Greeting's once again my dear readers! After a long wait, we are back to give you another chapter of "The Death and Life of Erza Scarlet" and this time, we come back with a bang! For today, you shall be given something the fandom has always wanted to see but was only teased. What was that? Well, I don't want to spoil what's coming up, but needless to say, I'm sure you'll find it quite...epic.
In other news , we are nearly at 2000 reviews before the arrancar arcs end and I couldn't be more pleased with the result. Each review I get really does help motivate both me and my writer, and If you've ever left a review, I just wish to say, thank you. It really does mean quite a bit to us both. If we can manage to get to 2000 reviews by the end, that would be fantastic! We're nearing the ending my dear readers, so stick around then for the epic conclusion!
Bleach is owned by Tite Kubo and Shounen jump. Fairy Tail is owned by Hiro Mashima and Weekly Shounen Magazine. I own NOTHING. This is all just for fun!
Things were quieting down somewhat. Ryuken had been up and down the stairs to the roof, spending every minute that he wasn't using to pick off hollows to direct the hospital and its sudden swell of refugees. The hospital administration had quietly retreated to a back room, effectively letting Ryuken have his day in charge of the hospital. When nobody else knew what to do, a single person who did know was all it took.
Somehow, things had held together. The dedicated medical staff was taking care of the newly injured, directing the rest into whatever spaces the tightly packed hospital could offer. The nursing staff, which Ryuken had never respected more, had been essential. They were in the middle of a war zone, and in the midst of this intense pressure, his fellow medical staff had done an admirable job. Ryuken was not in the business of walking around feeling proud of others, but if he were, his heart would have been swelling at this moment.
It had been over twenty minutes since he had last killed one of those man-shaped hollows, which felt like a merciful eternity compared to before. Great sources of spiritual power were still clashing closer to the city center, but they were fewer now, and weaker than before. Whatever was going on, Ryuken realized, was going to settle down soon.
Staring out a window, he reflected on what had just happened. He hadn't had much time to think yet, but it struck him now that this would be an absolutely historical event, whether the world at large realized it or not. The Gotei, for as little as he knew about it, had always been strict about keeping its affairs separate from the world of the living, but it had now spilled over into that space in a way that was absolutely unprecedented. He could only imagine what it would have taken to cause this. He had no love for the shinigami, but he knew they would never have caused this deliberately.
Motivation mattered little, though. Whether through ineptitude or factors out of their control, some great war of theirs had forced its way onto earthly soil, onto his hometown. He could only imagine how many people who knew nothing of ghosts, reapers or hollows lay dead. How many families had it claimed? How many sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers had this reckless conflict claimed? How many people had gotten out of bed this morning expecting a normal day at work, only to be ruthlessly cut down by the brutality of a hollow?
Ryuken made a fist. He had made a point of keeping himself out of the fray, but now his hand had been forced, and for the first time in his lifetime he questioned whether his choice had been the right one. Right now, people were dying because the shinigami had failed to contain the one enemy they were built to fight. Right now, war was at his doorstep.
At least Masaki was safe.
"Doctor Ishida?"
Ryuken turned around. It was Kimiko, one of the senior nurses unlucky- or lucky- enough to have been on shift when this travesty went down.
"Is everything alright?" asked Ryuken.
"…As much as you could call it 'alright,' yes," said Kimiko. She looked shaken, but had held up admirably. He had known her for nearly fifteen years now, and the woman had nerves of steel. But, they had probably never been tested quite like this. "The people taking shelter have been given space. We had to empty all the storage closets, the waiting rooms are filled to the brim, as are the cafeterias, and hundreds of people are crowding in the parking space behind the hospital… but we're holding up. More or less."
"Good," said Ryuken. He stared back out at the window for a moment, then turned back to Kimiko. "It's going to quiet down soon enough. We'll probably have to work for days to clean up this mess, but the worst of it is probably over."
"Doctor Ishida?"
"Yes?"
"You know more about this than you let on."
It was not a question. Ryuken just shrugged.
"The way you just… seemed to know what was going on when nobody else did. The way this place was spared when other places weren't. There's something going on here that I don't understand. And… I just wanted you to know that whatever that is, it doesn't matter to me. Whatever your secrets are, they don't matter to me."
"Kimiko…"
"What you've done today is incredible, doctor," the nurse said quietly. "You pulled this place together when it was ready to break at the seams. Collapse. It's because of you that this place is still standing. And whatever is out there, hurting people, hasn't come here. And, I think that's because of you, too."
Slowly, Ryuken nodded. Kimiko had always been perceptive. She had a fair amount of spirit energy, and he suspected she would probably be able to spot a soul if she saw one.
"There's a whole world out there," said Ryuken quietly, staring into space, "a terrible, tragic world that you should be glad to never have heard of. For the moment, that world has clashed with ours. All you need to know is that right now, effectively, Karakura is a war zone. More than likely, the national guard will have to be called in. More than likely, this will be labeled a terrorist attempt by the press, which isn't all that far from the truth- but very far off the mark. Either way, it doesn't change anything for us. What we have to do is care for the wounded and give shelter to those who need it."
"If there's a terrible, tragic other world out there, then I'm glad I chose not to ask," said Kimiko, nodding slowly. "You're right, Doctor Ishida. This doesn't change anything for us. Our job is what it is."
"Yes. I think this will be through soon. Within a few hours, we might be able to start sending some of the uninjured people home. When the danger has passed-"
Then, suddenly it happened. A strange pulse shot out across the city from a central point near the battlegrounds, almost instantaneous. It felt like white noise to Ryuken, like screeching static as it washed over him. The strange effect ripped into not his body but his soul, maliciously tugging at it, as if to sever and seize it. Without even thinking about it, Ryuken refocused his spiritual core, stabilizing it, and the sensation passed as quickly as it had come. What was that? What sort of shinigami mischief-
"Doc… tor…"
Ryuken turned around to see Kimiko toppling over. He rushed to catch her, and the senior nurse fell into his arms, lifeless. A look of shock was frozen on her features. She wasn't breathing.
Ryuken didn't need to check her pulse to know what had happened. Her soul, rich with spirit energy, had been wrenched from her body. She had died instantly, and nothing could change that. The body could not go on without a soul, and hers was… gone.
Gently, in shock from what just had happened, Ryuken set Kimiko's body down on the floor. He could feel it all around him- hundreds, thousands of souls passing from bodies of the living, rapidly moving toward the center of where that pulse had come from.
