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CHAPTER 3: GODS AMONG MORTALS (Continued)
In Las Noches, the fortress at the heart of Hueco Mundo, Sōsuke Aizen sat upon his pristine white throne, listening to Ulquiorra's report with deceptive calm. His fingers lightly tapped against the armrest—the only indication of his interest.
"Sixteen entities, you say? And all female in appearance?"
"Yes, Lord Aizen," Ulquiorra replied, his emotionless voice at odds with the extraordinary nature of his report. "Each radiates power comparable to a captain-class Shinigami, though the energy signatures are unlike anything in our records."
"And this man at their center—this 'Vegito'—what can you tell me about him?"
Ulquiorra's normally impassive face showed the faintest flicker of uncertainty. "His power is... difficult to quantify. He appears completely at ease, as if exerting no effort whatsoever, yet the ambient spiritual pressure around him distorts reality itself."
Gin Ichimaru, lounging against a nearby pillar, opened one eye slightly. "Sounds like someone worth meeting."
"Perhaps," Aizen agreed, his voice measured. "Though the timing is... curious. Just as the Hōgyoku nears full awakening, a being of unprecedented power appears, accompanied by sixteen divine entities." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "One might almost suspect intervention from a higher plane."
"You think Soul Society summoned them?" Tōsen asked from his position near the door.
"No. The Soul Society lacks both the imagination and the capability for such a maneuver." Aizen rose from his throne with fluid grace. "This is something else entirely. Something... unexpected."
He turned to Ulquiorra. "Continue your observation. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. I want to know everything about this Vegito—his capabilities, his intentions, his weaknesses." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Everyone has weaknesses."
"Of course, Lord Aizen."
As Ulquiorra departed, Gin pushed himself away from the pillar. "Not going to send Grimmjow or Yammy to test his strength? That's usually your style."
"This situation calls for subtlety, not brute force," Aizen replied. "Besides..." His fingers brushed against the Hōgyoku nestled in his chest. "I'm curious to see what he does next."
Back at the temple, lunch had evolved into an unexpectedly lively affair. What had begun as a simple meal had transformed into something between a royal banquet and a competitive cooking exhibition.
Raikou had prepared traditional Japanese dishes with motherly precision. Nero contributed what she claimed was "authentic Roman cuisine" (though historians might have disagreed). Gilgamesh, not to be outdone, had summoned exotic ingredients from the Gate of Babylon to create Mesopotamian delicacies no human had tasted in millennia.
"Try this," Ishtar insisted, floating a plate toward Vegito. "Ambrosia of the gods—literally. It can only be harvested during the celestial alignment of Venus and Mars."
"Don't listen to her," Gilgamesh countered immediately. "This wine comes from my personal vineyards in ancient Uruk. Kings and gods begged for a single sip."
"Perhaps our summoner would prefer something with actual nutritional value," Nightingale suggested, offering a meticulously balanced plate of her own creation. "I've calculated the optimal protein-to-carbohydrate ratio for someone of your energy expenditure."
Vegito accepted all offerings with equal appreciation, sampling each dish without favoritism. His genuine enjoyment of the food—regardless of its divine or royal origins—seemed to please the Servants more than any flowery compliments might have.
"You eat like a warrior," Scathach observed, watching him finish his third serving. "With focus and purpose, not merely for pleasure."
"Food is fuel," Vegito agreed. "But that doesn't mean it can't be enjoyed."
"Speaking of enjoyment," Musashi interjected, "you promised me a sparring match after lunch."
"I did," Vegito confirmed, setting aside his empty plate.
"A duel?" Gilgamesh's interest was immediately piqued. "I shall observe this contest."
"As will I," Artoria added. "I'm curious to see how different combat styles interact across realities."
Word spread quickly through the temple grounds. By the time Vegito and Musashi reached the training yard, all sixteen Servants had gathered to watch. They formed a loose circle around the perimeter, each finding a position that suited their status and personality.
Gilgamesh summoned an ornate golden throne directly from the Gate of Babylon, positioning it for the optimal view. Ishtar floated cross-legged above everyone else, claiming the literal high ground. Morgan and Female Solomon stood side by side, their analytical minds already assessing potential outcomes.
"The rules?" Musashi asked, drawing both swords with fluid grace.
"Simple," Vegito replied, settling into a relaxed stance. "No lethal force. No collateral damage beyond this yard. First to yield or become unable to continue loses."
"And your weapon?" Musashi nodded toward his empty hands.
Vegito's smile held quiet confidence. "I am my weapon."
A murmur rippled through the watching Servants.
"Arrogance," Gilgamesh scoffed.
"No," Scathach countered quietly. "Certainty."
Musashi studied Vegito for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I won't hold back."
"Good."
The swordswoman attacked without further warning—a blur of motion that would have been invisible to ordinary eyes. Her dual blades traced perfect arcs through the air, converging on Vegito from opposite angles. The attack was flawless, the product of a lifetime dedicated to the sword.
Vegito simply wasn't there when the blades arrived.
He stood three paces to the left, posture unchanged, as if he had always been in that spot.
Musashi's eyes widened slightly—the only indication of her surprise. She pivoted instantly, blades already moving in a new pattern. "Impressive."
What followed was less a battle than a dance. Musashi's swordsmanship was legendary, each strike flowing into the next with mathematical precision. She moved like water, like wind, her techniques transcending the physical limitations of her human origin.
