Ink fell like rain, painting the ground a glossy black. Hyōsube's laughter boomed like thunder. It was the deadliest storm Yhwach ever had to weather. He dashed across the courtyard on footholds of Reishi. He didn't dare let his feet touch that dark sea.
Each arrow he fired was consumed by the torrent of ink, and every attempt he made at closing in on Hyōsube ended with a splash coming dangerously close. The ancient monk's defenses were seemingly impenetrable, and all he was doing was waving that blasted brush around.
"What's the matter, King of the Quincies? Don't tell me you are afraid of a little stain. That cloak of yours is already black as night, so why worry?" He laughed through an unchanging grin, but Yhwach felt the threat in his words. The jovial face was a facade. The monster was enjoying cornering his prey. "I am surprised, Yhwach. I expected you to sacrifice yourself for the good of your allies. But here you are, skittering around like an ant. Perhaps I should chase those guards of yours down and see if they can put up more of a fight!"
Yhwach grit his teeth. He was being provoked. It had been the same with Yamamoto; Hyōsube was trying to rile him up, make him reckless. It very nearly worked.
Over the past thousand years, Yhwach had cultivated his power, The All-seeing. The near-future sight it granted supplemented his already tremendous strength. He'd grown reliant on the advantage that power gave him. His experiences since returning to the Soul Society had made that abundantly clear.
His encounters with the Special War Potentials were humbling. He knew now that he couldn't rely on his Schrift in these conflicts.
And that meant he had to be careful. There would be no impassioned outbursts this day.
Instead, Yhwach would hold back. He would endure the chiding remarks of his enemy and watch. If there was anything to be learned from his power, it was that there was always an opening to exploit. You just had to be sharp enough to notice it.
That was proving more difficult than he expected. Hyōsube's wild flailing appeared to be just that, wild and random. He wasn't swinging his brush in a consistent pattern, nor was he purposefully dropping ink on any one spot. Avoiding his attacks was truly like trying to stay dry in a thunderstorm.
Even so, there had to be an opening. There was an avenue of approach that Hyōsube wasn't aware of. Yhwach searched for it, sweating heavily.
There! He rushed forward, demonstrating the power and skill that allowed him to claim leadership of the Quincies. In the split second before he reached Hyōsube's blind spot, he readied his sword and swung. His blade bit into the side of Hyōsube's brush with a sharp clang.
The monk's eyes turned, and his smile broadened. With an nearly imperceptible flourish, he spun the brush, twisting Yhwach's sword from his hands.
In the same motion, he smeared Yhwach's chest with that deadly black ink.
Strength immediately retreated. He tried to grab hold of it, but to no avail. It slipped through his fingers, fleeing his grasp. It was as if his strength was rejecting him. You are not Yhwach, it seemed to say.
Hyōsube's palm slammed into his chest, sending him splashing through the still wet layer of ink coating the ground. He tried to stand, but his arms and legs shook under the strain of his weight.
"You were once merely a boy, dependent on his father's strength. Then you grew, fueled by a misguided rage, and seized power all your own. And now, you are nothing." Hyōsube spoke without mercy. His words were devastating.
The man once called Yhwach had dedicated his existence to the pursuit of a single goal. He attained strength that set him apart, and he gathered supporters around him. He fought, bleeding and sweating, and lost a great deal. Still, he had persevered.
With his strength, he could support his followers and they, in turn, supported him. Because he was Yhwach, King of the Quincies. The man-the symbol-that would bring glory to the Enders and save the world from the tyranny of the Balancers.
That man was gone, he realized, trembling. The ink staining his chest and coating his arms had robbed him of more than his strength. It robbed him of everything. In his own mind he could not identify himself. He knew of a man called Yhwach and his history, but he could not imagine himself in that role.
Yamamoto's power had been the stuff of nightmares. It had captured the souls of good men and twisted them to his will. This was . . .something else entirely.
To be enslaved was one thing, but to be erased . . .
"Your Majesty!" That was Lille's voice. A concentrated beam of Reishi shot past Hyōsube's face, and the man kneeling in a glossy black puddle felt a chill. The monk's expression rippled. Each part of his face squirmed, shifting between emotions until they settled, one by one, into one that fit the situation.
Lille rushed back along the courtyard, trailed by the other Schutzstaffel. They were disregarding orders to protect the man that used to be their king.
"You fools!" The man formerly known as Yhwach bellowed as Hyōsube swung his brush, splashing all of them with his ink. They collapsed, powerless.
Hyōsube sighed. "It has been some time since I have felt so at odds with myself. On the one hand, it is fortunate your guards decided to return for you. It is best to deal with a threat immediately. On the other hand, it is a tremendous shame that I did not get the chance to track them down. It simply isn't exciting this way."
"You're a monster!"
"Indeed." Hyōsube sat on the ground before the man struggling to stand, heedless of the ink. "There are literary allusions to monsters cobbled together with the body parts of the deceased in the living world. I certainly fit the bill, considering that. Now tell me, what does my being a monster matter?"
The man precariously balanced on his hands and knees shook his head. "It is not what you are that makes you a monster, Hyōsube Ichibē, it is what you do. You manipulate and exploit. You further the interests of the Balancers to the detriment of the world! It is that self serving behavior, combined with your status and power, that makes you a monster." He formed a weak fist and shook it at the monk, nearly toppling over. "Take that Zanpakuto of yours . . . Who gave you the right to steal the very essence of a person. Where does that authority come from?"
