Captain Jushiro Ukitake of Thirteenth Division leaped from his bed, Zanpakuto at the ready, as instincts honed by centuries of combat and leadership screamed at him that someone dangerous was in his room. Yet, all he saw was an open window, flapping in the breeze, and a note left on his desk. Wary of an ambush or trap, the Soul Reaper retrieved the note, and scanned it quickly, mouth set in a grim line.
'Sup, Captain Fishman? I hear you care about your doodz. I also hear Rukia was one of your doodz. Unless you're an honorless scumbag, you should probably get some of your other doodz and get over to Fourth Division's headquarters. Or you can just leave us to wreak havoc unsupervised, and Rukia to die. Your call.' Wait a second, he'd seen this handwriting before.
…Yoruichi Shihoin? So it wasn't just a rumor that she'd come back with these marauding Ryoka. If she was backing them, then perhaps there was more here than meets the eye. Regardless, considering the chaos these people had left in their wake so far, letting them near the Fourth Division and the injured Soul Reapers inside seemed like a spectacularly terrible idea.
"Sentaro. Kiyone," The Captain called out to his most reliable officers… Well, for a certain value of the word. He at least knew they'd be in earshot. "Gather some men together. The Fourth Division may be under attack. We're going to reinforce it."
"C-Captain Kurotsuchi sir! I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir," A terrified Twelfth Division Soul Reaper informed his unstable captain, "But we need your help, sir! Someone blew up the specimen storage chambers! All the experiments have been let loose or turned on! And everything's on fire!"
"Blasted incompetents!" The clown-like captain burst from his private laboratory, grinding his teeth at the thought of time lost. "It can't possibly be that-"
It was that bad. Maybe worse, he reflected, as a horned hollow, trailing the remains of an IV stand behind it, crashed through the wall in front of him and fire greedily spread across a pile of research notes to his left. Furious almost beyond words, the captain came very close to charging out to track down whoever had perpetrated this heinous crime against scientific progress. But sadly, if he left there would be no one to keep the remains of his experiments from being destroyed as well. Nemu certainly wasn't good enough to pull it off, and she was leagues above any of the other pathetic slackers he employed.
"What are you imbeciles just standing around for?" He yelled at the nearest group, even as he headed for the hollow test subject, sword in hand. "Get water, use kido, and put these damn fires out! Do I have to think for you too?"
Toshiro Hitsugaya, Captain of Tenth Division, startled awake at his desk, and stared bemusedly at a paper airplane that someone had apparently bounced off his forehead. How they'd gotten the thing into his windowless office he wasn't sure, but couldn't help being a little impressed at the feat. And a bit grateful; he must have fallen asleep doing paperwork last night. Maybe staying up late to finish that wasn't the best choice.
Huh, had someone written a note on the paper missile?
'jajajajjajaja were in ur base, investing ur midics'. The crude note was accompanied by an equally crude drawing of a stick figure kicking another stick figure, this one covered in bandages and lying on the ground. Shit.
"Matsumoto, get a brute squad together!" Hitsugaya snarled, lunging for his Zanpakuto and leaping for the door. "I don't care! Those assholes who I fought a few days ago are besieging the Fourth Division!" He yelled, bulldozing over her protests. "We need to rescue them!"
Kaname Tosen staggered out of the Ninth Division barracks, many of his men behind him, the building shaking with the force of music blaring from within. "AND SHE'S BUYING A STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN!" Robert Plant's recorded voice sang out after them, at a volume that was painful for anyone. To Tosen, a blind man who relied heavily on his hearing? It was three times as bad.
"What weapon is this?" The captain moaned, relaxing slightly as the walls of the building muffled the blaring music somewhat.
"The only thing that can make noise this loud is the emergency broadcast system," His lieutenant, Shuhei Hisagi, reminded him, "And the only place it could have been taken from is where it's stored with the Fourth Division."
"So whoever did this to us may also be threatening our wounded," Tosen deduced, "Let us bring justice down upon them for these actions."