Vegito moved like thought itself—present then absent, solid then intangible. He dodged with minimal movement, each shift in position precisely calculated to require the least effort while achieving maximum effect.
"He's toying with her," Kiara observed, a smile playing on her lips.
"No," Durga corrected, her warrior's eye missing nothing. "He's learning her. Cataloging every technique, every preference, every habit."
After five minutes of increasingly complex exchanges—during which Vegito had yet to throw a single strike—Musashi suddenly stopped. She lowered her swords and bowed deeply.
"I yield."
A shocked murmur ran through the observers.
"But he didn't even attack!" Nero protested. "How can there be victory without conquest?"
Musashi sheathed her blades with ceremonial precision. "He didn't need to. In sixty-three exchanges, I failed to land a single touch. More importantly..." She looked up at Vegito with newfound respect. "I was beginning to repeat myself. My techniques, while vast, are finite. His defensive capabilities appear to be infinite."
"An astute observation," Vegito acknowledged with a respectful nod.
"Now it's your turn," Musashi said, stepping back. "Show us what you can do."
Vegito considered for a moment, then turned to address the circle of Servants. "Who's next?"
"Me," Gilgamesh declared immediately, rising from her throne. "It's time the King of Heroes demonstrated true combat supremacy."
"Actually," Vegito countered, "I was thinking of something different." His gaze swept the circle. "Scathach, Artoria, Durga, and Raikou. All four of you, together."
Dead silence fell over the training yard.
"You wish to face four of us simultaneously?" Artoria asked, her regal composure momentarily slipping.
"Yes."
"With what restrictions?" Scathach inquired, already moving forward.
"None," Vegito replied simply. "Use your full power. Noble Phantasms included."
The shock among the Servants was palpable. Noble Phantasms were conceptual weapons capable of reality-altering effects. Excalibur alone could level mountains. Gáe Bolg rewrote causality itself to ensure a fatal strike. And Vegito was inviting four such weapons to be used against him simultaneously.
"This is madness," Female Solomon murmured. "Even for a being of his caliber..."
"Is it madness," Morgan wondered aloud, "or is it demonstration?"
The four chosen combatants took positions at cardinal points around Vegito. Each radiated power that distorted the very air—divine energy, heroic essence, legend made manifest.
"Begin whenever you're ready," Vegito said, settling into a proper combat stance for the first time.
They didn't hesitate. Four legendary warriors attacked as one, their movements perfectly synchronized despite never having fought together before.
Artoria's Excalibur released a torrent of golden light that could cleave reality itself. Scathach's crimson spear struck from an impossible angle, the very concept of "space" bending to accommodate its path. Durga's six arms wielded six divine weapons simultaneously, each attacking a different vital point. Raikou's blade moved faster than thought, leaving trails of lightning in its wake.
Vegito...smiled.
What happened next occurred too quickly for even divine eyes to fully process. One moment he stood at the center of four converging attacks, the next he was in motion—not dodging, but meeting each threat directly.
His right hand caught Excalibur's blade between two fingers, the golden energy dissipating harmlessly around him. His left palm deflected Gáe Bolg, somehow negating its causality-altering properties through sheer force of will. A precisely timed kick intercepted all six of Durga's weapons simultaneously, while a controlled burst of ki neutralized Raikou's lightning.
Four legendary attacks, each capable of reshaping reality, all nullified in less than a second.
Before the Servants could recover from their shock, Vegito moved. True offensive movement, for the first time since his arrival.
He didn't strike them. He simply touched each warrior—a finger to Artoria's shoulder, a light tap on Scathach's forehead, a gentle press against Durga's central arm, a brush of knuckles against Raikou's blade.
Then he returned to the center of their formation, posture relaxed once more.
"What just..." Gilgamesh began, then stopped as she noticed what everyone else was seeing.
Each of the four combatants bore a small mark where Vegito had touched them—not a wound, but a perfect blue-white circle of energy about the size of a coin. The marks pulsed once, twice, then faded away.
"Had this been actual combat," Vegito explained calmly, "those points of contact would have been lethal. Ki concentrated precisely at vital energy nexuses."
The four warriors examined themselves, their expressions ranging from shock to awe to, in Scathach's case, a rare smile of genuine delight.
"Magnificent," the ancient warrior declared. "In three thousand years, I have never been so completely outmatched."
"The gap in our abilities..." Artoria murmured, staring at her shoulder where the mark had been. "It's not a question of degree. It's a difference in kind."
Raikou bowed deeply, her warrior's pride undiminished by defeat. "Thank you for the lesson, Vegito-sama."
"Sama?" Vegito questioned with a raised eyebrow.
"It is the appropriate honorific," Raikou insisted. "For one who has demonstrated such complete mastery."
The spectating Servants remained silent, each processing what they had witnessed in their own way. Gilgamesh's face showed a complex mixture of emotions—outrage at seeing legendary heroes so easily defeated, but also a growing fascination with the being who had done it.
"Well," Female Solomon finally said, breaking the silence. "I believe we now understand why the summoning gate activated for him."
"Indeed," Morgan agreed. "The seal was designed to call forth allies against extinction-level threats." A rare smile touched her lips. "It seems instead it summoned the threat to be our ally."