Hyōsube stroked his beard, humming to himself. "I'll ask again, what does it matter? Authority? Rights? What does any of that matter in the face of the universe? I may be a monster, but even if I were a saint, it all comes to naught as the bigger picture comes into view."
"So you don't deny it?!"
"There is no need, fool child." He shook his head, looking displeased for the first time. "I am honestly shocked that your perspective is so limited given the nature of your strength. Consider it this way, then. How did you come to lead the Quincies? Do you claim divine support?"
"No. I was the strongest at the time, so my comrades elevated me to this position. I gained my authority from their confidence and trust. Even as others eclipsed me in power, I held on to my seat by shouldering their hopes. I earned this right!"
That unsettling smile returned. Hyōsube leaned forward, bringing his face close to the former Quincy king. "So strength is the root of your status? I find that very agreeable."
The man that was once Yhwach tried to interject. The monk was twisting his words, but a glimmer in those bulging eyes killed the words in his throat.
Hyōsube tapped the end of his brush on the ground and the pools of ink began to recede. The dark stains coating his robes melted away, as did those on the former Yhwach's clothes. His power did not return, however.
"If strength is the source of authority, then it is my ability to take from you that gives me the right. If authority is a duty granted by those around me, then the responsibilities left to me by the first Soul King should more than suffice. It matters not to me either way." The ink began to gather beneath Hyōsube's brush. "I have rarely been given the chance to activate my Bankai. Times simply have been too peaceful to demand it. Your war, however misguided, has given me a prime opportunity. So, I thank you."
The ink surged up towards the bristles of the brush, stopping just short of the tip, which seemed to glow a bright, clean white in contrast.
"Do you remember what I told that poor young man you sent to die? Names are powerful things. To lose yours is to lose your power. But what if you were given a new name?" Hyōsube stood, looming. "I dub thee, black ant."
Black ant breathed in sharply, eyes opening wide. His limbs no longer shook. He was no longer powerless. But this may have been worse. His entire understanding of himself shifted. He was a lowly bug. That was all. His power was that of an insect. Nothing more. It was a given that he would be so weak. That was simply who he was.
He had no say, no opportunity to resist.
"Rejoice, for I have granted you power!" Hyōsube laughed. His voice echoed in the wide open courtyard. "Enjoy the authority I have given you in these final precious moments."
Black ant knelt, in awe of the dark god standing before him. His entire life had come to this moment.
Dangling over the edge of eternity.
+ Break +
Kyōraku Shunsui stepped through the darkness of the Muken, the lowest level of the Central Great Underground Prison. The vastness of the space devoured the sound of his footsteps. The nothingness surrounding him absorbed his Reiatsu. It was about as close to being disconnected from the rest of the universe as any space or time could be.
That made it the perfect place to guard a person of interest.
Jūshirō sat on a thin mat, legs crossed. He breathed deeply, staying completely still with his eyes closed, seemingly at peace. Shunsui knew the man better. His nostrils flared with every breath, and his knees jumped ever so slightly. The wrinkles around his eyes were subtle, so anyone else might have missed them.
The Captain of the 13th Division had never looked so anxious. He'd looked worried and frustrated, sure, but this was a level of agitation that Shunsui hadn't thought possible from his long time friend.
Maybe it would be best if I stop thinking of him as my friend. At least until this is over. Shunsui sighed. The burden of leadership was heavy indeed. As Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 he had a responsibility to find out what Jūshirō was hiding. The enemy was after him specifically. He was, ultimately, the source of the threat bearing down on them.
Jūshirō opened his eyes as Shunsui approached. He slumped over, suddenly looking haggard. When he spoke, his voice came out in a dry rasp. "I owe you an apology, Shunsui. All of this is my fault."
Shunsui winced, "Don't talk like that. Whatever the reason for this war, I doubt a thousand-year old grudge is your doing. That being said . . ." Shunsui sat in front of his beleaguered friend-like hell he could just ignore their friendship-and slid a small cup to him. The clink of the jug as he set it on the ground between them was unusually muted. "I need to know what the Quincies are after, Jūshirō."
Jūshirō raised his cup, letting Shunsui fill it for him, but only stared at the clear liquid.
"Listen, I have some theories about what this is all about, but I'm not kidding myself; they aren't even close to the truth. I need you to tell me what we're up against. Please, Jūshirō." He'd brought the strong stuff, hoping it would make this whole thing easier. It didn't.
"This is . . . sensitive information. Just knowing about it will paint a target on your back. That's the sort of secret I keep." Still keeping his lip zipped, huh? A change of tactics, then.
"Do you remember, back when we were studying at Shin'ō, when we went digging into old Yama's records?" Jūshirō raised an eyebrow. Did he know where this was going? "We found those rosters of the first few generations of the Gotei 13. Of particular interest were the mountains of criminal records for the founding members. Old Yama included."
"What about it?"
"Those records were locked away for a reason. The Great Noble Families didn't want their oh-so pure policing force to be outed as the gang of violent murderers and psychopaths that it was. Between old Yama's body count during the Quincy rebellion and the true identity of the first Kenpachi, we were sitting on a mountain of dynamite just waiting for a spark." Shunsui downed the remainder of his first cup in one gulp. He hadn't slept much for weeks after learning all that.