"Dear Captain Kyoraku, you may not have heard of me but I've heard of you. I'm about to humiliate the Captain-General in front of everyone important in Soul Society at the Fourth Company hospital. You wanna come and watch? My regards, Zoe Walker." The lieutenant of the Eighth Division, Ise Nanao, quirked a skeptical eyebrow as she read the short letter that had been mixed in with the morning paperwork. "Captain Kyoraku, this has got to be a hoax."
"I don't think it is," The captain muttered, an unusually serious expression stealing across his face. "I can feel old man Yama's spirit energy from here. He's keeping a lid on it for now, but he feels pissed. Somebody's poked a sleeping bear with a stick, and (sigh) I suppose I better go and do some damage control."
Fireworks lit up the dawn sky, their source impossible to determine, sending bright letters soaring over the Seireitei.
"hey ded catpn azien! i no ur still alliv. u suck at faking ur deth. come 2 Fourth Division so i can umiliated u moar."
"There's no way she could know that," Aizen murmured, staring out a window at the slowly fading letters, "She never saw the body, and my Perfect Hypnosis technique can't be fooled. But what if she does know? She could ruin all my plans if she isn't eliminated. There's almost no chance that she knows. But if she does, things could get interesting. …It's possible that I stepped out of my public persona too soon. I can't risk going out there yet. I'll have to hope Tosen and Gin can keep a handle on the situation for now…"
Captain Genryusai Yamamoto was furious. Someone had the guts, the sheer gall to sneak into his room, dye his beard pink, and only then wake him up by dumping an entire barrel of expired natto over him before poking him in the forehead with a stick and running off. He couldn't help being slightly impressed that he hadn't caught up to whoever it was yet, but that didn't make him any less angry.
He had been made a mockery of. His division had been made a mockery of. Soul Society's rules and culture were being made a mockery of. Captains were dropping left and right to enemies they should be effortlessly crushing. The time for delegation was long past.
Someone was going to burn for this.
"Well. You all do not seem to be injured," Captain Retsu Unohana of Fourth Division observed, striding out of her division's headquarters at the front of a full company of healers. "I am not disappointed, but that is quite odd. The orders I received were very clear that a large group of casualties were inbound."
"Forged orders, I'm afraid. Terribly sorry about that, ma'am, but it seemed the easiest way to get y'all out here without making too much of a mess," All over the crowded courtyard, eyes snapped up to the roof I'd chosen to perch on, as I projected my voice across the assembled Soul Reapers. Eyes widened and expressions hardened as they recognized me, and… Is that fear I see? Hehehehehehehe. "Hello Soul Society! I am Zoe Walker, and I am awesome!"
"You!" Radiating fury, heat, and the stench of natto, Captain-General Yamamoto emerged from the group, his rather intimidating aura, or perhaps his even more intimidating smell, clearing a path. "Ryoka! What is the meaning of this?" Ryoka? Eh, not important.
"Hello, Captain Pinkbeard, can I call you that? Of course I can, you can't stop me. Aaanyway, I am here," I gestured expansively at the group, "Because most of you suck. You especially, Pinkbeard, but a lotta the other dudes too. I have, of course, gathered all the people in the Seireitei here through cunning manipulations for a grand purpose."
"All the people? What about the Eleventh, Twelfth, Seventh, Sixth, Fifth, Third, and Second Divisions?" Unohana asked mildly, "You didn't even gather half of the divisions here."
"What about them?" I asked, honestly curious. "Except maybe Seventh Division, but Captain Komamura would've tried to chop my head off by now, and I'd rather have a civil discussion before we get down to the whole trying to kill each other business."
"And what is that business?" Yamamoto seemed to be getting close to incoherent fury by now, but fortunately Captain Unohana had more self-control.
"Right, that part. I'm just here to inform all y'all of a rather iiinteresting opportunity. And not just the one that involves chopping me into tiny little bits," I smiled like a street vendor, "You probably haven't heard of me because you don't pay attention to current events and also I'm foreign, but I'm Zoe Walker. I run a mercenary company called Walker Arms and Enterprises, and I think that many of YOU, that's right, YOU would be perfect for my organization!" And there was beautiful, stunned silence.