"Not a threat," Vegito corrected. "Just someone who understands what real power is—and what it isn't."
"And what is real power, in your estimation?" BB asked, her analytical mind intrigued by the philosophical implications.
Vegito looked around at the circle of divine beings, his expression serious for once. "Not destruction. Anyone can destroy. Real power is knowing when not to use your strength. It's control. Precision. Purpose."
"Pretty words," Gilgamesh scoffed, though with less conviction than usual. "But ultimately, supreme power means reshaping reality to your will."
"And what is your will, King of Heroes?" Vegito asked directly. "What world would you create if you could reshape everything?"
The unexpected question caught Gilgamesh off guard. For perhaps the first time in her existence, the King of Heroes found herself without an immediate answer.
"I... would create a world worthy of my glory," she finally said, though her voice lacked its usual imperial certainty.
"And that's why you're not ready for such power," Vegito said, not unkindly. "None of us are. Not even me."
The humility in that admission—from a being who had just demonstrated overwhelming superiority—silenced even Gilgamesh's objections.
The training session concluded with a new atmosphere among the Servants—less competitive rivalry, more thoughtful assessment. They dispersed across the temple grounds, many seeking solitude to process what they had witnessed.
As twilight approached, Vegito found himself alone on the temple roof once more, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. The sky over Karakura Town was painted in shades of orange and crimson, beautiful despite—or perhaps because of—the spiritual battle brewing beneath its surface.
"May I join you?" came a voice from behind him.
Vegito turned to find Tiamat hovering nearby. The primordial goddess rarely sought out company, preferring to commune with the natural elements rather than with other conscious beings.
"Of course," he replied, gesturing to the space beside him.
Tiamat settled onto the roof, her form more humanoid than usual, though still radiating ancient power that made the air ripple around her.
"You showed them truth today," she observed, her voice resonating on multiple frequencies simultaneously.
"Just a perspective," Vegito corrected.
"No." Tiamat's gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Truth. They needed to see. To understand what approaches."
"Aizen?"
"Hubris," she clarified. "The oldest sin. The belief that godhood can be claimed rather than embodied." Her form shifted slightly, patterns of primordial energy flowing across her skin like living tattoos. "I have existed since before this universe took its current form. I have watched civilizations rise and fall, gods ascend and diminish. Always, it is hubris that destroys potential."
"You think Aizen is doomed to fail?"
"All who grasp at divinity are doomed to fall," Tiamat replied. "Unless..."
When she didn't continue, Vegito prompted gently, "Unless?"
"Unless they are guided by one who understands the nature of true power." Her eyes, ancient beyond comprehension, met his. "One like you."
Before Vegito could respond, a new presence made itself known. A gentle ripple in reality as someone stepped through a precisely created doorway between dimensions.
Both Vegito and Tiamat turned to see a figure in white standing at the far end of the roof. Sōsuke Aizen, in his Arrancar attire, hands casually in his pockets, a smile of perfect confidence on his face.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," he said smoothly.
CHAPTER 4: THE MEASURE OF GODS
"Sōsuke Aizen," Tiamat identified, her voice carrying neither welcome nor hostility, merely recognition.
"The one seeking godhood," Vegito added, rising smoothly to his feet.
Aizen's smile widened slightly. "My reputation precedes me. Though I must say, yours remains something of a mystery." He studied Vegito with unabashed interest. "A being from another universe, commanding sixteen divine spirits, demonstrating power beyond anything this world has seen." He tilted his head slightly. "One might wonder what brings such a entity to our humble reality."
"I could ask you the same about visiting this temple," Vegito replied calmly. "Especially alone."
"Am I alone?" Aizen's smile never wavered. "Perhaps. Or perhaps my Espada are positioned throughout Karakura Town, ready to execute coordinated strikes against specific targets should anything... unfortunate... happen to me."
"You're alone," Vegito stated with certainty. "Your Espada remain in Hueco Mundo, unaware of your current location."
Something flickered briefly in Aizen's eyes—surprise, quickly masked. "You're quite perceptive."
"And you're quite bold," Vegito observed. "Coming here, surrounded by beings who could individually challenge your current level of power."
"Bold, perhaps. Or simply curious." Aizen took a step forward, his movement deliberately relaxed. "I've been watching you, Vegito. Your activities, your... demonstrations. I find myself intrigued by a being who possesses such overwhelming power yet seems content to play house with divine women and train as if preparing for a tournament."
"Why does that intrigue you?"
"Because power exists to be used." Aizen spread his hands. "To reshape reality, to correct fundamental flaws in the structure of existence. Yet you, with perhaps the greatest capacity to enact such change, choose inaction."
"I haven't chosen inaction," Vegito corrected. "I've chosen appropriate action."
Tiamat had risen to her full height beside Vegito, her form shifting toward something less humanoid, more primal. "You should leave, seeker," she warned Aizen. "This is not your domain."
"On the contrary," Aizen replied smoothly. "All of reality is becoming my domain, piece by piece." He touched the partially exposed Hōgyoku embedded in his chest. "Even now, the boundaries between Shinigami, Hollow, and divine are dissolving within me."
"And you believe this makes you godlike?" Vegito asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Not yet. But soon." Aizen's confidence was absolute. "The Hōgyoku responds to desire, to will. My desire to transcend the limitations of existence itself."