"When the old man found out," he continued, stroking his throat, "he could have killed us right there. Instead, he warned us never to reveal what we'd seen."
"I remember." Jūshirō sipped his drink. He grimaced as the burning fluid slid down his throat. "I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was when he sat us down with that dark look on his face."
"Right? He gave it to us straight, even though we were basically kids. He was a hard-ass from the day he was born, I swear." Shunsui chuckled, trying to loosen things up. "My point is he should have killed us back then, but he didn't. We knew something we shouldn't have, and he let us go, putting himself in the line of fire. The man never hesitated to put himself in harm's way for the sake of the Soul Society and its people. The way I see it, we need to follow his example, no matter the risks." Shunsui eyed his friend over the rim of his cup.
What little good humor he'd managed to pull to the surface retreated. Jūshirō stared into his mostly full cup with that horrible expression on his face. He took a deep breath and tilted his head back, dumping the alcohol down his throat. He coughed and wheezed, and his eyes watered. When he finally looked back to Shunsui, determination shone through the gloom.
"I was born in the wilderness outside of the furthest reaches of the Rukongai," he said. Finally, they were getting somewhere. The question was, where exactly were they getting? "Rural doesn't even begin to describe the place. News from the larger Soul Society took weeks to reach our tiny village, and it was often delivered by merchants and traveling medicine men."
"I've always been sickly. You know that, but when I was a child I became particularly ill. Every medicine man I was taken to-there weren't any proper doctors that far out-told my parents to pray for my soul so that it might pass peacefully. My mother once told me she considered smothering me to save me the agony. I've wondered recently if that would have been for the best."
"Spiritualism was the only option left for us. There was a temple a few villages over that housed a shrine to a pair of local deities. I nearly died on the trek. No surprises there." He took a big gulp directly from the jug. He continued after coughing through the burn. "Have you ever heard of the Soul King's Arms?"
Shunsui held his cup to his lips, but did not drink. "No, but that sounds ominous."
Jūshirō chuckled, "It is. They were guardian spirits of sorts. Depending on where you were, their forms and names would change. I've seen them expressed as angels and demons, as a pair of any number of animals, as tools for various trades, as vague emotional concepts, and even as swords wielded by the Soul King himself. The variations are as broad as the Rukongai is vast. The shrine I was taken to interpreted them as the Soul King's hands. Left and right, Progress and Stagnation."
"The local priest instructed my parents to pray to the right hand, Mimihagi, for its power could prolong my life. As you might be able to guess, my parents' prayers were answered." Jūshirō pulled his arms out of his sleeves, letting his robes fall loose around his waist. He shifted, turning around. Shunsui's eyes widened at what he saw on his friend's back. A writhing black figure, like a living tattoo, stretched across his skin. It almost looked like a hand reaching up to strangle Jūshirō from behind.
"This is my salvation, and also my burden." Jūshirō turned back around, looking significantly more exhausted than he did a moment ago. Why did he choose now to crack a smile? "From the day I was granted this extra time, I knew that my life was not my own. Someday, I would be required to give myself completely to Mimihagi. That time is fast approaching."
Shunsui suddenly felt out of breath. This was a lot to take in. "What exactly is happening to you, Jūshirō? How much time do we have?"
His friend cocked his head, looking no different than he usually did. Was it Shunsui's imagination? Or was this . . . thing causing him to change. He smiled, "I wish I could say. I know the term-Kamikake-but aside from my declining health, I don't know what it entails. As for how much time . . . Well, I can say we don't have long."
Shunsui set his cup on the ground. He didn't feel like drinking anymore. "They're after it, aren't they?" Jūshirō nodded, pouring himself another drink. "Great. At least now we know what they want. All we have to do is keep you here and keep them out."
"If only it were that simple." Minutes passed in silence before Jūshirō sighed. "They have the other hand, Shunsui. The only way we win this is if Mimihagi consumes me, and then escapes somewhere the Quincies can't reach even with the power of the left hand. The process has already started. Win or lose, I'm a dead man."
Shunsui took a deep breath. Then he slammed his fist down, shattering his cup. He stood, looking down at his oldest friend. Jūshirō's eyes did not follow him.
He could finish this all right now. He could free the spirit possessing Jūshirō and it would disappear to who knew where. He could give this man that he'd known for centuries-his brother-a merciful, quick end. They could find a way to deal with the Quincies afterwards.
"Ah, I know that look. My mother used to look at me like that." Jūshirō stared at the floor, smiling to himself. He was resigned to his fate.
That was the last straw. An ending where Jūshirō had to die was unacceptable. There had to be a way they could stop the Kamikake and maintain his life. But there were so many things Shunsui didn't understand about this whole thing. Rural shrines and answered prayers? The hands of the Soul King? These were things that invoked the divine! How did one counter divinity?
Shunsui stifled a laugh. The answer was so simple he felt stupid for not figuring it out right away.
If the right hand was consuming Jūshirō, then maybe the left hand could stop it. Conveniently, the enemy knocking on their door just so happened to possess said hand. Their objective hadn't changed in the slightest, though it did have a small addendum now.
Defeat the Quincies, and in doing so claim the left hand of the Soul King.
