[ Dust spins wildly through the air. Urahara accidentally sucks in a lung full that sets off a mighty bought of coughing. With a groan, the shopkeep pushes back to his feet and cautiously approaches the rubble covered creature. One hand sticks out from the debris, limp and lifeless. A quick check reveals the lack of a pulse. The thing - whatever it was - was not a spirit creature. It was flesh and blood and presumably now very dead.

With a sigh, Kisuke rubs one hand over his face. ]

It's the only one I saw. [ That part of him used to doing such things tries to reach out and sense the spiritual presences around him. But there's nothing. No ribbons dancing on invisible winds that only Soul Reapers can see. No brush of spiritual energy. Urahara would not go so far as to say the world felt dead or colorless or anything so dramatic, but it does feel off like a coat with one sleeve too short and the other too tight. ] But that's no promise that the fight didn't bring any friends that it might have had. You okay?