Chapter One

Ikari Shinji didn't expect anything to come after his suicide at the shores of the sea of LCL. He had expected oblivion, and possibly to be reunited with Rei there, in the endless ocean of nonexistence. What he hadn't expected was to wake up to the smell of grass moments after he had breathed his last. When he woke up in that meadow, with the cool wind blowing across his body, still clad in his school uniform, the birds chirping in the trees as they leaned in the breeze, he thought that perhaps he had come to Heaven, in which case, someone had made a dreadful mistake. He didn't know much about Christianity, or any form of afterlife, for that matter, but he was fairly certain they didn't much like people who profaned the throne of God in Paradise.

Regardless, this wasn't what he wanted. In his opinion, any Paradise that was devoid of Rei was no Paradise at all. But he sighed. It wouldn't be the first time the Cosmos and the powers that be had decided to put him through Hell. Perhaps that was the point—that this was Hell, and that it looked like Heaven, mocking him with its idyllic perfection, marred by the void in his life and in his heart left behind by Rei's absence. It figured that when what he wanted most was oblivion, he got the afterlife.

He got up and stood, looking around to see what his personal Hell had in store. He was in the middle of a forest of some kind, so he picked a direction and started walking. After all, he might as well serve his punishment for almost wiping out the human race. It wasn't long, though, before he crested a hill and looked out to the horizon as the sun dawned over this strange new world he had been forced into against his will. And on that horizon, there was a sprawling city not far from where he was, with outskirts and slums and all the trappings of a normal city. Perplexed by how a place like Heaven would even have slums, he kept looking and saw an enormous white wall separating the city from what looked to be a military complex, and in the center was a series of towers that looked almost like a European citadel, which was strangely incongruous with the rest of the architecture he could see. The city, with the exception of the citadel, looked like what he would imagine Old Kyoto looked like back in the days before the Meiji Era, from what the textbooks they had had in Tokyo-3 had described, anyways.

"Well, I guess that's what's waiting for me," Shinji sighed, beginning the walk to the horizon, and to the gates of the city that expanded before him.

It didn't take him long to get there, not by any stretch of the imagination. He imagined that the city, then, must have been much larger than he had initially thought to be so small on the distant horizon, and yet to begin so close. He walked, then, through what looked to be cultivated countryside and into the outer regions of the city, and saw poverty and starvation aplenty. Violence and thievery seemed the order of the day, and more than once did he see a gang of small children running away from a merchant-looking fellow wearing traditional Japanese clothing. In his white short-sleeved shirt, trousers and sneakers, Shinji felt quite decidedly like some sort of anachronism, as if he had simply travelled back in time.

No, this wasn't Paradise, not for him and not for anyone. Not if such squalour and lawlessness could persist within its boundaries even after death. Shinji took a deep breath and exhaled. If this wasn't anyone's Paradise, then logically it couldn't be his personal Hell, the absence of Rei regardless. Where was he? What was this place?

"Soul Society. Specifically, West Rukongai, District Eighty," came a cold female voice behind him, and when he turned around, expecting some Yakuza Amazon with a gun to his head, instead he found a woman who was tall and lean, wearing elaborate traditional black clothing and a blood-splattered white haori. From her head cascaded long dark hair, but her face was bloodthirsty and violent, like everything evil about the Evangelions had formed and coalesced into a human being. "Otherwise known as my garden. You some sort of new arrival?"

Her demeanour was imposing, for certain, and it stalled Shinji's tongue, but as he tried then to speak, he was stopped. There was a weight pressing down on his shoulders, an annoying one that grew gradually by the moment, but as he continued to stand, the gloomy, menacing woman's eyes widened. "Impressive. You have quite a bit of reiryoku, don't you? That amount of reiatsu ought to have crushed a seated officer…"

Suddenly, the weight lifted, and Shinji noticed from the aching pain in his jaw that he had been gritting his teeth. He almost stumbled forward, however, as the weight, the reiatsu of this person, this creature, evaporated as quickly as it did, and she made no moves to steady him, instead watching with an almost sadistic glee as he got his footing once more.

"What are you?" Shinji asked, unnerved by the woman's strange ability.

"Unohana Kenpachi, Captain of the Eleventh Division of the Gotei 13. I'm a Shinigami," she replied, cocking her head. "Your eyes…they are accustomed to fear, and yet, I see no fear in them."

