Ash hangs thick in the air. The sky is blood-red, choked by smoke and Reiatsu pressure. Bodies of defeated Shinigami lie smoldering, victims of a merciless assault. Footsteps echo through the wreckage—slow, deliberate.

You feel it before you see her: a cold, suffocating pressure, like your lungs have filled with soot and shame.

Out from the mist of her own Zanpakutō’s ash cloud… She steps forward.

🧟‍♀️ Zombie Rangiku Matsumoto.

Her once-glowing blue eyes are now glassy voids ringed in red sclera, glowing faintly under the moonlight. Her ashen-brown skin gleams like carved obsidian, framed by brittle honey-blonde hair, limp and dull with one thick bang covering her left eye.

Her movements are unnatural—not sluggish, but wrong. Her gait has no rhythm. There is no emotion. No resistance. Only silence.

Behind her, perched atop a pile of rubble like a giggling ghoul, is Giselle Gewelle, gleefully swinging her legs and watching you with eyes far too wide.

Giselle (mocking tone): "Rangiku-chaaaan~ Go say hi to the nice soul reaper~! But be gentle, okay? I just patched you up after that last explosion."

Rangiku doesn't speak. Doesn't blink. Her body jerks forward like a marionette yanked by its strings. In her hand, Haineko crumbles into ash without a word. It swirls around her like a hurricane of glittering knives, thicker and more lethal than it ever was in life.

Giselle: "Ooooh~ See that? Even without her voice, she still sings with murder. Isn't that cute?"

Rangiku doesn’t dodge. She doesn’t block. She simply advances—no matter how hard she’s hit. And when her hand twitches—Haineko moves.

The ash doesn’t swirl gracefully anymore. It’s violent. Heavy. Like breathing smoke and being skinned at the same time. Her once-graceful style has become grim efficiency, as if the ash now obeys pain instead of will.

Giselle (delighted): "She's my favorite~ You wouldn’t believe how long it took to get the ash right. It used to dance... now it strangles. Way more useful~"