"Salaries will of course start at two shares of the net profits for experienced combat personnel, three shares for leadership experience, six for specialists like medics and casters, and eight for leadership and specialist training. Bu-u-ut, you don't want to jump to the clearly superior organization just for the cash," I barked out into the silence, "You wanna hear about the benefits, and boy do we have benefits! Full coverage dental and medical is a must in any combat organization, of course, so all I'll say is that if it's harming, we'll help! But there's more! Life insurance! Never worry about your family starving if you bite it! Air, artillery, armor, and mage support! When the going gets tough, the infantry's usually expected to tough it out! But not with us. We believe that even the lowest grunt's life is valuable, and deploy our heavy assets to keep him as safe as we can make him.
"And as an extension of that, our armorers will make certain you have the best equipment available. You see this?" I slammed a fist into my breastplate with a clank, "This baby is made of titanium battleplate. Magically enhanced, tough enough that Captain Kuchiki's sword broke on it, certain to save your life from all but the most powerful attacks. Weapons, communications, support gear, we make most of our own, and buy the rest from tried and tested vendors. And if you're not feeling satisfied in your old role, that's fine too!
"Our masters-at-arms and officers will be happy to help you retrain to whatever role you want to serve in our organization! You Fourth Division guys want a combat posting? No problem; Soul Reapers can get pretty badass whoever they might be. Other divisions want a less violent assignment? No problem! We value our support personnel and scouts just as highly as our front line soldiers. After all, they've saved all our lives a dozen times over! So we give them everything they need to do their jobs!
"That's right, we have dedicated, professional nurses, plus assignments of grunts to help with the cleaning and heavy lifting! Our sapient resources division and officers are quick to crack down on any and all hazing, to keep everything running smoothly and inter-division relations cordial at a minimum. At Walker Arms, all our employees are valuable members, and we give them the support they need to better themselves and our organization!"
And the silence continued. And stretched out… And then a tall, silver-haired woman wearing the Fourth Division's lieutenant insignia stepped forward, looking especially stunned. "Y-your battletag wouldn't happen to be GodEmpressofAwesome#42424, would it?" What does that have to do with… No way.
"LT4TH? I shoulda freaking guessed. Small world, huh?" I remarked, "How would you feel about joining the winning team in the real world too?" She looked between me and Captain Unohana, clearly torn, but her expression soon firmed up.
"Are you saying my choices are between being constantly treated like a second class citizen or janitor after twenty years of medical training and eighty years of service, most as an officer?" She asked pointedly, "Or joining up with someone I know will respect and protect their supports?" The tall Soul Reaper carefully untied her lieutenant's insignia, folded it up, and handed it to her Captain, whose expression was rapidly approaching the open-mouthed shock I was seeing all over the courtyard. "I'm sorry, Captain Unohana, but I am resigning my commission." Unohana didn't respond, so she tucked the badge into the older woman's sash, and strode over to me, head held high, to bow shallowly before me. "Hello, Ms. Walker. I am Kotetsu Isane, former lieutenant of Fourth Division. I would like to apply for a position in your organization as a combat medic."
"Accepted!" I cackled, "Welcome to the crew! So who else wants to get out of a toxic work environment?" The entire freaking Fourth Division, their Captain exempted, promptly went for their insignia. So did a few dudes from other divisions. Well. That's a bit more than I was expecting. But I can work with this. Gods, can I ever. Oh, hey, the Captain-General is twitching. Is he gonna do something? Is he gonna have a heart attack with all his doctors working for me now? Let's find out!
"You- You dare? You are all traitors!" He shouted, fire aura of anger and fire spreading out. The Soul Reapers who'd jumped ship flinched back, but stood (relatively) firm. The poor bastards must've been treated even worse than I thought. "There is only one sentence for desertion and treachery!"
"Well, far be it for me to abandon my new employees in their time of need," I stated, hopping off the roof to land before the old guy with a faint crunch. "I guess I'll just have to stop you then."
"You know we're going to die, right?" Isane asked me pessimistically, "The most any of us are hoping for is to make a statement, and pray things get better for the next round of Fourth Division members. We're with you; anything's better than spending more time with ninety percent of the Court Guard Companies. But the Captain-General is the strongest Soul Reaper to ever live. He has over a thousand years of experience. You're just a shaman, and, well, if we were really good in a fight we wouldn't have been with the Fourth Division."