"Your desire to stand in heaven," Vegito noted. "That's how you phrased it to your followers, isn't it? To stand atop heaven and fill the vacancy left there."
Aizen's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been well-informed."
"I pay attention," Vegito replied simply.
For a moment, the three beings regarded each other in silence—a primordial goddess, a transcendent warrior, and an aspiring god. The spiritual pressure on the temple roof intensified, reality itself bending slightly under the strain of containing such powers in close proximity.
"I didn't come to fight," Aizen finally said. "Not today. I came to extend an invitation."
"An invitation?" Vegito echoed.
"Yes. To witness the culmination of my ascension." Aizen's smile returned. "In three days, the Hōgyoku will fully awaken. When it does, I will transcend the boundaries between all spiritual beings. I will become something entirely new." He fixed his gaze on Vegito. "I believe someone of your... perspective... would appreciate the significance of such a moment."
"And if I decline?"
"Then nothing changes," Aizen replied with a casual shrug. "My path remains fixed. Though I admit, I'm curious about your own intentions toward Karakura Town and Soul Society."
"I have no quarrel with either," Vegito stated.
"Even though Soul Society maintains a fundamentally flawed system? A rigid hierarchy that has stagnated for millennia? Even though they allow humans to suffer and die, only to enter an afterlife equally fraught with inequity and struggle?"
"Not my world, not my rules," Vegito replied simply. "Unless someone threatens innocent lives."
"Ah." Aizen's smile took on a knowing quality. "And therein lies the boundary you won't permit me to cross. Fascinating." He took a step backward. "Well, the invitation stands. Three days from now, at the center of Karakura Town. Whether you come as witness or adversary is entirely your choice."
With that, he opened another precise dimensional doorway behind him. "Until then, enjoy your divine harem and your training sessions. They may be the last moments of peace this reality experiences."
As Aizen prepared to step through the portal, Vegito's voice stopped him.
"One question."
Aizen paused, looking back with polite inquiry.
"Why do you want godhood?" Vegito asked. "What do you hope to achieve that you cannot accomplish as you are now?"
For the first time, Aizen's perfect composure slipped slightly. The question seemed to genuinely surprise him.
"To remake reality without its flaws," he answered after a moment. "To create perfect order from cosmic chaos."
"And you believe you know what perfect order looks like?"
Aizen's eyes narrowed. "I know what imperfection looks like. I've observed it for centuries."
"Observation isn't understanding," Vegito replied quietly. "And destruction isn't creation, no matter how you justify it."
Something dangerous flickered in Aizen's eyes—a glimpse of the ambition that drove him, the conviction that had led him to betray Soul Society and sacrifice countless lives.
"We shall see," he said finally, then stepped through the portal. It closed behind him with a whisper of displaced air.
Tiamat and Vegito stood in silence for several moments after his departure.
"He believes himself destined," Tiamat finally observed. "The certainty blinds him."
"Yes," Vegito agreed. "But there's more to him than simple megalomania. He sees genuine flaws in the system."
"Many see flaws," Tiamat countered. "Few appoint themselves as cosmic surgeons, willing to sacrifice millions to correct them."
Before Vegito could respond, a commotion arose from below. The Servants had sensed Aizen's presence and were converging on the roof, weapons drawn, divine powers activated. Gilgamesh arrived first, the Gate of Babylon fully opened behind her, countless legendary weapons hovering in readiness.
"Where is he?" she demanded. "I sensed the intruder!"
"Gone," Vegito replied calmly. "He came to talk, nothing more."
"Talk?" Artoria's voice was skeptical as she emerged onto the roof, Excalibur glowing in her hands. "Beings like him do not 'talk' without purpose."
"His purpose was to issue an invitation," Vegito explained. "And perhaps to measure me."
"An invitation to what?" Female Solomon asked, her rings pulsing with contained power.
"To witness his ascension three days from now."
A moment of silence followed this announcement, each Servant processing its implications.
"It's a trap," Morgan declared flatly. "He seeks to gather all potential opposition in one place."
"Or a genuine invitation," Ishtar countered. "Gods often desire witnesses to their greatest moments of triumph. It validates their achievement."
"He's not a god yet," Scathach reminded them all. "Though he aspires to become one."
"And will you accept this invitation?" Gilgamesh demanded, her golden eyes fixed on Vegito. "Will you simply watch while this upstart claims divinity?"
Vegito looked out over Karakura Town, where ordinary humans continued their lives, unaware of the cosmic drama unfolding around them.
"No," he said finally. "But neither will I attack preemptively. There's still a chance to resolve this without widespread destruction."
"You believe you can reason with him?" BB asked skeptically. "My analysis suggests his psyche is fundamentally committed to his chosen path."
"I don't expect to reason with him," Vegito clarified. "But I do intend to show him something he hasn't considered."
"And what might that be?" Durga inquired, her multiple arms crossed in a gesture of warrior's interest.
Vegito's expression was unreadable as he continued to gaze at the now-darkening town below.
"The difference between claiming power and embodying it."
Later that evening, as most of the Servants had retired to their chosen territories within the temple grounds, Vegito found himself approached by an unexpected visitor. Kiara Sessyoin glided silently into the small meditation chamber where he sat cross-legged, eyes closed but fully aware of her arrival.
"May I join you?" she asked, her voice pitched to a seductive timbre that would have weakened the resolve of most beings.