Ryuken stood up, shaken to his core. He had known Kimiko for as long as he had worked at this hospital. She was more reliable to him than most of his fellow doctors. He knew her voice, her smile, her likes and dislikes, her character, and now… it was all gone. Taken in an instant by shinigami sorcery, impossible to undo. Ryuken could kill almost any foe in pure combat, but this… who could possibly fight this?
Manically, he wrenched open the door to his office and hurried out into the main halls. All around him, the scene was repeated. Most people were still alive, but a frightening amount- maybe one in five- had simply dropped dead where they stood. Things were devolving into chaos.
Ryuken balled his fists, taking a deep breath and suppressing a great ball of anger building in his chest. He could hurt later. Right now he had a job to do, and it had just gotten harder than ever.
Ichigo stared, mouth agape. Thousands of souls were being pulled through the air, traveling at speed toward Aizen's position. Around him, shinigami stared just as he did, not believing their eyes.
"He… he really did it…" Ichigo muttered in disbelief. "That rat bastard."
"We have failed," said Byakuya flatly, wearily standing next to the shocked teenager. "Our gambit was not good enough."
"Don't you say that!" Ichigo snarled, grabbing the nobleman by the shoulder, hard. "There has to be something we can do. We have to fix this! There has to be some way to undo this!"
"It is already done," said Byakuya weakly. The nobleman had shown some level of enthusiasm despite his injuries after finally overcoming Ulquiorra, but it was washed away now. He looked gray in the face, and his arms hung limply at his sides. "Aizen has already taken what he needs. The key is being forged as we speak. A spell, once cast, cannot be unmade. It can be destroyed or countered, but not unmade."
"Don't tell me that!" Ichigo screamed, clutching his blade so hard his knuckles whitened. "This is my home, you uptight prick! He's killing my people! We were supposed to save them, so what the- what the hell is this? The hell does this make us?"
"There is nothing we can do at this point," said Byakuya, breathing heavily. They were both badly wounded, both barely holding up. Their battle had taken a lot out of them, and neither of them would be equipped to take on Aizen on the best of days.
"Oh yes there is," Ichigo hissed, staring hatefully toward the sky.
"Kurosaki, no," Byakuya said firmly. "Compose yourself. Focus on helping those who can be helped. It is too late for these poor souls."
Ichigo took a step forward, not listening to a word the captain said. Byakuya put a hand on his shoulder, more to gain his attention than to hold him back. The furious teenager shrugged him off, what little spirit energy he had left flaring up.
"Kurosaki," said Byakuya sharply, "listen to me. You will get yourself killed, and then how will you have served the dead? You have a family who needs you here and now."
Again he grabbed at Ichigo's shoulder, holding on to the cloth of his jacket. Ichigo flipped around, shooting him a furious look. He looked like he had words for the nobleman, but they seemed to die in his throat. Instead, he grabbed Byakuya by the arm, trying to wrench it off. Byakuya held on, gritting his teeth. His wounds made it difficult to even stand; he would not be able to hold on.
"You cannot help them!" the captain insisted, trying his damnedest to reason with the boy.
"You don't know that," Ichigo shouted, throwing Byakuya's arm off him with one powerful shove.
"You damned fool, stand down!" Byakuya snapped.
Ichigo didn't listen. With one mighty jump, he heaved himself into the sky, rushing up toward Aizen.
Letting out a defeated sigh, Byakuya collapsed down to his knees, staring up at the ascending substitute. He had made the mistake of treating the boy like a subordinate, as he treated everyone else, forgetting that the boy didn't listen. He had lived through the battle with Ulquiorra, only to see their mission fail… and now, it seemed, he would have to watch the young man die. What was this maddening world?
Stone-facedly, Haschwalth watched it happen from a distant rooftop. He had felt the pulse go out, realizing as soon as it washed over them what it was. Malicious magic, built to sever the connection between body and soul and drag the spirit in, like fish trapped in a net. The spell was complex but seemed easy to resist- for anyone with basic training in regulating the flow of one's spiritual energies. Which, of course, did not include the thousands of people with rich souls in this city. As one, the quincies felt it, ten thousand souls robbed in the span of no more than two minutes, as the pulse washed out and pulled back in.
Uryu watched in shock. Haschwalth was predictably stoic; Bambietta watched with a look of disgust; Liltotto had a look of quiet fury to her, and Meninas had a look of unbelievable sadness on her face.
"It's… it's…" said Uryu, unable to fully process what had just happened. They had all felt it keenly, having focused on the battle from afar, intimately tuned in to the battle as it progressed. They'd felt hundreds of individual souls, painfully ripped from living bodies. They'd felt the sheer violation of it intimately and intensely, better than anyone there could have done.
Unable to articulate the sheer horror of it, unable to cope, Uryu fell on all fours and vomited. He retched until there was nothing left to throw up, and then some. Through the intense nausea, he dimly noticed Meninas kneel down next to him, her hand gently rubbing over his back.
"Breathe," she said quietly, supportively. "Just breathe, alright?"
Uryu nodded, and took a deep breath. The quincies had patched him up after his last battle, but right now he almost wished he was in as sorry a state as before. If he had been unconscious, he would not have felt this, would not have had this haunting echo of human souls dying in front of him.
He tried to stand up, and found himself unable; his legs were shaking too badly. Meninas slung one of his arms around her shoulders, and supported by her, he stared toward the center of the city. Against his better judgment, he sensed for what was happening. It was like watching the mother of all train wrecks; he simply could not look away. Almost hypnotized with horror, he felt it happening. Living souls, ripped apart and broken down to their basest particles, thousands of individual signatures broken down to nothing in seconds. Ten thousand people, murdered to serve as fuel for the spell unfolding before his eyes. Feeling sick again, Uryu bent his head forward to retch again, but nothing came out but a small trail of gall.
"Do you need to sit down?" said Meninas. "I think you should sit down."
"No," Uryu said, surprised at the ferocity in his voice. Something in him revolted. He had to see this. Every last part of it. Even though he knew it was better not to, even if there was no good reason to, he had to watch.
They all felt it happening together. Thousands of souls ground to metaphorical dust, reshaping into something else. A massive amount of raw power was concentrating, then suddenly became subdued and small.
"He made that key you mentioned," said Liltotto. Her voice was controlled, but there was a hard edge to it.
Suddenly, Uryu turned to the rest of them.
"I begged you to help!" he snarled. "I begged you, and, and-"
Haschwalth gave him a look, cool, almost chilly.