There was just the matter of keeping Jūshirō safe until they could claim victory. Shunsui turned, staring into the darkness. He called out. "It appears we have need of your services after all."
The darkness absorbed the sound, then a familiar, spine-tingling voice responded. "I'm happy to hear that, Captain-Commander Kyōraku." The stagnant air of the Muken shifted as space warped. The darkness receded, revealing another section of the prison. One that should have remained untouched for another 20,000 years.
Countless seals and locks littered the ground around a large, ornate chair, which was covered with more seals. The man trapped in that chair was wrapped in yet more seals, his body wrapped in bindings that were specifically created to contain his unparalleled power.
Aizen Sōsuke smiled.
+ Break +
Black ant watched with wide eyes as the monster prepared to stomp out his life. And he raged.
"I may be little more than an ant, Hyōsube Ichibē, but that does not mean I will just roll over and die!" He let go. His life, his existence, none of it mattered now. In that case, it shouldn't be a problem to let the Kamikake begin in earnest.
A power unlike anything black ant had ever felt saturated the air in the courtyard. It was blazing. It came from him, but he felt as if it would wear him away with its intensity. It pulsed, and he felt his body burst, then reform, then burst again.
It was his heartbeat. That rhythmic pounding was his life. He took a deep breath and seemed to breathe in the world. His eyes, somehow just seeing for the first time, absorbed everything. Sound lost its meaning as the whole of the universe became apparent to him. He clenched his jaw, for if he deigned to speak, the world itself might crumble.
And then it was over. In an instant, that glorious divinity broke away from his soul, rising up above him, radiant. He could see it clearly, even though it was behind him and stretching over his head. Simply being in its presence granted awareness.
A black tower grew from Yhwach's back-Yes, that was his name. He was Yhwach. The tower squirmed and writhed, taking the shape of a long, dark arm. The left hand of the Soul King had manifested. It regarded the world before it. An eye appeared on its palm, then another, then more. They coated the black surface that seemed to flow in on itself.
"You may have been able to take my name, Hyōsube, but there is an existence residing in me that even one as ancient as you cannot touch." His voice boomed. He smelled the fear wafting off of the old monk. Those bulging eyes held nothing but shock and awe. "The Soul King is beyond your reach! I am one with His left hand, Pernida, and so I am beyond your reach!"
The towering hand began to sink. Darkness spread over the ground in every direction. It seemed to reach all the way to the horizon. The Schutzstaffel stood, restored as Yhwach had been, by divine power.
Pernida fell across Yhwach's head, its fingers draping over his eyes. They were so close to becoming one that he almost embraced the power completely. He breathed in sharply, resisting just before the darkness consumed his soul. They weren't done yet. The world had not yet been saved.
As long as there was work to be done, Yhwach had to maintain control. He needed to work quickly. He pointed his sword at the old monk, intending to cut through him.
Hyōsube shook his head and started furiously swinging his brush. He painted the air itself with intricate, swooping lines. In seconds, he stood amidst a shrine of glowing white ink. "You have crossed a line that no man should cross, Quincy! This shall be your final resting place! I will return you to zero. You will cease. Your soul will be eradicated and never be reborn!"
For the first time, Yhwach saw unbridled rage in Hyōsube Ichibē. He drank it in.
One step brought him within arm's reach. His dark power washed away Hyōsube's ink. "With this power, the power of the Soul King himself, I will reshape the world. I will do away with the corruption that was allowed to take root. Corruption that you cultivated. I will bring salvation and watch over the new world as its god." He did not assert anything. These were simply facts to be stated.
Pernida's darkness engulfed Yhwach's blade. It coalesced and shot out, engulfing the monster masquerading as a monk. In moments, the Balancer's body was strewn across the courtyard as tiny, insignificant fragments. Only the head remained intact, bulging eyes and all. Yhwach held it in his hands and smirked.
Justice was an intoxicating thing.
Tossing the head over his shoulder like so much trash, he started towards the 1st Division headquarters. His royal guard fell in behind him.
It was time to claim the rest of his power.
+ Break +
"What are you doing, Shunsui?!" Jūshirō looked horrified. It wasn't an overreaction, frankly, but desperate times called for desperate measures. They could face an enemy wielding some sort of divine power and hope for the best. Or, they could recruit their own pseudo-divinity and hope that the leash didn't snap.
Shunsui ignored his friend. They were close, but he was the Captain-Commander. He bore the weight of the Soul Society's Central branch on his shoulders. He knew full well how dangerous Aizen Sōsuke was.
"Here's the deal," he said, "I coaxed three keys out of the Central 46. You won't be able to release anything close to your full power, but you should be able to move around with some measure of freedom."
Aizen breathed out slowly. His emotions seemed subdued, but Shunsui could feel his excitement. The man's mood gave off its own pressure. "That sounds delightful. I assume there is something you would like in return?"
"You can probably guess. In exchange for loosening your restraints, we expect you to assist us in repelling the Quincy forces."
"Hmm . . ." Aizen hummed to himself. He couldn't so much as turn his head, but he gave off the impression of someone crossing their legs and tapping their chin. "That sounds easy enough. However, what about after I've helped you? Am I to present myself for reimprisonment? That hardly seems fair."
Beads of sweat slid down Shunsui's face. He had expected to negotiate. One didn't simply give and take with someone who couldn't die. Fortunately, he'd taken extra precautions. "If you provide the service we demand, I have been allowed to leave one seal unlocked. Said seal will remain open for the remainder of your sentence."
