Silas cautiously ventured forth, the crunch of pavement under his feet echoing in the suffocating stillness.
A sense of displacement settled over him. To think he would stumble across an area never written in Bleach before. It was both a haunting reminder that this world wasn't real and that he had a home he needed to return to.
Silas spent hours combing the empty streets, searching for a single sign of life—a clue to what might have led him here. There was nothing. No trace of other Soul Reapers, Quincies, Hollows, or people for that matter.
It was as if the entire population had simply vanished into thin air. A sense of dread began to creep into his heart.
With the sun beginning to rise above the horizon, he decided it was time to look elsewhere. Driven by an unsettling mix of curiosity and a strange longing, he set his sights on a place deeply entwined with his past.
His calculations were precise, the journey almost instantaneous, and he materialized on a quiet, tree-lined street in a nondescript suburb.
The familiarity of the surroundings sent a jolt through him. It had felt like decades—even centuries—since he last walked these streets as a mortal man. Yet the memory of them was etched into his soul, a bittersweet reminder of a life still not lost.
This was his street—the street in which his house resided.
Going down the main road, he walked forward, taking everything in. His destination was painfully obvious—an empty lot overgrown with weeds where his family home should have stood.
The sight stabbed at his heart with an unexpected force. Logically, he knew his house and life would be but a memory here. Time flowed differently in the world of Bleach. Still, the sight of this area was a poignant reminder of the sacrifices he'd made and the sense of self-righteousness he'd discarded on his path to power.
Memories, unbidden, flooded his mind. The warmth of his wife's smile, the infectious laughter of his children—a son with his own mischievous grin, a daughter with her mother's bright eyes—those thoughts clung to the edges of his consciousness; their once-vibrant colors dulled but not erased.
He remembered indolent Sundays spent grilling in the backyard, the smells of carne asada and tortillas filling the air. He remembered helping his son with his clumsy attempts at soccer, his daughter's endless questions about the world, and her boundless curiosity about thirsting for knowledge.
He remembered evenings spent reading stories under the covers, the feel of small hands tucked into his, and the comforting weight of his children as they fell asleep. He remembered the success he felt watching them grow, as well as the ache in his heart as he understood they were becoming independent beings, their lives diverging from his own.
And he remembered the day it all ended. The crash—a flash of headlights, a screech of tires, and then nothing.
The world had turned black, and when he awoke, it was to a new reality—a world of make-believe characters who knew neither God nor regarded Silas. His family was gone, taken from him in a twist of fate.
In his grief and rage, he sought solace and understanding. In the promises of faith he had clung to as a man, he knew only God could hear his prayers. A kernel of belief, a sense of hope, had fueled a new path: to cast all worldly things aside and choose only Christ as your Lord and Saviour.
If he could disrupt this world and break Bleach's laws, he'd find them again—his wife, his children. It was a strange pursuit and an interesting errand, but in the ashes of his former life, it was a call for change.
Silas stood motionless in the empty lot, the first rays of dawn painting the sky in muted pinks and greys. A smile almost crossed his lips, a fleeting vulnerability that was quickly extinguished.
His past was a wound, a gaping chasm that threatened to consume him if he dwelled too long in its depths. No man could judge him for taking this path. He would strive to rid this world of its darkness, twisting justification for the acts he was willing to commit.
And then one day, he would return home.
The world of the living would fall, the Soul Society would be shattered, and with the Hōgyoku's power in his grasp, he would reshape the entire world if he needed to. He would return to his family no matter what, even if it meant tearing the very fabric of existence apart.
The cost didn't matter. His actions were not at all sinful. His goal was all that mattered.
Clenching his fists, Silas forced his turbulent emotions back into the carefully constructed cage he'd built around his heart. His body was not his own, yet his soul was still separate from what was considered a "Soul". Ichigo no longer existed, but everything about the character lingered.
Silas had changed that character from the inside out, no longer bound by mortal limitations or morality. He was Silas Wren, a force to be reckoned with, a player in a cosmic game where the stakes were absolute.
The morning sun rose higher, a new day dawning, oblivious to the destruction to come that lay hidden within the fabric of the world, an obscurity that carried within it the seeds of both obliteration and a desperate, all-consuming desire.
Silas turned and vanished, returning to the city of Boston.
He understood why he had arrived at different locations twice. When he first used the Senkaimon to return to Karakura Town, he showed up in the place where Rukia was taken. During that moment, she was emotionally heartbroken, desiring to stay with Silas even if it meant going against her family.
And again, he arrived in his hometown. This was because of his strong ties to his family on earth.
Kubo never created anything outside of Japan, so that explained why a place like this looked the way it did—no people and no other characters.