"Be careful where you lay the blame, young Uryu. Do not for a second think even one of us feels anything different from what you feel right now. But is this our fault? A shinigami laid out this spell. The Gotei had a plan to stop it, and they failed. Whose failure is this but theirs? Ten thousand souls have been lost, and the responsibility for this tremendous loss rests squarely on the shoulders of Yamamoto Shigekuni Genryuusai and the Gotei Thirteen."
"It's… inhuman," said Uryu, suddenly feeling deflated, his anger gone as soon as it had come. He felt exhausted, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. The worst had come to pass. He had failed to defend this city, and thousands had paid the price. And there was nothing he could do to make the situation any better.
"It is inhuman," Haschwalth said, nodding. "For as long as I have lived, for as many battlefields as I have witnessed, few sights compare to the horror of today."
"His Majesty was right," Bambietta snarled. "Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all, those limpdicked shinigami assholes."
"Either way, Aizen Sousuke's fate is sealed," said Liltotto. "Personally I hope he wins, so that it will be a quincy blade that ends his life."
Wearily, Uryu stared into the distance, finally slumping down on the ground.
Yamamoto, he thought. Yamamoto and the shinigami. Ten thousand innocents died because you couldn't stop him.
What was the point of the shinigami if they couldn't even do what they were created to do, to protect humanity?
Erza's zanpakutou clattered against the ground. Her grip had faltered, not from weakness or injury, but from the stunning, all-encompassing horror washing over her.
The ritual, complete. Aizen's scheme, finalized. Ten thousand souls coursing through the sky, taken from their rightful place and used as building bricks for Aizen's new regime. A soft, whimpering sound escaped her mouth. She had given it her all. She had fought and bled for this city, tooth and nail, and it had all been for nothing.
She felt a hand gently wrap around hers, and she squeezed it. Momo held on to her hand tightly, and Erza felt as if without her, she would have fallen over there and then.
"That son of a bitch…" Erza said weakly, under her breath. All the spirit had gone from her voice, all the anger and dedication hollowed out by the sheer magnitude of the horror she was watching.
"He succeeded," Halibel said flatly, as stoic as ever. For a moment, Erza envied her the coldness, the composure, but she knew why it was there. Halibel had seen oceans of blood spilled- had probably spilled plenty of it, herself- but she was not immune to this, either.
"It's… it's…" said Jellal, staring up at the sky with the same exact look of abject horror as Erza.
"It's exactly what you fought for," said Grimmjow flatly. "Don't like it, espada? You should be happy. Your side won. All that's left is for Aizen to kill Yamamoto, and you can reap the rewards."
"Not… not like…" said Jellal weakly.
"What?" said Grimmjow. It was strange; his voice lacked the spiteful cheer it had before. He did not sound upset or angered, but neither did he seem to want to gloat. "You got exactly what you bargained for. For the greater good. Ain't that right? What's ten thousand souls compared to eternal peace, right?"
"It wasn't supposed to be like this…" Jellal said weakly.
"Come on, Fernandes," said Grimmjow with a mirthless chuckle. "Don't fucking lie to yourself. I know you make a habit of it, but you can't do it now. You knew what you got yourself into, and you decided a merciless killer like Aizen was worth following. This is the world you were fighting for. Look at it and smile. You should, right? Paradise is just around the corner, and I'm sure a stable genius like Aizen, the kinda guy who would use ten thousand people as the foundation for his new world order, is totally reliable. What, septimo? It can't be that bein' an espada ain't what it's cracked up to be, can it?"
"No…" Jellal said, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, I…"
He snapped around to look at Grimmjow, furious, and for a moment Erza thought he'd lunge at him. But instead, Jellal took a long, deep breath, and hung his head in shame.
"You're right," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "This is what I fought for. I… I knew of his plan, and I agreed. I told myself it would be worth it. That it had to be worth it. After all I went through…"
Jellal shook his head, and slowly pulled his sword from its sheath. Grimmjow tensed, his hand going to the hilt of his own blade.
"Congratulations, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. You were right, and I was wrong. All this time… you, the worthless, monstrous thug, had better beliefs than I did."
"Fuckin' hell, you take the joy right out of it," Grimmjow muttered, "lookin' like a beaten dog, cowering like some sorta brow-beaten filth with no pride. Can't you at least cry a little?"
"Sorry, Jaegerjaquez," Jellal said, a weak smile passing his face, "but you will just have to do without."
Slowly, he reversed the grip on his sword, the blade pointing upward, toward his neck.
"Jellal," Erza said sharply, suddenly snapped out of her stupor. The hollow sensation was replaced with a burning anger, welling up in her chest like a firestorm.
"It's true," said Jellal. "I thought I was right, but I was not. If… my beliefs are worth less than those of a murdering bastard like Grimmjow, what does that make me? The lowest of the low."
"And, don't you forget it," Grimmjow said, finally grinning.
"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, shut up." Erza snapped. "Jellal, listen-"
Before she could say anything further, he thrust his blade up, right toward his throat. Time seemed to slow; there were screams, Loly and Menoly from the sides and his other servants, too, but most of all a fiery cry of anger rumbling through her throat. She leaped, arm held out.
There was a spray of red, and they both fell over in a heap.
Blood trailed from Erza's hand where she had grabbed his blade, wrenching it aside. A shallow cut ran along Jellal's neck. He half sat there fallen on the street, Erza on top of him.
"You think you get to take the easy way out?" she snarled, wrenching the blade from his hands and throwing it aside. "You think you get to just run away from it all, because it hurts?"
She slapped him across the face, her blood painting half his face red. Jellal stared at her, stunned. Erza grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up until their faces were only an inch apart.
"You're a colossal failure, Jellal Fernandes," she hissed, "but you don't get to take yourself out of the equation when you finally opened your eyes. This? This," she said, gesturing at the sky, where the souls were still travelling inward to Aizen, "is what you have to live with. This is what you have to make right. You're going to stay alive, and you're going to make your life mean something. You're going to live and make this good, so good that this will be washed away forever. Do you hear me?!"
"But… you've seen what… Erza, look at it," he said helplessly, limp in her grip.
"So? Do we quit just because something is hard? You didn't come this far by making easy choices. Neither did I. It might feel impossible," she said, letting go of him and standing tall, turning her eye to the sky, to Aizen, "but if there is one chance in a billion, we still try!"
"…yes ma'am," said Jellal weakly.
She stared up toward Aizen. One way or another, she would make him pay for this. The helplessness and horror had gone from her now, replaced with determination. She would watch him die today.