"Have a little faith, LT," I drawled, drawing my sword with my left hand. The armor protecting the tip of my index finger withdrew, allowing me to run it down the blade's edge leaving a thin line of blood, before I let my new employee seal the cut. "Okay, yes. Under nearly any circumstance, Pinkbeard there would beat me. Easily. Even if Yoruichi seems convinced I technically have a really good match-up with him thanks to how my powers work."
"Then why aren't you scared?"
"First off, a thousand years? Pfa, what of it? I punched Gilgamesh in the face once," I scoffed, "He kicked my butt afterward, of course, but I still did it. Yeah, it's still a pretty long time, but I've been around for way longer than that. Aged a lot better than this guy too. Second, all his good scrap causes a lot of collateral damage. If he Kentucky-fries all his minions to get at me and y'all, who's going to heal 'em up afterward? I'm sure not hiring my people out to an organization like his. He can't afford to cut loose all the way.
"And most importantly, this is the most powerful leyline confluence in the Seireitei short of the one y'all have got powering that giant magic halberd on the hill over there," I pointed to the landmark, before stabbing my bloody sword into the ground. Glowing, orange light filled the runes I'd spent the past week scratching into this very place, spreading out under the assembled Soul Reapers. "I've had a week of prep time. If I was a shaman, that wouldn't mean much. But I'm not. I am a WIZARD! And I am the bone of my sword. No, wait, that's that wangsty puke's line. How's that incantation go again…?
"In the fog of ignorance I stand! For my soul is fire.
Under the burdens of duty I stand! For my bones are steel.
In the throngs of fools I stand! For my heart ticks louder than their pathetic bleating.
Here I stand, vigil eternal.
For none can take my place.
At the Forge of Legends."
Ten thousand hammers fell.
A blast of dry, ashen wind slammed across the courtyard, as the rune-lights glowed bright. The runes spread, the light rose, and the world twisted like a pretzel.
Ten thousand hammers fell.
And where there once were the traditional Japanese fortifications, tiled roads, and small gardens, soot-clad, metal buildings reached for a sunless sky. Light seemed to radiate from all sides of the horizon at once, barely penetrating the dusty, windswept clouds. Under the dismal sky, countless factories sprouted from the dry earth like trees of ceramic and tungsten and titanium, looming over the long street we now stood on. "Welcome to my world!" I announced, sweeping an armored hand over the industrial hellscape, "My greatest personal technique! The product of millennia of research and testing! The ultimate expression of my magical skill! The Forge of Legends!"
"What is this place?" Isane asked faintly.
"I'm glad you asked! It's a pocket dimension! A space outside normal space, shaped into an external reflection of my personality and soul," I elaborated, "Took a heck of a lot of work to make it, and it takes at least thirty six hours of work to set up a way to send people here, but when you send a letter to all your local enemies to 'Get over here and fite me', it makes one heck of a trap, eh? Consider this… My Bankai. Or as close to it as I can get."
The enemy Soul Reapers circled the wagons warily when I said that, looking confused when they failed to die in messy, gruesome ways. But I was content to let them stew, until somebody asked the inevitable question.
"Is… it going to attack us?" Captain Hitsugaya murmured, confused, "What does it even do, aside from send us here?"
"Nothing aggressive!" I admitted shamelessly, "The Forge of Legends is almost completely incapable of direct offensive action!" Guards went down, jaws fell open. Gods, I slagging love this. "I suppose if I really wanted to I could toss a load or two of ingots at y'all, but you'd just get out of the way. Heh, no, it doesn't work like that. If it was that easy to use, it wouldn't be a good reflection of me.
"The Forge of Legends isn't a weapon. It's an industrial complex," Ten thousand hammers fell in glorious unison. "It mass-produces things. It draws pure energy from the aether, converts it to matter, and uses that matter to repair itself and create whatever I desire. If I know how to create something, the Forge can make thousands of copies every hour. Which of course means it's almost useless in duels. I've already got the best arms and armor I can make or buy. What use are a thousand swords when you only have two hands to swing them with?"