"Oh, now that is tempting. I should think we have a deal, Captain-Commander." The tension in Shunsui's shoulders eased up a bit, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. "There's just one question I have to ask. Let us say that I don't want the other two seals to be replaced and I choose to kill you before you reapply them?"
Shunsui smiled. He'd prepared for something like this as well. "If I die down here, the Muken will be immediately banished. It's connection with the Soul Society will be severed, casting it into the space between." Shunsui spread his arms. It made him feel vulnerable, but at the same time, he felt like he held all the cards. "All three seals will stay released, but you will be trapped in a space outside of the universe for eternity."
Aizen sighed, amused. "I always knew you were the devious type. Fine then. You have my word that I will follow our agreement to the letter. Now, release the seals."
"Not so fast. Your release is dependent on the enemy. If they reach the Muken, then I will undo the seals."
Amusement bled into irritation. "You play a dangerous game, Kyōraku."
"You know full well how fond I am of games." He turned, letting Aizen stew for a time. The man could erase him with a thought when fully unleashed, but right now Shunsui was in control. He sat back down and grabbed the jug of alcohol. Then he looked at the pieces of his cup and sighed.
Jūshirō was breathing heavily and sweating harder than Shunsui. Was he that against working with Aizen? Sure the guy had threatened all of existence, but in this situation, he was their best bet. No, that wasn't it. He looked exhausted, like he'd been running for hours. And running for a few minutes usually landed him in the hospital.
"How are you holding up?" Shunsui said, taking a swig from the jug.
"Well . . . I'm still here. So that's something." That almost sounded like a joke. There was no one more adept at making light of a serious situation than Ukitake Jūshirō. Shunsui wasn't in the mood to laugh, though. "You're making a mistake." There it was.
"Maybe I am. But we won't know for sure until the dust settles."
Jūshirō grimaced. He looked like he was in so much pain. Just looking at him hurt. Shunsui wished he could sympathize, but this thing Jūshirō was going through was well beyond his understanding. How must it feel to live your whole life teetering on the edge of oblivion, only to be consumed by the force that had been keeping you alive all along?
Jūshirō could say it was a noble sacrifice, that he was proud to do his duty in protecting the Soul Society, but Shunsui had made his fair share of sacrifices and he hadn't enjoyed a single one.
"Listen, Jūshirō-" The ground began to shake and Jūshirō's eyes shot open. An aura so dark it made the shadows of the Muken look bright sprang up around him as he jerked his head up. Shunsui followed his gaze to the entrance. There was nobody there, but he could feel something approaching.
"He's coming . . . Shunsui, you need to release those seals! We don't have much time!"
Shunsui acted swiftly. There was no room for hesitation or deliberation. He used the keys and a small fraction of the seals holding Aizen retreated. He stood up, flexing his fingers. A nauseating wave struck Shunsui. Even with only a fraction of his power available, Aizen's Spiritual Pressure was oppressive. "Remember the deal, Aizen."
"No need to worry. I will fight with all my might to defeat the Quincy foe, and I will ensure your survival. As for the rest of the Seireitei . . . I make no guarantees." Barely ten seconds had passed and the bastard was already trying to raze the Soul Society to the ground. This had better be worth it.
A power as dark as the one surrounding Jūshirō bubbled up around the portal out of the Muken. Aizen raised a hand toward it, and the space within the prison's lowest level seemed to groan. Three seals might have been too risky after all.
Oh well. Too late for regrets now.
The boiling darkness surged towards Aizen, pushing back against his power. Starting at his arm, it wrapped around him, enshrouding him in pitch blackness. "Interesting . . ." he said, as the shadow engulfed his head. Just like that, their trump card was rendered useless.
The darkness at the entrance split, revealing a man in a battered white uniform. There was no doubt in Shunsui's mind that that was the Quincy leader, Yhwach. He didn't quite look how Shunsui had expected. Mainly, he hadn't heard any reports about a cowl covered in inhuman eyes that seemed to merge with the darkness surrounding him.
"Shunsui . . . run . . . please!" Jūshirō croaked. Even now he was trying to sacrifice himself. That was some mean dedication. Too bad it was wasted.
Shunsui stepped in front of Jūshirō, Zanpakuto in hand. His old friend wasn't the only one ready to put his life on the line. He could fret all day about having to go up against the power of a god, but looking at it, he actually felt pretty confident. Everything was dark, and darkness was his home turf.
No way I'm taking any chances here. Anything less than Bankai will probably be useless. He prepared to release his sword, but a flash of pain and an impact that nearly threw him off his feet stopped him. He looked down at his gut where something had struck him, and found a hole. His vision grew fuzzy, but he was able to make out the figures standing at the entrance.
Why did he always end up running into guys with guns?
Strength left him and he slumped to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Yhwach step up to Jūshirō. They looked at each other, not saying a word. Jūshirō, to his credit, gave the Quincy a fierce glare, but it wasn't enough. As Yhwach laughed, his darkness extended to surround Jūshirō as well, encasing them both in a pitch black cocoon.
And then they vanished. The darkness faded away, leaving nothing but the average shadows of the Muken. The other Quincies retreated silently, leaving Shunsui alone and bleeding on the floor. Aizen . . . where was Aizen?