The key in his hand, Aizen stared at it, enraptured. Finally, all these years of planning were done, realized, worth it. The object in his hand would let him reshape the future and bend it to his will. Looking back at his past life, all his trials and tribulations, Aizen felt a great sense of triumph. All those years of hiding, putting up with Gotei stagnation and ignorance, pretending to accept inferior moral values, acting as if the status quo were not rotten to the core… finally, finally it had paid off. All that was left now was to cut down the last of his enemies and take his rightful place.
"AIZEN SOUSUKE!"
Speaking of.
Yamamoto had stirred beneath, but it was the impetuous half-breed substitute that had made it to him first. Ragged and wounded, his breathing laboured, the boy was even less of a threat than he otherwise would be.
"You son of a bitch," the boy hissed, levelling his blade at Aizen, "you let them go. You let them go right now, you monster!"
"Or, what?" said Aizen amusedly.
"I'll kill you. I swear to god I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do. I'll rip your throat out with my bare hands. Let them go!"
Aizen chuckled. The boy's bravado was downright comical.
"Could you 'let go' the bricks of a building? Could you take a brick, smash it, and just expect it to turn back to clay? This," Aizen said, gently lifting up the key, "is made. It cannot be undone. It could be destroyed, but nothing will bring back the fuel used to make it."
"You're a monster."
"Weak, cowardly people always say that about great men with bold visions. Those who lack the strength to change the world will always be envious of those who can. This," said Aizen, gently slipping the key inside his coat, "will be used for the greater good. Ten thousand souls for an eternity of justice and equality? Only a fool would reject that trade. It is a small cost for what is to come. It is done for the greater good, and I would gladly have sacrificed ten, a hundred times this."
"The people whose lives you stole weren't asked," Ichigo hissed. "They won't reap the benefits. They wouldn't want to be sacrificed. You just… took their lives into your own hands."
"What they wanted doesn't matter. This way, their lives served a far higher purpose than any of them could have in a thousand lifetimes. If they could see what I see, they would rejoice."
Ichigo, finally at his limit, let out an infuriated snarl and charged. Summoning the last of his reserves, he attacked, swinging his blade in a wide arc.
Aizen could have turned him away with an illusion but chose not to. There was no need. He had already won, and the likes of Kurosaki Ichigo hardly merited the use of his shikai. Instead, Aizen side-stepped the attack as the boy came in, easily catching the blade and letting the substitute's momentum carry him forward, past Aizen. Ichigo stumbled, and before he could turn around to attack again, Aizen raised his blade and cut him squarely across the back. Ichigo cried out in pain, sinking to his knees.
Aizen placed his blade next to the boy's cheek, staring down at him from above. "That you are alive at all is entirley because of my mercy. Because there is nothing you can do to threaten me, for all your valor. You have lost."
"If he cannot threaten you, then perhaps you should turn your gaze to one who can."
The gruff voice cut through the air with passionate intensity. The captain-commander had arrived, and it seemed even his stoic façade had been shaken by what he had just seen. Good.
"Yamamoto," said Aizen, looking to the old man with a smile, turning away from Ichigo. "I was wondering when you would show yourself."
"Step aside, youngling," Yamamoto commanded, taking a step forward. "You may have enacted your foul ritual, but you will not live to see the fruits of your labour; that, I swear."
"You won't get away with this," Aizen said mockingly. "Please. If you have any tired clichés to lay on me, now is the time to do it."
"There is nothing left to say, no," said Yamamoto, hefting his mighty Ryujin Jakka in one hand. His captain's haori was gone, and through his torn shihakusho blood seeped. Just as Aizen had planned, Starrk had taken his pound of flesh.
"What you have done today is vile beyond compare, and defies description. For this, you will die. That is all that needs to be said."
"Then let us skip the pleasantries. Whenever you want, old man," said Aizen, assuming a stance.
This was it. The last obstacle, the great and mighty captain-commander. After that, paradise awaited.
Yamamoto flexed his neck, sizing up Aizen. Power radiated from his being, slowly building up to a greater and greater output. It had been so long since he had gone all out- so long he had almost forgotten the feeling of it. His muscles tensed, and he was only vaguely aware of the pain of his wounds.
Aizen Sousuke was finally before him. The hated traitor that had shamed him, had deceived them and sullied his sacred charge to the king of souls. He would burn him. He would reduce this traitor to cinders, and erase his very being from existence. A figurative stain on the Gotei's history, he would become a literal stain on this city. His ash would spread across the wind.
"Commander," said Aizen jovially. "Do you regret not coming earlier?"
Yamamoto gave him an unimpressed look. "I can smell the fear on you, boy," he said, his voice burning with quiet fury. "Your façade is polished, but it is a façade still."
Yet more power pulsed from Yamamoto, his reiatsu becoming oppressive. Lesser men would have fainted long ago, and even Aizen had to take a step back.
"Raw power will not save you, old man," Aizen said, his eyes narrowing.
Yamamoto lunged, blade raised. There was no Aizen where he struck, of course, but as he struck out, a fierce pulse of raw power emanated from Yamamoto. There was a blur in reality and the captain-commander sensed something to his right, spinning around with a horizontal blow with the speed and reflexes of a veteran's veteran. Steel bit into steel, Ryujin Jakka grinding against Kyouka Suigetsu.
"H-how?" said Aizen, sounding genuinely shocked.
"Urahara Kisuke's attempt was not in vain," said Yamamoto, his blade still grinding against Aizen's. "He did not expect to win, but he did expect to gather information. He taught me the limits of your power, Aizen Sousuke. Your illusions are not perfect, and they are only so strong. A powerful burst of energy will disrupt them, just enough."
Aizen grit his teeth. "That spineless hack," he hissed.
Yamamoto took his blade in both hands, assuming a stance.
"Your deceptions will not aid you here, traitor. Fight me directly, with all you have. I will burn away every trace of your existence."
Aizen's hand shot out, and a powerful burst of lightning struck Yamamoto. The captain-commander batted the kido spell aside, meeting a direct slash.
The traitor was truly artful. As their blades clashed, again and again, it was marked not only by immaculate swordsmanship, but a devilish adaptation. Rather than relying purely on the power of his illusions, Aizen would displace himself very slightly, using his shikai sparingly and at the last moment. Soon, Yamamoto found himself cut here and there, left with flesh wounds. He would disperse the illusions again and again, but Aizen would still be out of reach.
It did nothing to move Yamamoto. He was filled with righteous anger, but he had learned to temper it. Where lesser men would become frustrated or angry, he kept his head level. He had lived through a thousand years of bloodshed, earning his place the hardest of ways, and he would not be provoked.
