would collapse, leaving behind nothing but his "Perfect Spirit Body" as an empty shell.

He'd survive… but he'd be unable to move for a long time, needing immense effort to regenerate his lost spirit particle organs.

So, Makoto inhaled lightly.

And then—right in front of Baraggan's disbelieving gaze—

He blew.

"Hoo~"

And like that…

The deadly black mist of Respira, feared for its absolute destruction…

Simply dissipated—as though it were nothing more than dust on the wind.

Clang—

The massive Gran Caída—the axe that symbolized Baraggan's authority and power—slipped from his grip, crashing heavily into the sand.

The iron chain at the end of the handle rattled against the ground, the crisp sound echoing through the stunned silence.

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