"But you don't have just two hands now," Isane figured it out. Smart lady. "You have all of us!" Ten thousand hammers fell.
With a hissing, hydraulic chorus, a gleaming suit of armor rose from the ground on countless mechanical arms and was fitted to each of my employees. Sheathes engraved with arcane runes and pictograms, fitted for each Zanpakuto, were belted around their waists. Rings and amulets, brimming with magic, were placed on hands and around necks.
"A bunch of Fourth Division medics and a smattering of dissatisfied defectors doesn't make much of an army against foes who can call themselves the Gods of Death," I admitted, "So what happens when you give the underdogs each a set of timeshifting titanium half-plate, rings of magic resistance, amulets of fleetness, and suppressive sheathes of vorpal sharpening? Oh, yeah, you should use the sheath to club anybody you don't want to kill. They'll be tasting colors for hours. And make sure to re-sheath your sword every ten swings if you're going for blood." Behind me, a shocked Fourth Division guy drew his Zanpakuto, leaving a dark streak trailing behind the blade as it slid free with a faint 'snicker-snack'. Oh. Yeah.
Three years into the future, a Quincy named Yhwach froze as his thus-far flawless visions of the future suddenly became obscured with billions of phantom Soul Reapers clad in heavy armor. Not quite solid, but definitely opaque, they blocked his sight quite thoroughly.
In a blur of super-fast motion, Kurosaki Ichigo appeared behind him, and swung down with a light, thin-bladed naginata. The razor-edged blade sliced through the Quincy's head and chest like a hot knife through butter, and the ravenous, black energy wrapped around the weapon ripped the sundered flesh apart. The orange-haired Soul Reaper stared down at the dismembered corpse in astonishment, but quickly collected himself.
"Why the hell didn't he dodge?" Ichigo wondered, even as he raised a hand over his head and pulled an ominous, horned, hollow-like mask down over his face. From between the forward-jutting horns, a blood-red sphere of energy built, and he unleashed it to burn the body down to ash in a stream of power. "He dodged everything else like he saw it coming miles away. Sure seemed confident I couldn't touch him, but I didn't even need to use my mask. How did this guy ever beat the Captain-General?"
Still, mildly disappointed confusion didn't stop Ichigo from sweeping the ashes into a pile and pouring a generous helping of salt onto them, then shooting the mix with thirteen silver bullets, then sweeping the remains into a hollow tungsten sphere, which he welded shut with a muttered kido spell. "This'll have to do until I get a chance to drop it into the Marianas Trench. This guy becomes a reoccuring villain over my dead body. Time to go tell everyone the good news, I suppose. I can hardly believe it; his minions were way tougher than this. Seriously, what the hell? Since when has my basic Bankai beaten anybody?"
In the heart of the Forge of Legends, the two groups faced each other with trepidation, shining titanium and flowing black making the sides relatively easy to tell apart. Neither group, with a few notable exceptions, really wanted to fight each other. The former Fourth Division was frustrated enough with being treated like dog poop scraped off a boot to be willing to try it anyway if they had to, but they still weren't thrilled about the thought of fighting their former comrades. Which is, of course, why I gave them a non-lethal option. And eventually, one of them decided to try it out, and charged forward screaming.
That didn't break the dam, though, not until he suddenly vanished and reappeared most of the way through swinging his sheathed sword into a Ninth Division seated officer's head. The Ninth Division guy went down like a bag of rocks, convulsing uncontrollably, and then everybody decided to start swording each other. Oh, violence, what can't you solve?
…Maybe this. "I really hope you have a plan!" Isane informed me, as she covered my back and I punched away at some poor loyalist sap. "I can feel the Captain-General coming for us, and this stuff you gave me has some really, really nice kido on it, but I don't think it's going to be enough to let me beat him even if he can't use his Shikai or Bankai so close to allies."