There was something deeply frustrating about fighting the old man. For all of Aizen's superior tactics and preparations, the commander simply pushed through like a bull in a china shop, like a rampaging monster. No wound seemed to slow him, and now that he was equipped with a countermeasure to Kyouka Suigetsu, there was little chance of using it to any serious advantage.
It was all Aizen could do to keep himself on the move, just out of the commander's range. He dodged under a horizontal slash that would have cut through him like a hot knife through butter and aimed his off hand at Yamamoto, casually flinging a perfect Raikouhou right at the captain-commander. It was a marvel; a fully made spell with the power of a full incantation, created in an instant with nothing but will and a few hand movements. Any self-respecting kido scholar would have wept at the sight of it.
The lightning sunk into Yamamoto and did virtually nothing. There was a bright, blinding flare of electricity as the spell broke against the raw force of the captain-commander's reiatsu like a wave breaking against the rocks.
The flash of light had at least bought him a moment, allowing Aizen to move a few paces back. Inwardly, he cursed. He had known just how powerful Yamamoto was, but this felt ridiculous. Still, there was a method to this madness. He had to draw out the old man's bankai, had to know the full measure of his power before he used his own. And, whatever he did, that could not mean entering a battle of attrition with the old man, or he would be ground down to dust.
That meant kido. Quick, energy efficient, and sure to goad that old leviathan.
Aizen raised his hand, bothering to mutter an abridged incantation, more out of habit than need.
"Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raihou!" he snarled. Where the Raikouhou had been as nothing, the higher-level lightning blast actually seemed to have a measurable impact. Fired at close range, the commander had no chance to dodge- but then again, he made no attempt to. He simply let his power flare, matching the blast as it struck. Aizen reeled back, nearly losing his balance from the shock of it. To his satisfaction, he saw that Yamamoto had taken a step back, too. Clasping his hands together, Aizen muttered the next incantation. Five lights hovered around his hands, and the bakudou took effect. The Gochutekkan materialized, five pillars chained together coming down on the old man. As each one came down with a thud, Aizen marvelled again at the sheer power the old man commanded. The spell was designed to keep a target absolutely fixed in one location, immovable without being crushed. The old man's knees bent a little, but he held the pillars on his back without breaking, even taking a step forward. Aizen felt the tension in the spell, knowing that such a contradiction to its purpose would make it fail soon.
Aizen ran through a final incantation. Pointing a hand, he cried out, "Hadou ninety-nine: Goryūtenmetsu!"
There was a haze in the air as a tremendous power manifested. Beneath them, a mass of violet lightning manifested, and a moment later there was a violent eruption as five enormous dragon heads surged up. They towered over Yamamoto in a circle, each one slamming into him with titanic force. The first discharge of power was blinding, and Aizen had to look away as the next heads came down. They exploded with force as they struck home, the spell quickly burning out as the dragon heads tore into the old man. Aizen couldn't see, but he could feel them tearing into Yamamoto's flesh. This was a captain-killer, a powerful spell meant to end something, and this time the spell had been perfect.
Then he felt another haze, this time from an overwhelming heat. There was a shockwave of raw power, and skin-crackling heat washed over Aizen. The spell faded, burnt out. All spiritual conflict ultimately was a battle between powers, and the old man had overpowered the highest spell Aizen knew. As it ended, there the old man stood, bloodied but unbroken. In defiance, the fire around him flared up, instantly cauterizing his injuries.
"These petty tricks will not kill me, traitor," he said resolutely, "no more than your devious zanpakutou will."
Aizen knew this to not be an empty boast.
"Then stop holding back, old man," he taunted back.
"Why don't you?"
Aizen grit his teeth. Yamamoto was no more willing to go all out than he was, just as cautious, just as restrained. It was offensive, somehow. How could somebody foolish enough to throw his army away like he had done before have such tactical mastery?
Because he is smart, Aizen reminded himself. Unenlightened or not, he earned his place in the Gotei.
It could not be helped. Thankfully, Aizen had come prepared with more than one ace in the hole. Slowly, at his will, his energy began to change.
Aizen's skin whitened as his powers mixed. In a perfect blend, shinigami particles mixed with hollow energies. The skin on his face hardened, retaining his features but becoming still, giving him the likeness of a statue. His eyes turned yellow, and his fingernails lengthened a little, becoming pointed. His power grew, explosively, and his elaborate robes fluttered around in the winds kicked up by the violent transformation.
"You truly know no bounds, Aizen Sousuke," Yamamoto said, disgust written plainly in his voice. "Were you so desperate for power that you would forsake your humanity? Would you rule the afterlife as an aberration?"
Aizen let out a chuckle. His voice reverberated as he spoke, subtly with an almost pleasant hum.
"Unlike the failed experiments who joined you below, I have perfected the process. That cattle? Victims of progress, stuck with a monster they must wrestle with at all times. I'm surprised they still live. But, like my zanpakutou, I have complete dominion over this form. It exists to serve me. Do you think I made an army of arrancar only to have fighters on my side, disposable tools? Each one was a research subject, allowing me to fine-tune the process. You look upon the first true hybrid, upon perfection by design. I am every bit who I always was. The only difference is that I am stronger now."
"I do not know why I am even surprised," said Yamamoto. "Truly, you are beyond despicable. There will never be so black a mark on the Gotei's history as you!"
He marched forward with his blade in hand, flames blazing. He lunged, coming in with a powerful overhead swing. The heat was intense, searing Aizen's skin, but he held firm against the charge. He took a quick sidestep, catching the blade and letting it slide off to the side, cutting at Yamamoto with a swift counter-attack. The old man pulled back in time to avoid a fatal injury, but Kyouka Suigetsu still cut deep into his shoulder. The blood seared and sizzled, burning to ash before it could even start to fall. Yamamoto halted his attack, taking a step back. Aizen likewise put a step of distance between them, welcoming the reduced heat. Parts of his skin had flaked off, and he knew that he would have been badly burned just being close, had he stayed longer.
"That speed…" Yamamoto said, taking his blade in both hands.
"It is not power alone," said Aizen. "The hollow grants you many things. In my case, swiftness and a sense for movement, more than any training could grant. And…" Aizen smiled, as the skin that had peeled off mended together, leaving a flawless white surface again. "Other gifts, as well."