Gone. His oppressive power was still there-it wasn't something that could be easily hidden-but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled, seizing the opportunity to escape somehow? That was unlikely.
Was it the power of the left hand? He could believe a piece of the Soul King's power successfully sealing the Soul Society's number one enemy away.
A mixture of bile and blood surged up Shunsui's throat and splattered onto the bare ground. What was left of his strength was quickly fading. Even so, he couldn't just sit there and die. He needed to chase Jūshirō down and rescue him. He couldn't let the Quincies have their way!
He stood and took a few steps before stumbling again. His legs just weren't listening anymore. It was starting to look like he would actually be dying in this dark, empty void.
What a pathetic way to go.
"Captain!" Was that Nanao? Why was she down in the Muken? He must have been hallucinating. But no, he heard footsteps and soon saw her running up to him. Beautiful, brave Nanao! If she was the one saving him, then he had no complaints. She lifted him up, propping him on her shoulder.
"We need . . . to save . . . Jūshirō." Shunsui dragged his feet even with Nanao's help. He was fading fast.
"Captain, we can't . . . You're in no condition to fight, let alone chase someone down and fight."That made sense. Didn't stop Shunsui from wanting to sprint as hard as he could to catch up to the man that took his friend.
"We . . . have to . . ."
"We're almost there, Captain. Just hang on a little longer."
Shunsui's eyelids grew heavy and his head started to bob. A sleep from which he would never wake beckoned him to relax. To give in.
It wasn't very convincing, all things considered.
+ Break +
Ichigo stared up at the shell of the 13th Division barracks. The main building was on the verge of collapse, with enormous tears and holes ripped out of it. It was a peculiar sight, mostly due to the lack of destruction elsewhere in the compound. There were no piles of dead Shinigami, no signs of a protracted battle. Everything was pristine.
He stormed through the doors, desperate for answers, and was shocked to find that someone else had beaten him there. Renji leaned against the doorway to the inner chambers, looking like he had a bone to pick. His expression relaxed when Ichigo approached.
"You're a sight for sore eyes. The old man finally let you out?" He said in a lighthearted sort of way. It didn't sound right.
Ichigo eyed him. "Yeah. It looks like I wasn't fast enough, though."
Renji rubbed his neck, avoiding Ichigo's gaze. "I'll say. I'm not sure any of us were fast enough." He pushed off the doorframe and gestured inside. "Come on. There's something you need to see."
The inner chambers were shockingly intact. Aside from the gaping holes that could be seen from the outside, there was little in the way of destruction inside. The room itself was eerily similar to Ichibē's Density Chamber; totems and mantras lined the walls, broken up by the occasional idol. Besides those, there was only a large tank in the middle of the room. Rukia popped up from behind it, looking frazzled.
"I can't find any clues to the Captain's whereabouts. We've got no leads!" She slammed her fist against the glass, cracking it.
Ichigo stepped forward, tripping over something. No, that was a person! A piece of one, anyways. There was something familiar about him. "So we don't know where Ukitake is? How did Ichibē expect us to protect him if he was going to disappear like this?" Yeah he recognized the body under his feet. It was that Quincy he ran into before this all started. What happened here?
Urahara-san stepped through the doors, stopping briefly to inspect something on the floor. "I suspected that might be the case. Kyōraku has proven himself to be a shrewd Captain-Commander."
"Kisuke! Do you know something?" Rukia stormed around the tank, "I know you well enough to know that you have some ideas. Skip the cryptic mentor crap and tell us what's going on!" Urahara-san couldn't get a word in edgewise.
Renji tapped Ichigo on the shoulder and pointed him towards another part of the room. There was another body lying there, one that Ichigo recognized immediately. Dread set in as he knelt over Nimaiya's body. He hadn't known the 0 Division's blacksmith for long, but the impact this man had had on his life was tremendous. This new power, this new understanding of himself, was largely thanks to Nimaiya.
"I wanted you to see this so you weren't blindsided later, not so you could get angry and rush on ahead like an idiot. You got that?" Renji kneeled down next to him. He was hurting too. Maybe he and Rukia didn't owe Nimaiya as much, but they still respected him.
Ichigo gestured towards the dead Quincy across the room, "Was he responsible?"
"No clue. Whatever went down here, it was over when we arrived."
"Then we'd better get going," Ichigo said, standing. "Captain Ukitake is still out there, and we can't help him standing around here." He gave Nimaiya one last look, wishing he could have done something. Then he turned away. He had to focus on what he could do, not on what he couldn't.
Renji smirked. "What, no gnashing teeth or shaking fists? I don't think I'll ever get used to you acting so grown up."
"The hell is that supposed to mean? I always act grown up."
"Sure you do."
He wasn't happy in the slightest. There was no reason to feel any sort of joy or amusement. But Ichigo smiled anyway. It felt like, even though he was teetering on the edge of rage, letting himself find happiness in his friend's words was the best thing for him. It was a reminder more than anything else.
As long as they could smile, there was still hope.
Rukia stomped over, leaving Urahara-san talking into some kind of radio. Her expression was a storm up until she stopped Ichigo in his tracks. Then she smiled too. "We're heading to the 1st Division headquarters. Kisuke thinks that's where we'll find Captain Ukitake. I take it you're ready to go?"