"If you wish," Vegito replied, opening his eyes.
Kiara settled gracefully across from him, her robes arranged to simultaneously conceal and suggest. "You've rejected my advances twice now," she observed without preamble. "Most beings find me... irresistible."
"I don't doubt it."
"Yet you remain unmoved." Her head tilted slightly, studying him with genuine curiosity beneath the seductive facade. "Is it disinterest in physical pleasure? Or something else?"
"Neither," Vegito answered honestly. "I simply don't respond to manipulation, however pleasantly packaged."
Rather than taking offense, Kiara smiled—a more genuine expression than her usual calculated sensuality. "How refreshing. Honesty without cruelty." She adjusted her position, her posture becoming marginally less provocative. "May I ask you something directly, then? No manipulation intended."
"Of course."
"What do you desire?" The question hung in the air between them. "Not necessarily carnally, though I remain available in that capacity. But more fundamentally. What drives a being of your nature? What motivates your actions?"
Vegito considered the question seriously, giving it the respect it deserved despite its source.
"Balance," he finally said. "The harmony between power and restraint. The challenge of mastery—not over others, but over myself."
"Fascinating," Kiara murmured. "Most beings of great power seek either to dominate or to protect. Your desire is more... internal."
"And you?" Vegito asked, turning the question back on her. "What does a being born of both salvation and temptation truly desire?"
The question caught her off guard. For a brief moment, Kiara's carefully constructed persona faltered, revealing something more vulnerable beneath.
"To be seen," she admitted softly. "Not as an object of desire or fear or worship, but as myself—whatever that might be." She laughed lightly, the sound both bitter and genuine. "How pathetic, coming from one who has consumed countless souls in pursuit of cosmic ecstasy."
"Not pathetic," Vegito countered. "Human."
Kiara's eyes widened slightly. "I haven't been human for a very long time."
"Perhaps not in form," Vegito agreed. "But in essence? That core desire speaks to something fundamentally human that remains within you."
They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for several moments, the usual tension that surrounded Kiara notably absent.
"You know," she finally said, rising gracefully to her feet, "this is the first conversation I've had in centuries that didn't involve someone either trying to kill me or succumb to me." A genuine smile touched her lips. "It's rather nice."
"Simpler," Vegito agreed. "Sometimes simple is better."
"Indeed." She moved toward the door, then paused. "About Aizen..."
"Yes?"
"Be careful," she said, uncharacteristic seriousness in her voice. "I recognize his type. The true believer. The most dangerous kind of zealot is one who believes themselves the rational savior."
"I know," Vegito assured her. "I've encountered his kind before."
"And how did that end?" Kiara asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Vegito's expression turned distant for a moment, memories of battles across multiple universes flickering behind his eyes.
"With clarity," he finally said. "Either theirs or mine."
As Kiara departed, Vegito returned to his meditation. Three days until Aizen's proposed ascension. Three days to prepare not just himself, but his unlikely divine allies for what might come. Three days to determine whether this world would witness salvation, destruction, or something entirely unexpected.
Outside the meditation chamber, the night deepened over Karakura Town. In sixteen different corners of the temple grounds, sixteen divine beings contemplated their unexpected situation—bound to a warrior from another universe, facing a being who sought to claim godhood, all while navigating their own complex feelings toward their accidental summoner.
For the first time in centuries, perhaps millennia, none of them were bored.
And somewhere in Las Noches, Sōsuke Aizen smiled as he felt the Hōgyoku pulse within his chest. Three more days until his final evolution. Three days until his long-held vision began to manifest.
Three days until the universe learned what happened when a man decided to become a god.
CHAPTER 5: DIVINE DOMESTIC LIFE
Morning brought new routines to the temple grounds. What had begun as chaos—sixteen powerful individuals with distinct personalities and preferences forced into close proximity—had evolved into something resembling organized harmony.
The main courtyard had become a communal space where most gathered for breakfast, prepared on a rotating schedule that Raikou managed with maternal efficiency. Today was Durga's turn, and the warrior goddess moved with surprising grace in the makeshift kitchen, her six arms simultaneously chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and arranging serving plates.
"More cardamom," she instructed BB, who had volunteered as assistant despite having no physical need for food. "And crush it properly—like this." She demonstrated the technique with practiced precision.
BB mimicked the motion perfectly, then added her own analysis. "According to my calculations, a 12.3% increase in cardamom with a corresponding decrease in cinnamon would optimize the flavor profile for the majority of palates present."
Durga considered this, then nodded. "Your calculations are impressive. But cooking is art as well as science. Sometimes imperfection creates character."
In another corner of the courtyard, Musashi and Scathach engaged in their morning training ritual—a carefully choreographed dance of blades and spears that served as both practice and performance. Their styles contrasted beautifully: Musashi all fluid grace and intuitive genius, Scathach precise and mathematically perfect after millennia of refinement.
"You're extending too far on your left side," Scathach observed after parrying a particularly ambitious strike. "It creates a vulnerability."
"Only if my opponent is as fast as you," Musashi countered with a grin. "For anyone else, the risk is worth the reach advantage."
"Always assume your opponent is as fast as me," Scathach advised. "Then you'll never be surprised."