Seeming unimpressed, Yamamoto took the offensive, lashing out with swiftness that belied his age. It was a chaotic, hellish mess of fire and blade, but Aizen was always where the pandemonium was not. It was thrilling. Here he was, the great captain-commander, an absolute legend, as strong as they came, and here was Aizen, keeping up, outpacing him. He was constantly on the edge, always a millimeter away from death- and he was in control.
He weaved out of the way of a powerful slash, dancing past the commander and cutting him across the back in a single, fluid motion. Yamamoto grunted, but barely seemed to acknowledge the injury beyond that. Aizen let his arms and legs grow longer, nimbler, another perk of his new transformation. Speed was his ally here, and he would extort it to its fullest.
Yamamoto kept a firm grip on his blade, his mind working hard as he swung Ryujin Jakka around in wide arcs. Aizen's abominable transformation seemed to have escalated; he was now moving around their battlefield with preternatural speed, even for a shinigami of his skill. It was elegant in a sickening kind of way, how he weaved back and forth, always out of reach. A single good hit, Yamamoto knew, would be ruinous even if it did not end him outright. Aizen seemed to know it just as well as he did, and as revolting as his new form was, it was undeniably potent.
Yamamoto pressed the attack, great swathes of fire roaring through the air as he slashed. The area around them was quickly becoming an inferno, and the crackling heat seemed to provide the only damage Aizen could not evade. But, even as his skin crackled and flaked, even as his skin blistered and blackened, it would not take long before his flesh would reform. It was infuriating, that such heresy could yield such power-
No. Anger would not help him, nor would frustration. This was the reality he had to deal with, and it would not change. Across the ages, he had faced many a situation that seemed impossible, and he had always triumphed. This was but another obstacle. This stubborn conviction was what had carried him to greatness in the first place, and he would trust in it now as ever.
The real problem was using his bankai. To unleash it… if used long enough, it would consume the entire city, the conflagration growing until it swallowed everything around it. Such power… he hesitated to use it even now. Only he could withstand it.
Another slash across his back, another flinch, and another failed counterattack on his part. Yamamoto grit his teeth. Pointing a hand, he thrust a binding spell at Aizen, but the traitor erected a Danku spell in an instant, blocking the magic with ease. It pained him to admit it, but in terms of magic the traitor had him bested.
Doubling his efforts, Yamamoto chased after the long-legged spectre. Aizen continued to evade his strikes at every turn. Yamamoto let a pulse of raw fire emanate from his blade, catching everything around them. Scorched, Aizen was forced back, but this was no solution. Spread this wide, his fire could not hope to kill the traitor.
This had to come to an end. Yamamoto looked down at the city he had failed to protect, at the ruination wrought by the hollows, at the hundreds more shinigami lying dead alongside the arrancar. He had failed them. He had failed the Gotei, and he had failed humanity. He could not afford to fail here. Quickly, he weighed his options. If he ended it quickly, before the conflagration could grow too far…
Most of everyone here was either dead or a good distance away now. Once he released it, it would end quickly one way or the other.
Yamamoto paused his advance, staring Aizen down.
"Are you finally ready, old man?" taunted the traitor.
"Bankai," Yamamoto said, refusing to respond to the goad, "Zanka no Tachi!"
"Excellent," Aizen said with a smile. It was strange; he had expected an explosion of force, but if anything there had been an implosion. The overwhelming presence of Yamamoto's spiritual pressure was gone; his power was present but far less oppressive than before. The heat seemed to have lessened, too; he felt almost cold now by comparison. But, something had changed. Furrowing his brow, he looked at Yamamoto's blade. It had turned ashen black, crooked and jagged. All around him he felt… dry, like all the moisture had gone from the surrounding area.
"Concentrating all of your power in the blade, old man?" said Aizen with a smile. "It won't help you. One swipe would have killed me even before you used your bankai."
"If that is what you think," said Yamamoto.
Aizen contemplated just attacking, to test the waters. It certainly was tempting. But, Yamamoto's bankai was one of the few things he had no data on- supposedly the old man had not used it for centuries, and the only people who had seen it would be his apprentices, and perhaps Unohana, all of which had been tight-lipped about its abilities. Its exact properties were legend, and accounts varied wildly. Attacking head on, without protection, might mean instant death.
"Bankai," Aizen said, almost hesitantly, as his power spiked, "Tsuki no Shinseina Hansha!" (Divine Reflection of the Moon)
Just like Yamamoto's, his power leveled out, leaving him deceptively low. Nothing changed, not visibly. Aizen took a deep breath to steady himself. He had used this only in secret, trained for it all alone. He had never actually used it on anyone. There had never been any need. No creature in all of existence had proven so strong that such power became important to have. Yamamoto Shigekuni Genryuusai would be the prey that finally proved worthy.
"It seems your power has faded, Aizen Sousuke," said Yamamoto, staring him down. "I would have expected your true bankai to be deceptive. It matters not. None have faced Zanka no Tachi and lived."
"You're one to talk, old man," said Aizen with a smirk. "If the tales about your full power agree on one thing, it's that it consumes everything in its path. The longer this goes on, the more of this world you will burn to ashes."
With a careful, measured movement, Yamamoto took his blade in both hands, assumed a stance, and charged. Aizen avoided the first strike with ease, slipped under his guard with unnatural speed, and raked his blade across the old man's back. Only, this time his blade bounced. Now he felt the heat. Grating against his strike, he felt his blade almost vanish from the intense heat, so massive that it could not even manifest as flame, simply shrouding the old man in impenetrable armour.
Yamamoto spun around, and in one fiercely quick thrust rammed his blade through Aizen's torso.
"Foolish boy," Yamamoto grumbled, giving Aizen a contemptuous stare. "I expected that. You're becoming predictable. And, now, it's over. My blade will consume anything it touches. It is not a matter of burning, but pure eradication."
Looking down, Aizen saw that it was not idle talk. Half of his waist had already turned to ash. His entire being was rapidly being eaten by the intense heat. He had only seconds.
But, seconds were more than enough.
Aizen seemed to turn to ash, disappearing in the wind. For a moment, Yamamoto seemed to relax, lowering his head and taking a deep breath.
"A single strike?" said Aizen mockingly. Yamamoto snapped around. There, to his side, stood Aizen again, fully formed as if he had never been struck.
"Another illusion?!" snarled Yamamoto.
"Not at all," said Aizen with a superior look on his face, smiling widely. "You did hit me. But, my bankai is nothing to take lightly. Where my shikai rewrites your perception of reality, my bankai rewrites reality itself. Remaking myself takes nothing more than will and power. Anything I can imagine, I can do."