Ichigo nodded. He wouldn't dwell on the loss. He'd do his best to prevent any more tragedies.
The group set out, taking to the skies. It didn't take long to reach their destination, but once they did, a truly ominous feeling washed over them. Even after all of their battles and experiences, the aura radiating from the 1st Division headquarters stopped them in their tracks.
The courtyard spread out before the compound was barren, for the most part. There was an odd crater with a large splash of blood off to the side, but the only other oddity was a strange rock sitting on the path.
"This is very bad." Urahara-san stepped forward, eyes wide. Ichigo had never seen him look so shocked.
Rukia stood next to him, "What is that? And why didn't we sense it before now?" She looked up to him expecting an answer, but he only shook his head. That was a bad sign.
Renji looked at Ichigo, then back to the building. "You know, it kind of feels like . . . you"
Ichigo started, looking closer, feeling the unsettling aura that the building exuded. And just as Renji said, it was an eerily familiar presence. He could sense aspects of Shinigami, Quincy, Hollow, and Human Spiritual Pressure in the air. All of the fundamental forces that Nimaiya had explained to him were there. Just like his own soul.
Surely that didn't matter. Ichigo took a deep breath and stepped towards the headquarters. "We need to keep going. The prison is under there, right?"
Rukia stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, then nodded. "I don't know the exact way, but we can figure it out."
"Now, hold on you two. There's a fine line between reckless bravery and pure stupidity. Let's try not to fall victim to the latter." Urahara-san clapped his hands, shaking off the shock. He hadn't regained his lackadaisical mood, however. He actually seemed serious. "We've got backup coming, and while I would advise against storming that place until we can muster a proper assault, I think you'd have a much better chance of finding Captain Ukitake if you wait for them."
"Backup?" Ichigo cocked his head.
"Kurosaki-kun!" As if on cue, Inoue's voice reached his ears. He spun, spotting her bounding up to him. She stopped just short and saluted, "Mission accomplished . . . sort of!"
He wasn't sure what to make of that, but smiled like an idiot anyway. Honestly, it was just nice to see that she was doing alright. Chad and Yoruichi ran up behind her . . . and so did Ishida! None of them looked like they'd recently fought a battle, probably thanks to Inoue. But more importantly . . .
"Good to see you back in action, Ishida." Ichigo held out his hand and Ishida grasped it with no hesitation. "You got a lot stronger too, huh? Wait, is that-"
"Later, Kurosaki. I think we have more important matters to deal with first." He was right.
Ichigo looked over their little team. Rukia and Renji, fresh off the 0 Division's training course, were chatting with Chad and Inoue, who themselves had undergone an intensive training regimen. Urahara-san and Yoruichi stood to the side, watching him expectantly.
Just what he needed.
Still, having them all here was a relief.
Ichigo cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention. "As far as we know, Captain Ukitake is somewhere in that mess. I don't know why he's so important to the Quincies, but I don't care. If he's in trouble, then we need to help him." He focused on Inoue and Chad. They'd only just noticed the strangeness of the headquarters. "Look, I know this looks bad, whatever it is, but we've jumped into worse situations with less. With all of us here like this, it doesn't matter what lies ahead. We can handle it. I know it." They looked back to him and the little hints of doubt that had started sprouting vanished.
With everyone rallied behind him, Ichigo led the way. He made for the entrance to the headquarters confidently. It was only then that he noticed how odd that rock on the path truly was. It was smooth and round on one side, and seemed to have some sort of dark moss growing off of the opposite end. Ichigo lifted his leg to step over it. It was so strange that-
That was no rock.
He dropped to his knees and reached for what he now saw was a severed head. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to find out who it belonged to. Steeling his nerves, he turned the head to face him. Hyōsube Ichibē stared back at him.
"Inoue!" He nearly screamed.
She ran up beside him and gasped, but then she was all business. "Set him down, please. Now step back." She held her hands over Ichibē's head and the glow of her Shun Shun Rikka enveloped it.
Ichigo looked back at Rukia and Renji. Their grimaces told him everything. This was one more person to whom they owed a debt that they could never repay now. Another bad omen. He watched Inoue work, holding out hope, but she wasn't making any progress.
Kurosaki Ichigo . . .
He could hear the old monk's voice clearly. The lessons he tried to teach were still so fresh.
Kurosaki Ichigo . . . say it . . .
What was it he was supposed to say? Was there something he was forgetting?
My name . . . call out my name . . .
The light from the Shun Shun Rikka faded, leaving the monk's head unchanged. Inoue stood and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but this is too much even for my rejection. If we had the rest of his body maybe . . ."
Ichigo placed a hand on her shoulder. "I understand. Thanks for trying, Inoue." Just like with Nimaiya, there was no time to mourn. They were right on the enemy's tail. They had to push on.
Say my name . . . Kurosaki Ichigo . . .
"Hyōsube . . . Ichibē," he said, almost under his breath.
There was a beat, as if the space in front of him took a sharp breath and blew out. Ichigo blinked, struggling to comprehend what just happened.
"Well done, young one! You have my thanks!" Ichibē laughed, stroking his beard. He was just there. All of a sudden. But was he always that short? "What's with those looks? Ah, yes, I suppose you all wouldn't know. It takes a lot more than a total evisceration to kill an Amalgamation like myself." He laughed as if he hadn't been a severed head on the ground a few moments ago.