"Of course I have a plan!" I reached out, and the Forge deposited a gigantic gatling gun into each my hands, ammo feeds connecting the heavy guns to the ground. I clubbed some guy with them, pointed them in the Captain-General's direction, and spun the barrels up. "I'm going to shoot him until it works!" Ignoring her protests about this not being a plan at all, I removed all friendlies from the line of fire with a quick twist of probability manipulation, helped along by the fancy armor's unstable timeline, and pulled the triggers together. Clamps erupted from the ground to stabilize the guns as the bullets soared. Lesser Soul Reapers were scythed down in droves by the rubber bullets, but Yamamoto didn't react at all to the impacts or his allies going down.
So once all the weak people were out of the way, I mentally ordered the Forge of Legends to switch over to the good dakka, and dialed the muzzle velocity up to maximum. The gauss coils hummed, filling the air with the smell of ozone and the percussive blasts of two hundred hypersonic .70 caliber rounds per second.
Per. Gun.
Normally, this would run you out of bullets an instant. Normally, the Forge of Legends isn't feeding you ammunition. Diamond jacketed armor-piercing bullets, burning 'Tears of Amaterasu' thermite rounds, and high explosive antitank munitions soared downrange, and caught the old man by surprise. So. Much. Blood. Yeeeessssssss.
Sadly, fountains of blood don't mean nearly as much around here as they usually do. Soul Reapers must carry at least ten times as many liters as any corporeal human or similar size, I swear. Covered in bloody scratches, bruises, and a few leaking holes, the Captain-General appeared behind me, sword raised in one hand. Isane met his attack as best she could, but even though she had leverage and magic on her side, she barely managed to deflect the attack. So I maced the old man.
Yep, pulled out a big can of bear repellent spray and let him have it right in the face, point blank. He tried to parry the stream with his sword, but it wasn't a solid projectile, so his reflexes didn't really help. Now, don't get me wrong, the dude's pain tolerance was pretty crazy. Had to be if he was able to walk through all that dakka. But there's some things you're never really prepared for. Bear pepper spray from a foot away is one of them. Did he drop his sword and grab at his eyes? Oh yes he did! Barely made a sound as he did, though.
He didn't make much noise either when I converted every joule of mana I had left into electricity and hit him with enough lightning to put a hole in a nuclear reactor's shielding. You don't want to know how I figured out it can do that. Probably put more into that spell than I should have, but I was not taking chances with that guy. A metallic taste filled my mouth, and a burning itch seated in my bones, as we both fell to our knees, wisps of smoke rising from his body.
My power and concentration lapsed, the Forge of Legends faded around us, depositing us back in the courtyard. The arms and armor I'd created for my new employees stuck around, because it'd be a pretty slagging bad ultimate move if they didn't. Yamamoto, clearly regretting the choices that led to this moment but dangerously functional despite his wounds, started shakily rising to his feet again.
It occurred to me, way too late to matter, that it's possible I may have underestimated the old man a bit. I knew Soul Reapers could get crazy powerful, but the sheer, stupid speed and durability kept catching me by surprise. And no get out of jail free card this time. Except that one. Huh.
Wait, oh slag! I opened my mouth, but the exhaustion pulling at me slowed me down more than enough. Before I could so much as make a sound, a sword erupted from the Captain-General's chest. It'd missed his heart, but not by much.
And behind the old man, smiling as his victim slowly slid off his katana, stood dead Captain Aizen. "I greatly dislike spontaneity," The treacherous Soul Reaper remarked, staring at the bleeding, helpless body of his superior officer. "Sometimes, though, you have to take advantages as they come. I must offer you thanks, shaman. I'd never have been able to catch him by surprise if you hadn't done such a wonderful job of holding his attention. And I can assure you that no one else here has any hope of defeating me. Congratulations, you just removed the only thing keeping me from operating openly. I am honestly curious; how does that make you feel?"
"How do you think?" I snarled at him. Slag it, slag it, slag it! Urahara even warned me about this guy, and how I had to be careful not to weaken the Court Guard Companies too much, so they wouldn't be vulnerable to him. I'm pretty sure Urahara never expected me to do anywhere near as well as I have, and should have given a stronger warning, but I still should have listened! But nooo, I just had to go full aggro like a crazy, belligerent fool and hand him a victory on a silver platter. "Like a void-sucking idiot!"