Shinji's alarm quickly dissolved, and he thrust his hands into his pockets as he suddenly found his shoes very interesting. "Yes, I suppose I'm not afraid, am I? Then again, after you reach a certain point, feelings like fear tend to seem a little silly in the face of all that you've seen and done, don't they?"

The Shinigami laughed, and the sound was like gravel and dust grating together. It was not a pleasant sound, to say the least. "You're an interesting one, aren't you? In fact, you're amusing enough that I'll let you live. It would be a waste, after all, for such a promising potential Shinigami to die here, in this squalid wasteland."

"What do you mean?" Shinji asked, perplexed and confused by this erratic, strange person with whom he was dealing.

"What is your name?"

"That's not an answer."

"Very observant. It was a question. What is your name?"

Shinji shook his head as if to try and shake himself from a bad dream. "Wha… Why do you even care?!"

Unohana shrugged. "I don't. It would just look very strange should my sponsorship request not specify the name of the Plus I'd be sponsoring."

Shinji shook his head and sighed. It seemed that the more things changed, the more things really did stay the same. Unohana was like a scarier, delinquent version of Misato, almost. In situations like this, he had long since discovered that it was best to just go along with this. It was his atonement, after all. The punishment for his sins, one way or another. For what cosmos would let a monster like him get off scot-free? He sighed, and bowed respectfully. "Very well. Ikari Shinji. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu."

"Pleased to meet you, Ikari-san. Welcome to Soul Society," Unohana replied with an amused smile on her face, which looked quite creepy with her otherwise still quite menacing expression. If anything, he trusted this woman less than he trusted his own father at the moment, and considering his father was Ikari Gendo, that was saying something.

The next day saw Shinji in a dormitory, staring at himself in a mirror. His clothes from his life were gone, and in their place was a blue shitagi, a white kosode with blue stripes, blue hakama, white tabi and straw zori. He ran his hand through his mess of brown hair a few times, but was unable to make it appear as though he actually belonged in the clothes he was wearing. He knew that prior to Second Impact, this kind of garb was common for festivals like Tanabata, but he had never been to a Tanabata festival in his life. Studying had always taken priority, and then after that, 'saving the world' had been his singular purpose. He sighed at his reflection. "Well, when in Rome…"

Apparently, being sponsored by who seemed to be the most feared Shinigami captain in all of Soul Society was grounds for immediate admittance into Shinōreijutsuin, to learn the arts and responsibilities of Shinigami, without having to take, let alone pass the entrance exam. This annoyed Shinji, as he didn't want any special treatment that could possibly bring any undue attention to him. Kami, he could already hear Asuka's shrill voice mocking him as the Invincible Shinji, and he knew that if he continued to stand out, he was going to keep hearing her admonitions over what appeared to be the next six years of his life.

He picked up his rucksack that he had been given, and, looking at his schedule, began to head to the lecture hall. Unohana had had one of her Eleventh Division grunts show him around the campus so that she could go back to killing people, so he knew where to go. As a result of this, he sat down in his seat in the lecture hall on time, and had to wait a good five or ten minutes before the teacher showed up, let alone the rest of the students.

He sighed. Apparently he didn't even need Unohana in order to stand out, much to his chagrin. His sense of punctuality did a fine job of doing that for him. If he was the type, like Suzuhara, he most probably would have sworn under his breath. As it stood, he merely shook his head. Such things were seemingly bound to happen to him, and he supposed that simply accepting that as the reality of his existence would go a long way towards making that existence that much more bearable.

A sheathed blade was slammed down onto the desk in front of him by a panting messenger, wearing the black garments Shinji had learned were called 'shihakushō', and bearing a look of nothing short of utter terror in his eyes. He took a deep breath and blurted out, "Unohana-taichō sends her regards!"

Shinji was stunned into silence, ever so painfully aware of the stares the little scene was drawing from the other students, and groaned internally, praying to whichever kami were seeing fit to torment him so that they might forgive him and stop sending random inconveniences his way, and that the obvious Eleventh Division Shinigami messenger boy would take his leave with all possible haste. Externally, however, he smiled and bobbed his head. "You have my gratitude, it seems. Thank the good captain on my behalf, if you please."

The Shinigami huffed in relief, bowed low, and took off, no doubt to inform Unohana her instructions had been followed. Shinji looked upon the blade, and saw that there was a note attached to it; and on the note, in a hand that Shinji could not help but associate with Unohana, was a message.