Nearby, Artoria and Morgan sat at opposite ends of a stone table, engaged in their usual morning chess match. Despite their legendary enmity, this temporary truce had become a daily fixture—the board between them serving as both battlefield and buffer.
"Check," Morgan announced, her dark queen threatening Artoria's king.
Artoria studied the board without expression, then moved her knight with decisive precision. "Not for long, sister."
Morgan's lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "You've improved. Though still predictably honorable in your strategies."
"Honor and effectiveness aren't mutually exclusive," Artoria replied mildly. "Your move."
At the far end of the courtyard, Gilgamesh had transformed a simple stone bench into a makeshift throne through sheer force of personality. She sat regally, watching the morning activities with imperial assessment while Nero entertained her with dramatic recitations of classical poetry—a performance Gilgamesh pretended to merely tolerate while actually enjoying immensely.
"'And lo, the heroes of old gathered before gods and kings,'" Nero declaimed with theatrical gestures, "'their glory eternal, their names writ in stars!'"
"Acceptable," Gilgamesh acknowledged with calculated understatement. "Though the Roman style lacks the grandiosity of Mesopotamian epics."
"Then perhaps you might demonstrate superior technique?" Nero challenged with a mischievous smile.
Gilgamesh pretended to consider this request a great imposition, then cleared her throat. "'I who saw the depths of the gods' wisdom, who knew all lands from edge to edge...'" Her voice took on surprising depth and resonance as she recited verses from the Epic of Gilgamesh, her golden eyes distant with memory of times long past.
Female Solomon and Medea had established a small arcane workshop beneath a flowering cherry tree, comparing notes on magical systems across different eras and realities.
"Your conceptual magic operates on completely different principles from my rings," Solomon observed, watching Medea inscribe a complex sigil in the air. "Yet achieves similar effects."
"Magic evolves with civilization," Medea explained. "As humanity's understanding of reality changes, so too do the metaphors through which we channel power. Your rings represent divine authority, my sigils represent conceptual manipulation, yet both reshape reality according to will."
"Fascinating," Solomon murmured. "I wonder how Vegito's 'ki' fits into this theoretical framework."
"That," came Vegito's voice as he approached the gathering, "is something I've been wondering myself."
All activities paused momentarily as their summoner joined them. Despite three days of close proximity, his appearance still commanded attention—not through deliberate charisma, but through the subtle gravity of his presence.
"Good morning," Raikou greeted warmly, already preparing a plate piled high with food. "You slept well, I hope?"
"
CHAPTER 5: DIVINE DOMESTIC LIFE (Continued)
"Good morning," Raikou greeted warmly, already preparing a plate piled high with food. "You slept well, I hope?"
"I did," Vegito replied, accepting the offered plate with a nod of thanks. "Though 'sleep' might not be the right word. More like a meditative state."
"You don't require true sleep?" Nightingale asked, her medical curiosity piqued. She approached with clipboard in hand, having appointed herself the unofficial physician of their unusual gathering. "Fascinating. Your physiology continues to defy conventional parameters."
"I can sleep," Vegito clarified, sampling Durga's cooking with evident appreciation. "But my body processes rest differently than humans. More efficiently."
"Like gods," Ishtar observed, floating cross-legged above them. "We don't require sleep either—merely periods of reduced activity to restore our divine essence."
"I'm not a god," Vegito stated simply, the phrase having become something of a refrain during his interactions with the Servants.
"Yet you function like one," BB pointed out, her analytical systems perpetually cataloging his capabilities. "Super-human strength, instantaneous movement, energy manipulation, reduced need for biological maintenance..." She ticked off each trait on her fingers. "By most civilizations' definitions, these qualities would qualify you for divinity."
"Definitions are less important than reality," Vegito replied. He turned to Durga, changing the subject. "This is excellent. What do you call it?"
"Poha," the warrior goddess answered, all six arms momentarily pausing in their work. "A simple breakfast from my homeland. Rice flattened and seasoned with spices, curry leaves, and peanuts."
"Simple but effective," Vegito noted. "Like all good techniques."
Across the courtyard, Morgan rose from the chess table, having finally triumphed over Artoria. "Speaking of techniques," she called, approaching the gathering. "What training do you have planned for us today? With Aizen's deadline approaching, I assume we're escalating preparations."
The question drew everyone's attention. The casual atmosphere shifted subtly as the Servants were reminded of the looming confrontation.
"Actually," Vegito said, setting his empty plate aside, "I thought we might try something different today."
"Different how?" Scathach asked, crimson spear resting casually against her shoulder.
"Integration," Vegito explained. "You've all been training individually or in pairs. Today, I want to see how you function as a coordinated unit."
"A unit?" Gilgamesh scoffed from her makeshift throne. "Gods and kings do not function as 'units.' We command, others follow."
"And when everyone is a commander?" Vegito challenged mildly. "Sixteen leaders make for poor strategy."
"He has a point," Female Solomon acknowledged. "In the Holy Grail Wars of my experience, Servants operate individually because they serve individual Masters. Our situation is unprecedented—sixteen Servants connected to a single central figure."
"What exactly did you have in mind?" Artoria asked, practical as always.
Vegito smiled slightly. "Capture the flag."
A moment of bewildered silence followed.
"Capture the... flag?" Nero repeated incredulously. "You propose we engage in a children's game?"