"It is a shinigami's power, and powers run out," said Yamamoto stubbornly. "Eventually, you will falter."
"Then come kill me until I do," Aizen taunted. "This is godlike power. You witness what will replace the king of souls!"
Truthfully, he felt an odd mixture of feeling. Confidence, certainty of his victory- but also concern. Fear. Yamamoto in his prime, as he was right now, seemed unbeatable. The heat that cloaked him could destroy Aizen's zanpakutou just by touching it. That blade… the sheer, raw force of it had meant it took a lot of power simply to repair the damage done. His bankai was powerful, but all that meant right now was the ability to escape a fatal blow.
No matter. He was committed, and he would not back down. There was one path forward only.
Aizen met the next charge head on, making sure to evade as much as possible. He felt every strike keenly; even those that missed raked across his body, leaving great burn marks from the sheer excess heat. Pushed hard, he was finally forced to parry. The force of the impact knocked him back several paces, and as he recovered, he saw half of his blade fall to the distant ground beneath. Just a momentary impact had been enough to crack his weapon in half. Gritting his teeth, he willed it whole again. This power was insane.
Aizen looked down, and made a quick decision. He darted downward, toward the ruined city. Yamamoto rushed in close behind, and Aizen felt his enormous power signature right behind him. Yamamoto cut at him as they descended; Aizen twisted out of the way, feeling his clothes catch fire. They landed in the city, debris and dust kicked up as they took to the ground.
Aizen looked at his opponent, sweat dripping down his forehead, only to vaporize instantly. He realized he was a limb short, his sword arm clattering to the ground. It turned to ashes, along with the blade. The rest of his arm was vanishing quickly, the ash eating away at his shoulder already. He grit his teeth, reversing the damage with a thought. Within seconds, his arm had reformed, blade and all.
"I had hoped ridding you of that arm would disrupt your bankai. Pity," said Yamamoto.
"I have no such weaknesses, old man," Aizen hissed. "My bankai is all around me, at all times. More importantly, now you have to consider this precious city of yours. How much of it will you reduce to ash fighting me?"
It burned at his pride. Yamamoto was simply too strong to tackle head on, not with such a defense. He would never win a battle of attrition, and he could not hurt the old man. His only chance was outlasting him, using his sentimentality against him. If all of Karakura burned; if all of Tokyo burned, if all of Japan and East Asia burned, Aizen would consider it a worthwhile trade. Yamamoto, though, had scruples.
"I will not need more than a couple of minutes. This will be over soon," Yamamoto proclaimed confidently. Aizen believed that much, at least. Everything leading up to this would come to a head very soon, win or loss.
Yamamoto took the initiative again, lashing out with a series of fast, powerful blows, once again forcing Aizen on the defensive. Around them, half-ruined buildings became fully ruined, withering and reducing to charred dust. In an instant Aizen moved behind Yamamoto, using his best shunpo. The old man spun around with a counter-thrust, but Aizen had moved further back. The excess heat of the thrust still charred his chest, but he endured it, willing it away. He thrust his palm forward, exerting his will, and snapped his fingers. A Kurohitsugi manifested around Yamamoto, fading but a second after its casting. Yamamoto came out of it, bloodied and trembling.
"Anything," Aizen hissed. "High level kido is child's play. And, you were actually hurt, because I turned my bankai onto you. Even you, Yamamoto, can be affected. I made you weaker in the instant it took to execute this spell. Do not be fooled into thinking all this does is repair damage!"
Yamamoto's legs, which had trembled momentarily, steadied. The old man cracked his neck, and gave Aizen a contemptuous look.
"Is this all the power a god has?" he rumbled. "Let us test the limits of that power. Zanka no Tachi, South: Kaka Jūman'okushi Daisōjin!"
Yamamoto stabbed his blade into the ground, and a great, black rupture appeared there. Black, charred skeletons poured forth from it, moving rapidly with uneven, unnatural movements. They were legion, and they surrounded Aizen on all sides. Aizen dashed away, but Yamamoto blocked his escape, and suddenly Aizen felt a hand clamp around his leg, his ankle, his wrist… the burning dead surrounded him, dragging him down, holding him tight on all sides. They charred him, and Aizen felt the fat in his body sizzle and boil, his skin peel off, his very bones exposed…
He was cooked alive. Gritting his teeth- or what were left of them- he let it happen. Soon, there was nothing but ash.
"Show yourself," Yamamoto demanded. "I can sense your power. You will not be so easily slain. I doubt anything short of destroying your head would stop you."
Aizen came into being again, breathing heavily.
"Damn you, you old tyrant," he said, looking at his hand. It was disturbing- moments ago, he had watched it burn. He had saved himself having to feel pain, but he had still felt his entire body collapse. He had died and reshaped himself. It was disturbing, and more importantly, it was costly.
He gave the old man a look. Strong though he was, a fully powered Kurohitsugi had not passed without effect. Bloodied now, and weakened from his battle with Starrk, there was a slight fluctuation to his reiatsu. It took effort now. He was weakening.
Aizen had a window, but it was short. He could either continue to draw this out, or attack and push the old man. The former would be more pragmatic, but something in Aizen loathed doing so. Yamamoto was everything he was not, the antithesis of his new world order. He wanted to best him in single combat. What use was an ideal if one could not stand up for it?
And, besides, the more pragmatic side of him reasoned, one does not need to exclude the other. Yamamoto would be hard pressed to contain himself, and the weaker he got, the worse the damage. Would he be ready to let all his men burn to a crisp? If he was, then all the same to Aizen.
Taking the initiative this time, Aizen charged. He let his bankai work in short bursts, timing them with every sword strike. He could overpower the raw force of the opposing bankai only momentarily, but a moment was enough to get a sword strike in. Yamamoto met the flurry of blows with the patient, practiced ease of a master, but Aizen's preternatural speed was slowly starting to give him an edge. Yamamoto's defenses were strong, but Aizen was always where the old man's blade was not.
Yamamoto lashed out with a massive wave of heat emanating from a powerful swing of his blade. Aizen skipped to the side, and snapped his fingers again. Blue lightning ravaged the old man's body, and Yamamoto twitched and shook.
"It's a shame I've had so little opportunity to experiment," said Aizen with a cruel smile, "but with this bankai, kidou has near limitless potential. How much can you take before you are finally consumed, old man?"
"Enough!" Yamamoto bellowed, powering through the lightning. He charged, raw power once again shaking off the effects of Aizen's bankai. Aizen only barely evaded; a searing black cut ruined half of his face as the commander's blade nicked him.