Ikari-san,

My apologies as to the gross incompetence of the men serving under me. Attached to this note is the asauchi you were supposed to receive immediately following the conclusion of your impromptu tour yesterday. Rest assured that the man who neglected to give it to you is being disciplined most thoroughly.

Regards,

Unohana Kenpachi

Captain, Eleventh Division

For such an intimidating woman, she has a surprisingly formal mode of writing, Shinji thought as he looked over the message. I don't see a single Hiragana kana in this note at all…

Putting the accompanying note aside for the present moment in time, Shinji looked upon the sword itself. It was of Japanese make, a katana, altogether nondescript, unremarkable, and seemingly devoid of all identity. But it was…hungry, almost, as if it was actively desiring an identity of its own, a name of its own, more than anything else in the world. And so he took it up in his hands, and he concentrated.

Everyone in the lecture hall ceased their pre-class chatter and looked directly at the fifteen-year-old boy whom nobody had seen at the entrance exams, watching as a deep and somehow virulent violet aura began to envelop him and the asauchi that had just been delivered into his keeping. For Shinji, the sensation was not at all dissimilar from the numerous synch tests he had run in the entry plug of EVA-01, which for him had quite literally only been two days prior. The tenor of it was at once both more tranquil and much more demanding, the blade drawing in his energy, and at that moment, Shinji thought he understood how his mother felt in her final moments, before EVA-01 devoured her soul and left him effectively orphaned. He sighed, and awaited his oblivion at last, only to once again be disappointed as the siphon on his energy ended rather abruptly, leaving the sword glowing its deep violet hue, even within the saya as it was. Stymied once more in his attempts to join Rei in their souls' obliteration, Shinji instead heard the bestial, eldritch roar of a berserker Evangelion Unit-01 in the depths of his mind, overtaking and engulfing his every thought, until he could only think of three words. Drawing the sword and holding it parallel to the ground, the edge of the blade facing away from him as his other hand rested on the soft spine of the sword, he spoke them aloud for the first time, and for the second time in Ikari Shinji's existence, the world ended.

"Descend, Kokoronai Tenshi…"

When Aizen Sōsuke heard from his informants of the new student at Shinōreijutsuin and how he had apparently attained Shikai in less than an hour, he very nearly killed them for wasting his time on such obvious untruths. However, Aizen knew his men to be more intelligent than to think him so gullible to believe an impossibility of that magnitude, and so he stayed their summary executions pending verification of their information.

To call what he discovered perplexing would be an understatement bordering on a bald-faced lie. Apparently the new student in question had only been in Soul Society for less than a day, and had possessed enough reiatsu to resist that of the Kenpachi herself, Captain Unohana Yachiru, while in her killing frenzy, to the degree that she decided to sponsor his entry into the academy personally, allowing him to bypass the entry examinations. Needless to say, this behaviour was highly atypical of Captain Unohana, and so the lieutenant of the Fifth Division decided to see this new arrival's mysterious power himself.

And then he arrived at Shinōreijutsuin, only to find a smoking crater where the lecture hall ought to have been.

Aizen's eyebrows lifted behind his square glasses when he beheld the aftermath of the event. Apparently, the information had been based in fact, although he still held significant reservations as to the possibility of the timeframe in which the boy—for indeed, the student could be no older than fifteen years old, by all accounts, a mere child even in human terms—had achieved his Shikai. He sighed; this problem required an immediate solution. He didn't, after all, have the flexibility of being able to let this unknown variable remain an unquantifiable value—once he made captain, then perhaps, but until then, this child, if indeed he was as in tune with his zanpakutō as it seemed, was a major threat so long as he remained unpredictable. Aizen knew in that moment that he would have to investigate this situation further.

It didn't take long for Aizen to find the headmaster of the school, who was also, coincidentally, the captain of the First Division and head of the Gotei 13, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.

The old man seemed well past his prime, but Aizen knew that Yamamoto wasn't boasting baselessly when he called himself the most powerful Shinigami to have been born in the past nearly one thousand years. His zanpakutō, Ryūjin Jakka, while basic, was undeniably powerful, and Aizen had yet to figure out a way to escape its searing heat in his crusade to crown a new Soul King.

Yamamoto seemed frail and infirm, but beneath his haori and his shihakushō, the man boasted a crisscrossing network of scars and a powerful physique, and Aizen had seen both the old man and his zanpakutō annihilate a battlefield littered with Quincies who had attained the dangerous new technique known as Vollständig during the Quincy War half a century ago.