Ichigo shook himself. This was truly bizarre, but like so many other things vying for his attention, he didn't have time to dwell on it. "Ichibē, we are about to assault the 1st Division Headquarters. Will you help us rescue Captain Ukitake?"
The old monk blinked, staring blankly up at Ichigo. Then he laughed again, but even louder. "I'm afraid I can't do that. If you haven't noticed, most all of my power has been dispersed. It will take a considerable amount of time to build up again." Now that he mentioned it . . . in addition to his shorter stature, Ichibē's Spiritual Pressure was almost imperceptible. Whatever happened to him, it had put him on the same level as a normal living person.
"In that case," Renji cut in, "you should get to safety. The 4th Division barracks are acting as a checkpoint right now, so you should be fine there."
"Then that is where I shall go. Thank you again for enabling my restoration, Kurosaki Ichigo." Ichibē stepped past them, nodding politely to everyone as he passed. "Oh," he said, tilting his head back, "you would do well to hurry. There isn't much time left." That demanded an explanation, but the message was clear.
The whole group took off running. They pushed through the oppressive aura, but it seemed to fight them every step of the way. Waves of pressure buffeted them, gravity became stronger or weaker at random, and searing heat switched with biting cold. This little pocket of the Seireitei was coming apart at the seams.
They made it within a dozen steps of the entrance before a sudden shift in the air physically stopped them. For the briefest of instances, Ichigo felt like he was being sucked into the building, causing him to stumble. He looked back to check on the others.
Then a wall of force slammed into him. A wave of darkness picked him up, sweeping him and the rest of the group away. It came so suddenly and moved so quickly that no one was able to avoid it. In seconds, all of their progress had been reset. Ichigo scrambled to his feet, determined to charge in again. A massive surge of energy rooted him to the spot, however.
The aura of darkness became so thick it was hard to breathe and a wave of nausea almost sent Ichigo right back down. Gigantic, wispy tendrils rose up from the ground and surrounded the 1st Division Headquarters. They curled and writhed, wrapping around each other, spiraling further and further into the sky. The undulating tip of that snake-like spike suddenly burst. It almost looked like a hand.
It slammed into the Shakonmaku. The barrier groaned as it tried to burn the darkness away. The finger-like tendrils at the top of the writhing mass flexed, and the barrier shattered. A shockwave ripped through the Seireitei, cracking the earth beneath Ichigo's feet, and no doubt causing copious amounts of destruction all around.
That spike continued to rise up through the clouds until it appeared as an endless pillar of swirling darkness. Ichigo and company barely had time to collect themselves before the ground began to quake. The air itself began to shake with violent terror as the hand reappeared, towing something along with it. It held an absolutely enormous cylinder in its inky grasp. The shaking got worse as it came closer to the ground.
Ichigo could do nothing but stare, gaping at the spectacle of it. He'd seen so many different phenomena of all shapes and sizes, but this baffled him. He wasn't alone, either. Most of the others looked as awestruck as he felt. Only Urahara-san and Yoruichi showed any sort of understanding.
They were afraid.
As the monolithic building came to a stop in the sky above the 1st Division Headquarters, Ichigo asked, "What is happening, Urahara-san? What exactly are we going up against here?"
Urahara Kisuke, a man of unflappable poise, removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. He took a moment to collect himself. "That . . . is the Soul King's Palace. And this conflict very well may have just leapt into a territory that we cannot reach." The concern on his face was palpable.
Ichigo bristled at that. "So it's a palace, so what? You aren't giving up over something so small, are you Urahara-san?" Inoue and Chad nodded, agreeing with him. The others weren't so supportive. Even Ishida looked at him like a crazy person.
"Small?" Yoruichi said. "Ichigo, that is the palace that houses the Soul King. That means that whatever we're dealing with, it's powerful enough to tear a divine entity down from on high. This is the sort of power that is used to shape the world!" It was all so far beyond him still, but her intensity spoke volumes.
"Alright then, we'll fall back for now. We can regroup at the 4th Division barracks and come up with a plan." It was a slapdash idea at best, but they nodded, calming down considerably. It didn't sit well with Ichigo himself, leaving such a huge threat lingering like this, but he was only one guy. And as little as he understood what was happening, he knew for sure that he couldn't tackle this fight on his own.
"Mind if we . . . tag along?" Captain Kyōraku rose from the shadows of the group. He was leaning pretty hard on his Lieutenant's shoulder. "Two more passengers shouldn't . . . be too much to ask, right?" Inoue gasped. She was the first to notice the gaping hole in his gut. "Ah, thanks. Roadside service is great, huh?" His speech was slurred, and even as Inoue started healing his wound, he slumped over, nearly taking his Lieutenant with him.
Urahara-san clapped his hands while Yoruichi took over propping Kyōraku up, "Let's not waste time, now. Considering the scope of the enemy's power, I wouldn't give us long to prepare."
"Don't go counting us out . . . just yet." Kyōraku said. "The Quincies aren't the only ones with . . . godly powers . . . on their side." He grimaced, making a choking noise, then fell unconscious. Inoue stepped back, having mostly closed the wound.
The group retreated, moving as quickly as they dared with someone so heavily injured.
An ominous feeling grew stronger and stronger even as they got further away from the 1st Division and that shadowy hand.
The final battle was quickly approaching.