I would have dodged that easily before. He was consuming more of his spiritual reserves than he had realized, and it was making him slower. Not just the effort of undoing the damage he took, but to constantly struggle against the burning aura of the captain-commander…
He didn't have long. Neither did Yamamoto.
Aizen stopped to think for a second, skipping back. Carefully, he sensed his own reserves. He still had enough left, just barely. All around them, buildings were burning, crumbling… yes, a little more damage, a little more time, and the commander would have to dismiss his bankai.
It was ironic. After all his planning, after all these elaborate schemes, it would come down to gambling on one last attack.
And, he had no choice. It was that or running, and Aizen would not run.
Taking a deep breath, Aizen raised his blade and charged headlong into Yamamoto. The old man caught his first strike with ease, and went for a counter-thrust. But, rather than parry or evade, Aizen pushed right into the blade, impaling himself on it. Just as he let himself be skewered, he thrust forward with his own blade, his bankai momentarily weakening the old man's impenetrable armour. At once, together, they ran each other through. Despite the weakened effect of the bankai, despite using as much power as he dared to counteract its effects, Aizen felt his core being quickly eaten away at. Within seconds, he'd be reduced to ash. He had only one shot.
"Fool," Yamamoto hissed through the pain. "This is desperation!"
"For us both," Aizen acknowledged. He placed his off hand on the blade, and poured kidou lightning through it, coursing through the commander's insides. Together, they cooked. Together, they started to burn each other to death.
Soon Aizen had turned into ash, scattering before the wind. As he did, Yamamoto let out a rasping breath, and sank to his knees. Looking around him, he saw the blackening hellscape growing around them, and finally lowered his head in defeat. Ryujin Jakka's form reverted from its jagged black to its normal form, the heat lowering.
Aizen let out a pained, horrified breath as he came into being once more. His mind had nearly been wiped. He had almost lost control, almost become one with the winds, almost scattered into nothing…
He almost fell over. For the blink of an eye he wobbled, almost too weak to even stand. Then he steadied himself, and looked down on the commander.
"You will never be accepted," rasped Yamamoto. The old man looked pitiful on his knees, finally broken, finally vulnerable. "When you come face to face with the Father of Reapers-"
"History will not remember your defiance, old man," said Aizen coldly, cutting Yamamoto straight across the chest. "I will see to that."
He'd meant to hit his neck, but his arm wasn't steady, trembling with weakness. Even so, the blood sprayed across the street, sizzling on the blackened ground. Yamamoto fell over, beaten.
Finally. Finally. Finally, he would-
There was a sudden pain, and he saw a blade protrude from his chest. Blood seeped out from his white robes.
"A knife in the back, huh?"
There was no mistaking that voice. Aizen turned around, his face a vicious sneer.
"Gin," he hissed. "You couldn't even have the good taste to die fighting, could you? I should have-" He coughed, blood dropping down his chin.
"Now, now, don'tcha waste energy talkin'," said Gin, coming into view. He had the same smile on his face, wicked, cruel, but it was genuine now. "I bet a real smart fella like yerself already knows where I'm goin' with this. Bet a real smart fella like yerself already knows what my bankai's like. You always did keep data. Kamishini no Yari. God-killer. Yeah, you saw that 'un coming from a mile away, didn't ya?"
Aizen just barely kept hold of his blade. Of all the times for this to happen…
"Damn you…" he hissed. "Waiting for my bankai to run out…"
"Only time there is t'strike," Gin said. "Reminds me of the tale of the scorpion. How's it go again? Lil' toad helps a scorpion cross the river, then it stings 'im anyway. Toad can't figure out why. Scorpion just says… it's in my nature."
Keep talking, you smug bastard, Aizen thought to himself. Savour it. The longer it goes- He looked down, and his eyes widened.
"Ya caught it, too, didn'tcha?" said Gin, nodding. A hole was growing in Aizen's chest, at rapid speed. "See this here? Lil' piece of my blade I left in ya. See, Lord Aizen, ya don't know everything after all. And, I do have a reason."
He walked closer, blade in hand, stopping a few yards away.
"Her name is-"
Then suddenly Aizen was right in front of him, furiously grabbing hold of the traitor's sword arm, thrusting forward. Gin's eyes widened, and it was all over. Aizen's blade ran right through him, down to the hilt, up his gut and through his chest, piercing his heart.
"And, you don't know it all either, Gin," Aizen hissed. "You thought I had no bankai left? Careless. You always have been. At least now I won't have to smooth over the messes you leave me, you simpleminded psychopath!"
He twisted the blade, and Gin let out a gurgle. With his free hand the traitor clawed at Aizen, but Aizen would not be deterred. He held on, twisting the blade again, until Gin finally collapsed. Kicking Gin's blade aside, Aizen spat on him. He gave him a kick for good measure, breathing heavily.
Now he really was out of power. His blade had sealed itself entirely, bankai gone. Right now, he was… probably the weakest he ever had been. He could probably not even cast basic kidou if he tried. He could barely stand. He was drained. Saving himself from Gin's treacherous poison had taken the very last of his reserves, leaving him dangerously low.
His eyes snapped over to Yamamoto. Even so, even if he'd have to retreat, it would be worth it if he could kill the old man. Marching over on unsteady legs, he raised his blade. Yamamoto lay there on the ground, bloodied and weak, staring up at him defiantly.
"Just die," Aizen hissed, bringing his blade down.
He could feel it in his mind. The old man's head severed from the shoulders in one last, powerful swing. The mighty captain-commander laid low at last. Victory, complete-
But, metal met metal, and instead of slicing through flesh, he felt the resonating clang of blades clashing.
"Over my dead body," said Erza, a dark, determined look on her face.
"You?!" Aizen snarled.
And so, here we are at last. I'm certainly hoping that Yamamoto vs Aizen was exciting and satisfying enough for you all. Why, I even took the opportunity to let Aizen use his bankai. A true shame we never got to see it in the series proper, but I atleast hope my interpertaion of what it could do was satisfying enough for you all. Thankfully atleast, Yamamoto did reveal his bankai in the final arc, so atleast I had something to work off there.
However, now we are at the Arrancar arc's climax! The final showdown between Soul Society and Aizen's rebellion. Erza Scarlet vs Aizen Sosuke. It couldn't be any other way really. Both are practically out of reiatsu, and fairly beaten down. Will Erza finally be able to put down Aizen Souske and end his mad ambition? Or will Aizen achieve victory and after some rest to recover, move onto the Soul Palace? Tune in next time to find out!