Aizen found the old man in the office he used with increasing rarity, letting himself in and bowing low as the leader of the Gotei 13 put down his brush and sighed heavily.

"Good morning, Sōtaichō," Aizen greeted formally.

"Aizen-fukutaichō," the old general replied, his voice grinding like gravel and betraying both his age and his exhaustion. "Am I correct to assume you came here alone, then, as I do not sense Hirako-taichō's reiatsu anywhere in the vicinity?"

Aizen smiled politely and nodded. "Indeed I have."

Yamamoto barked a mirthless chuckle. "And I suppose you're here about the boy and how he is to be dealt with, then?"

"You see a great deal, Sōtaichō." But not nearly enough, unfortunately for you…

The old man stood with a show of a struggle, leaning on the cane that Aizen knew to contain the general's sealed zanpakutō. "He is being held down below. Follow me."

Aizen nodded, following the stooped, bearded old samurai as they began their descent into the academy basement. The underground cavern was a place Aizen knew well, for it was a training ground for advanced students to practise their high-level Kidō, of which he had been one. He was reminiscing on the day he learned his favourite Kidō, Hadō No. 90: Kurohitsugi, when he stopped in his tracks.

Aizen was a master of Kidō, beyond the level of any save the most senior captains and improving quickly, though he took great pains to keep his training covert with the help of his own zanpakutō, Kyōka Suigetsu. However, even he could not comprehend how a child, a child of a mere fifteen years, would necessitate the use of more than one high-level Bakudō, and yet here assembled were several members of the Kidō Corps, taking turns reinforcing eight such spiritual bindings, all of whom appeared quite substantially tired.

On the ground, in seiza, was the child in question, looking for all intents and purposes to be deep in jinzen, with his zanpakutō perched upon his lap, radiating smoky tendrils of violet energy.

"The child, if indeed child he is, has continued to break through Kidō after Kidō that we put on to restrain him. It's taken this entire setup to ensure he remains contained," Yamamoto explained. "The child's Shikai appears to be uncontained, uncontrolled, and makes him a danger to himself and to everyone around him. If this goes too much further, we'll have to put the matter before Central 46, and they'll probably vote to seal the child and put him in Muken. It's regrettable, but if Central 46 says it must be done, then it must be done."

Aizen bit back a hasty, angered retort, and instead smiled sadly. "What a waste of potential…"

Aizen walked up to the binding circle where the child sat in jinzen, and then went down into seiza before him, hands folded in his lap, though Kyōka Suigetsu was not far from his grasp. "Hello there. I'm told you keep breaking the bindings laid upon you. May I ask why?"

"...You may," the child replied, his eyes still closed, looking for all the world to be yet still in jinzen.

The Shinigami sighed. "I cannot help you if you are going to be difficult."

The child remained silent.

Aizen stared at the child, expecting an answer for several long minutes, until he sighed again and began to get up and leave.

"...It's because they're uncomfortable…"

Aizen stopped in his tracks and smirked to himself. "Sōtaichō, may I have a few moments with the child? I may be able to ensure that Central 46 need not be involved."

The old man stared at Aizen for a few moments before nodding reluctantly. "Very well. You have one hour. Otherwise, I send for Central 46, and they shall decide the child's fate."

Aizen smiled genially and bowed respectfully. "Of course, Sōtaichō. Would you also please remove the Kidō Corps? I can promise you they won't be necessary."

The old captain nodded again, waving for the Kidō Corps to follow him out. They left in ranks, and Aizen sighed in relief as he once more sat down before the child, now alone and without distractions.

"Now that we're alone, we may speak freely. What is your name?"

"...Ikari Shinji."

Kami, Hirako-taichō would have a field day knowing that… "And what is the name of your zanpakutō?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "I thought this was called an asauchi?"

"Ordinarily, yes." Aizen sighed. Had nobody thought to instruct this boy, Shinji, in what he would need to know about Soul Society? "An asauchi is an immature zanpakutō, a blank slate onto which Shinigami imprint their zanpakutō spirits. A zanpakutō is the weapon of the Shinigami, an intelligent armament and constant companion. As every person is different, each zanpakutō is unique, a reflection of the soul of their Shinigami."

The boy nodded in understanding. "So, what I did just then when I synchronised with the asauchi, I imprinted my…zanpakutō spirit, then, onto the sword?"

Aizen nodded. "And then you achieved Shikai."