"With modifications," Vegito clarified. "Two teams of eight. The temple grounds divided into territories. One flag on each side. The objective is simple—capture the opponent's flag while defending your own."
"This seems beneath our dignity," Gilgamesh declared, though her eyes betrayed interest.
"Such games were used to train Roman legions," Musashi pointed out, ever the strategist. "Combat simulation without lethal consequences."
"Precisely," Vegito agreed. "With one additional element: I'll be opposing both teams simultaneously."
This announcement created an immediate stir among the Servants.
"You against all sixteen of us?" Durga asked, warrior's interest evident in her voice.
"Not in direct combat," Vegito explained. "I'll be attempting to capture both flags before either team captures the other's. Think of me as... a third faction."
"Interesting," Scathach murmured, ancient eyes calculating possibilities. "A test of coordination against a superior individual force."
"Exactly. And to make it more challenging—" Vegito held up a hand, a small sphere of energy forming above his palm. With a flick of his wrist, the sphere expanded and then dispersed into sixteen smaller lights that zipped toward each Servant, circling them once before settling onto their foreheads.
"What is this?" Morgan demanded, reaching up to touch the small mark now glowing on her skin.
"Ki limiters," Vegito explained. "They'll restrict your power to approximately twenty percent of normal capacity. More than enough for strategy and coordination, but not enough for overwhelming force."
"You dare limit the power of the King of Heroes?" Gilgamesh rose from her throne, outrage evident in her posture.
"I dare to create a level playing field," Vegito replied calmly. "And before you object further—" He touched his own forehead, where an identical mark now glowed. "I'm under the same restriction."
This revelation silenced most objections, though Gilgamesh continued to grumble under her breath.
"We'll need team captains," Vegito continued. "Artoria and Gilgamesh."
The selection was strategic—the two most natural leaders with contrasting styles. Artoria, the perfect knight-king who led by example and inspiration. Gilgamesh, the imperious ruler who commanded through divine right and intimidation.
"Choose your teams," Vegito instructed. "Alternating selections."
What followed was an unexpectedly revealing process. Artoria chose Scathach first, valuing the ancient warrior's tactical expertise. Gilgamesh, surprisingly, selected Female Solomon, recognizing the value of magical support over raw combat power. The selections continued with each captain revealing their strategic priorities:
Artoria's team ultimately consisted of Scathach, Musashi, Durga, Ishtar, Arcueid, Nightingale, and Raikou—a balance of combat specialists and support types.
Gilgamesh gathered Female Solomon, Morgan, Nero, BB, Kiara, Tiamat, Kama, and Medea—emphasizing magical versatility and unconventional abilities.
"You have one hour to prepare," Vegito announced once the teams were finalized. "Establish your base, position your flag, develop your strategy. When the hour ends, the game begins."
As the teams dispersed to opposite ends of the temple grounds, energized by competitive spirit, Vegito remained in the courtyard alone. His expression was contemplative as he watched them go.
"A clever approach," came a voice from behind him. Kisuke Urahara stepped out from behind a cherry tree, fan deployed to hide his lower face. "Training them to work together while disguising it as a game."
"How long have you been watching?" Vegito asked without turning.
"Long enough," Urahara replied, approaching casually. "Your divine harem is quite the impressive collection. Though I imagine 'herding cats' would be an apt metaphor."
"They're not a harem," Vegito corrected mildly. "And they're adapting better than you might expect."
"Hmm." Urahara snapped his fan closed. "That's what concerns me. Sixteen legendary beings with god-like powers, historically known for independence and destructive capabilities, suddenly developing coordinated tactics under your guidance." His eyes narrowed slightly beneath his striped hat. "One might wonder to what end."
"Protection," Vegito stated simply. "Of this town and its people."
"Against Aizen?"
"For now."
Urahara studied him for a long moment. "You know, Soul Society is quite interested in you and your... companions. Captain-Commander Yamamoto has been debating whether to consider you potential allies or threats."
"And what do you think?" Vegito asked, finally turning to face the shopkeeper directly.
Urahara's smile was enigmatic. "I think you're exactly what you appear to be—which makes you the most unpredictable element in this equation."
"How so?"
"Because genuine power with genuine restraint is extraordinarily rare," Urahara explained. "Most beings with your level of ability would have either conquered or 'fixed' our world by now. Your patience suggests either tremendous discipline or a plan I haven't yet discerned."
"Not everything requires ulterior motives," Vegito observed.
"In my experience," Urahara countered, "everything involving power of your magnitude does." He adjusted his hat. "Aizen visited you yesterday."
It wasn't a question, but Vegito nodded anyway. "He came to issue an invitation."
"To witness his ascension, yes, I heard." Urahara's tone was carefully neutral. "Do you plan to accept?"
"I plan to be there," Vegito replied. "Whether that constitutes acceptance depends on your perspective."
Urahara chuckled softly. "Deliberately ambiguous. You'd make an excellent politician."
"I have no interest in politics."
"Few who influence history ever do," Urahara noted. He glanced toward where the two teams were already engaged in animated strategic discussions. "Your game begins soon. I won't keep you further. But perhaps before you face Aizen, we could have a more detailed conversation about what happens afterward."
"After what?" Vegito asked.
"After whatever occurs when an aspiring god meets whatever you are," Urahara replied, already backing away. "The aftermath concerns me more than the confrontation itself."