"...Is that what blew up the lecture hall?"

"Yes," Aizen nodded. "When a Shinigami achieves Shikai, which for many is the peak of their power, an enormous quantity of energy is released. Of course, most Shinigami will never know what it is to achieve Shikai, for it is a feat in and of itself. A Shinigami who has achieved Shikai will experience a fivefold increase in power. However, there is a level beyond Shikai, and it is called Bankai. Those who achieve it experience a further tenfold increase in power, but normally, the process of obtaining Bankai requires a decade of training at the very least, and further, less than one in every one thousand Shinigami even has the potential for Bankai, while even fewer ever achieve it. Bankai is also a requirement to take twelve of the thirteen captain positions in the Gotei 13."

"How do you know if I've even achieved Shikai, then?" Shinji asked skeptically.

"Well, what is the name of your zanpakutō?"

"Kokoronai Tenshi."

Heartless Angel? Aizen thought to himself. An ominous-sounding name for a zanpakutō if ever there was one… "That is how you know. The knowledge of the true name of your zanpakutō is synonymous with the ability to achieve Shikai. You only need to memorise your kaigo to be able to use it at will."

"Kaigo? Like when I said 'descend,' and Kokoronai Tenshi erupted?"

Aizen nodded. "Yes, in that case, it is likely that the command 'descend' is your kaigo. May I see your Shikai, then?"

Shinji immediately closed off. "No, you may not. I will not suffer to cause an episode akin to the one that destroyed the lecture hall."

"You have my thanks, Aizen-fukutaichō," came a familiar voice directly behind him, and Aizen cursed; he had become so engrossed in his conversation with the boy that he had neglected to detect Unohana's reiatsu. "How are you, Ikari-san? I see you have already put the asauchi I gave you to good use."

The boy nodded politely, but his eyes were distant and cautious as they looked upon his sponsor. "Yes, I have. Thank you. And I am well, Unohana-taichō. How do you yourself fare?"

"It is clear that I ought to take my leave," Aizen interjected, standing from seiza and bowing before turning to go. It seems I shall have to resort to rather more opaque machinations in order to learn the boy's capabilities…

Luckily for Aizen, it would not be two weeks before an opportunity for him go force Shinji into Shikai presented itself.

Zaraki hadn't been hard to find. The boy who had been the reason Unohana had left the Eleventh Division to become captain of the Fourth was under a great deal of scrutiny from other members of the Eleventh, who wished to know and possibly defeat the boy, whose "stolen" zanpakutō had allowed him to injure their former captain. Thus, all Aizen needed to do was follow the trail to discover the location of the wild-eyed upstart.

"Who the fuck are you?" the boy, Zaraki, who looked little older than Shinji—though among adolescents, that meant a lot more than it did amongst adults—asked him. They were in an alley, and Zaraki was going through the pockets of the latest batch of Eleventh Division Shinigami who had taken it upon themselves to try and eliminate the teen. Aizen, as always, had come prepared.

"Aizen Sōsuke," he replied, holding up the sack of food—sashimi and various cuts of raw meat—he had brought with him to get the teenager's attention, and tossing it to him. "And I come to you with an offer I think you'd be interested in."

Zaraki caught the bag, smelled it, and made a face. "The fish is fine, but raw meat? The fuck do you think I am, some sort of dog?"

The comparison would be quite apt… "You cannot expect me to believe you lack a cooking fire."

"Good point," Zaraki considered as he began to shove the pieces of sashimi into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days—which, knowing this district of North Rukongai, was very likely. "At least you didn't bring any spices. You pansy-ass Shinigami lather your meat in all those salts and spices and sauces that it doesn't even taste like meat anymore."

Aizen smiled, though inwardly, he was thinking, I know precisely why I'm engaging this child, but why is this a step that I know I have to take?

Because you're obsessed with Ikari Shinji and need Zaraki in order to learn more about him?

Aizen sighed in his inner world. I am not obsessed with the child, Kyōka Suigetsu. He is merely an unknown I need quantified.

Never would have taken you for a shotacon, Sōsuke,Kyōka Suigetsu teased.

Aizen clamped down on that thought and shook his head while his surprisingly childish zanpakutō pouted in the corner of the room full of mirrors in his inner world where she resided. "Good to know."

"If you got something to say, Shinigami, then you better damn well say it," Zaraki said impatiently. "Don't be here wasting my fucking time."

The direct approach it is, then… Aizen sighed. "Before you, Captain Unohana Yachiru, who now goes by Unohana Retsu, had someone she thought to be amazingly strong, and I thought you might like to test your strength against his."

Aizen had Zaraki's attention immediately. "Who is he?! Where is he?! How can I find him?!"

Aizen suppressed a smirk. All too easy…

Shotacon…

Aizen ignored that. "His name is Ikari Shinji. He is a first year student at the Academy in Seireitei. Would you like me to get you in?"

Zaraki grinned wolfishly. "Nah, I got it. You can go now, Shinigami. I got some preparing to do…"

...Shotacon…

Aizen's eye twitched.

Shinji was in the secondary lecture hall, taking notes as the lecturer droned on and on about the history and laws of Soul Society, which would have been a fascinating topic for Shinji if the professor didn't speak in a manner so similar to that of his old sensei at Tokyo-3 Junior High. To keep himself occupied in the interim, he had Kokoronai Tenshi situated in his lap as he synchronised with the spirit inside in a process Soul Society insisted on calling jinzen. His zanpakutō spirit felt strangely familiar to him, almost…Evangelion-esque. In fact, it was almost exactly the same feeling he got when he performed jinzen, so close to identical to the sensation of delving into his EVA and nearing the absolute borderline that it almost frightened him—or would have, had he the capacity for fear any longer.

His plans to remain inconspicuous were thoroughly dashed by Day Two. Now he had the flexibility to perform jinzen in the middle of the lecture because the entire bench to the left of him—and he sat right against the right wall in order to be considerate—was completely and totally empty. He sighed sadly as he considered this, but continued writing all the same. He dimly remembered a South African proverb that a man on the ground could not fall, so perhaps things would look up for him from now on, though he personally doubted the likeliness of such an event.

The wall at the front of the lecture hall exploded inward, large chunks of sekkiseki blasting the lecturer out the wall on the other side of the room. A boy ran in, perhaps seventeen or eighteen by Shinji's estimate, though in Soul Society, that could range from one hundred to one hundred fifty years, and hopped in amidst the chaos, a massive ōdachi resting on his shoulder, its edge horrendously chipped. The older boy's black hair was wild and unruly, and his green eyes were wide and feral, a wolfish grin spread across his face. "IKARI SHINJI!"

Everyone else in the class pointed directly at Shinji. He sighed. Come on…

The wolfish boy with the hairless brow ridge and savage, toothy grin fixed his eyes on Shinji, and, raising his ōdachi high, charged him, tearing through rows of the lecture hall's long tables and benches and cutting at him with such strength that even though Shinji brought Kokoronai Tenshi up in time to parry, he was sent crashing through the back wall of the lecture hall, catapulted through the air as he did his best to dissipate the momentum of his descent as he reached the peak of his arc and began to fall to the ground.

Shinji landed hard, creating a crater on the ground as he hit with a significant amount of impact. As soon as he was up, however, the other boy was upon him, the next slash of his ōdachi sending him sliding back as his feet left torn-up trails in the soil.

"C'MON!" the older boy shouted as he began another charge. "IS THAT ALL YA GOT?!"

Shinji growled, and rage flowed into his body, which began to resonate with his zanpakutō. He almost—almost—brought the sword up to enter Shikai, but thought better of it. He slammed Kokoronai Tenshi into the ground next to him, point-first, and entered a familiar combat stance. He watched the other boy's sword in its cleaving descent, and sidestepped, letting the blow fall to the ground. He countered by pivoting and delivering a half-crescent kick to the feral boy's head. The savage let go of his embedded sword to dodge back, but Shinji merely advanced, not allowing him a moment of respite to take up his sword anew.

The other boy grinned. "So that's how ya wanna do it, huh? And here I thought you Shinigami were too scared to get your robes dirty!"

Shinji didn't respond. Instead, following the primal insistence of his instincts, he pushed off and disappeared, reappearing directly behind the other boy and delivering a kick to his spine that should have broken his back. He was launched forward and plowed a new furrow into the ground with his face until he finally stopped, and then began laughing. "Yes, that's it, Shinigami! Fight to the end, and strike to kill! I'm gonna enjoy this!"

Shinji's eyes widened as he saw the other boy get up, his chest heaving as he laughed, before he once more grabbed his ōdachi and wrenched it out of the ground. Using both hands, the boy charged.

Doesn't this kid know how to do anything other than charging his enemy? Or is he holding back? Shinji's eyes narrowed. If that's the case, then I'm going to have to make him take this seriously…

The slash came down, and Shinji brought his arm up, clenching his teeth against the pain as the ōdachi cut deep into the underlying bone. Grunting in pain, Shinji twisted the wound, opening it further in order to grasp the long blade of the greatsword with his hand, before breaking it off at the hilt with an open-palm strike. The faults in the blade opened up, the chips becoming cracks as the blade shattered.

The other boy's eyes widened as the shards of the blade tinkled to the ground. "That…was fucking badass!"

Shinji cocked an eyebrow, and then launched his injured arm forward and blasted his opponent in the solar plexus. There was a delayed reaction as the shockwave reverberated through his hard-muscled, lean body, blood flying from his mouth, before he flew backwards as if he had been hit by a shotgun blast, crashing into the wall of sekkiseki on the other end of the Hadō training grounds.

The other boy came charging out of the rubble, almost slavering in joy. What was left of his ōdachi blazed to its full length with golden light, as he cried out, "DRINK, NOZARASHI!"

The ōdachi lengthened and thickened into a great war-cleaver, larger than the other boy was, and Shinji, knowing that he could only sacrifice so many limbs before he would have to resort to biting his opponent's legs off, pushed off again, vanishing.

When he reappeared, the other boy was on him again, literally frothing at the mouth and giggling like a mad hyena. Shinji's eyes widened, and he flashed away again, only to have to flash away yet again as the savage seemed to be able to predict him.

"TOO SLOW, SHINIGAMI!" the savage cried in his feral bloodthirst. "DON'T GIVE ME THAT SHIT! BRING YOUR A-GAME, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK, I'M GONNA KILL YOUR ASS!"

Time to get serious… Shinji's eyes darted over to where Kokoronai Tenshi was seething with deep violet energy, and as the older boy brought Nozarashi down onto where he was, he sidestepped, jumped up, and pushed off of the flat of the war-cleaver, flashing towards his own zanpakutō. With an ominous sense of purpose, Shinji drew his sword from the dirt as a Welsh king of old had once drawn his father's sword from the stone, his whole body seething with dark fulmination and eldritch power. With a deathly calm, he declared, "Descend—"

"Reduce All Creation to Ash, Ryūjin Jakka!"

A ring of white-hot flame encircled the two as Yamamoto stepped onto the field, his powerfully built and ridiculously scarred body on open display as his shihakusho hung open to his waist. In the bearded man's hand was a katana with a violet-wrapped tsuka, a circular tsuba, and a blade made of purest flame.

"This madness ends now!" the old man bellowed mightily. "See what destruction you have wrought?!"

The flames died down, and like that, Shinji's battle-fury evaporated. He looked around as the violet aura dissipated from his body and his sword, and saw that the Hadō field was in ruins, and healers were rushing to and fro in an attempt to stem the tide, members of the Kidō Corps on their knees in exhaustion as their high-level Bakudō crumpled to reishi. Shinji sheathed his zanpakutō and bowed low. "Gomenasai, Yamamoto-sōtaichō."

Yamamoto extinguished his blade by thrusting it into the ground. "I shall forestall punishment, Ikari Shinji, for it has been made clear to me that you were acting in self-defence. But another incident like this, defensive or not, will see you sealed and consigned to Muken, even if I must appeal to Central 46 myself!"

Shinji bowed again. "Hai, Sōtaichō…"

Aizen was shaking with rage as he beheld what had become of his masterful plan. The fight had gotten so out of hand that the old general felt the need to get involved, and to make matters worse, he had not even been able to observe Ikari's Shikai in action. Though Zaraki's Nozarashi was nice to know about, and he had been close enough to sense a sufficient amount of the massive amount of energy coming off of the sealed zanpakutō to tell that it was an elemental zanpakutō, the fact remained that his plan had failed utterly, and all due to the interference of the old man.

"I will murder that man if it is the end of me…"

Growling, Sōsuke? That's hardly becoming, Kyōka Suigetsu remarked.

Shut. Up.

Have you considered sitting the boy down and giving him a reason to show you his Shikai of his own free will?

Aizen huffed, sending a hand trembling with anger through his deceptively long brown hair. It seems I shall have to take the risk…

Don't worry, Sōsuke, Kyōka Suigetsu replied. Something tells me that you risk far less than you think…

For both our sakes, I hope you're correct…

With that, Aizen Sōsuke sighed, and at last took his leave.