With that cryptic observation, the shopkeeper disappeared in a flash of shunpo, leaving Vegito alone with his thoughts once more.
Artoria's strategic meeting was a model of military efficiency. She had gathered her team in a small clearing behind the main temple building, where Scathach was already drawing a tactical map in the dirt with the tip of her spear.
"The terrain favors defensive positioning," the ancient warrior explained, indicating key features of the temple grounds. "High ground here and here, limited approach vectors, natural choke points we can exploit."
"We should divide into strike teams and defenders," Artoria suggested. "Musashi, Durga, and I will form the offensive unit. Raikou, Arcueid, and Scathach will defend our flag. Ishtar provides aerial reconnaissance, and Nightingale remains mobile as support."
"A sound basic strategy," Scathach acknowledged, "but predictable. Vegito will anticipate conventional tactics."
"Which is precisely why we'll appear to employ them initially," Artoria countered with a slight smile. "While actually executing something more unorthodox."
"I like the way you think, King of Knights," Ishtar commented, floating cross-legged above them. "What did you have in mind?"
"Misdirection," Artoria explained. "We establish the expected defense around a decoy flag, while the real one remains mobile—carried by Arcueid, whose speed and stealth will make her difficult to track."
"Clever," Durga approved, her multiple arms crossed thoughtfully. "But what about Gilgamesh's team? Morgan's divination magic could potentially reveal the deception."
"That's where our offensive becomes important," Artoria continued. "We don't just aim to capture their flag—we disrupt their magical operations first. Musashi, your anti-magic swordsmanship will be crucial there."
"Consider it done," the swordswoman agreed with a confident smile.
"And Vegito?" Nightingale asked practically. "How do we counter someone who can move instantaneously?"
"We don't," Raikou answered before Artoria could. "Not directly. We create multiple potential targets and threats, forcing him to divide his attention."
"Exactly," Artoria confirmed. "Even with his power limited, his combat instincts remain superior. Our advantage lies in numbers and coordination."
"This should be fun," Arcueid commented, her crimson eyes gleaming with predatory anticipation. "I haven't played games in centuries."
"This isn't merely a game," Artoria reminded them all, her expression serious. "It's preparation for a very real threat. Aizen's deadline approaches, and when it arrives, our lives—and countless others—may depend on how well we function as a unit."
The team nodded in solemn agreement, the gravity of their situation momentarily overshadowing the competitive spirit of the exercise.
"Now," Artoria continued, her expression lightening, "let's discuss specific positioning and signals..."
Meanwhile, Gilgamesh's strategic meeting had a decidedly different tone. The King of Heroes reclined on a hastily constructed throne (summoned from the Gate of Babylon, naturally), while her team stood in a loose semicircle before her.
"The concept is simple," she declared imperiously. "We will create the most magnificent defense imaginable—a labyrinth of magical traps, illusions, and barriers that no enemy could possibly penetrate. Solomon, Morgan—this is your domain."
"And the offensive strategy?" Female Solomon inquired politely.
Gilgamesh waved a dismissive hand. "BB and Kiara will handle that. Infiltration and subversion are their specialties, after all."
"How delightfully flattering," Kiara murmured with a smile that suggested she wasn't entirely sure whether to be pleased or offended.
"Your confidence in my abilities is appropriate," BB declared, digital interface flickering around her. "Though I question the wisdom of sending only two operatives for the offensive task."
"Quality over quantity," Gilgamesh replied with absolute certainty. "Besides, Medea and Kama will provide remote support through magical augmentation."
"And what role have you reserved for yourself, O King?" Nero asked with dramatic flourish.
Gilgamesh's smile was self-satisfied. "I shall be the centerpiece of our strategy—the glorious final defense should any enemy somehow penetrate our outer layers. And naturally, should our offensive team require reinforcement, I shall arrive at the critical moment to secure victory."
Morgan and Female Solomon exchanged a subtle glance that spoke volumes about their assessment of this "strategy."
"Perhaps," Morgan suggested carefully, "we might benefit from a more structured approach? The King of Knights is nothing if not methodical in her tactics."
"Which is precisely why we must be unpredictable," Gilgamesh countered. "Artoria thinks in straight lines—advance, engage, conquer. We shall be... creative."
"Creativity has its merits," Tiamat observed in her multi-toned voice. The primordial goddess had remained silent until now, but her words carried weight. "But chaos without structure dissipates its own force."
Gilgamesh frowned slightly, unused to having her strategic wisdom questioned. Before she could respond, however, BB interjected.
"I've completed a preliminary analysis," the AI announced, holographic projections materializing around her. "Based on team compositions and psychological profiles, I predict Artoria's group will employ a traditional military-style approach with some sort of tactical misdirection. They'll expect us to rely on magical superiority rather than physical defense."
"And?" Gilgamesh prompted impatiently.
"And we should do exactly that—but with a twist." BB's smile was calculating. "Let me outline an alternative strategy that preserves your central role, my king, while maximizing our team's unique capabilities..."
What followed was a surprisingly cohesive tactical plan that, while ostensibly centered around Gilgamesh's importance, actually distributed responsibilities according to each Servant's strengths. The King of Heroes listened with growing approval, occasionally interjecting imperial refinements that BB smoothly incorporated.
"This is acceptable," Gilgamesh finally declared, rising from her throne. "We shall proceed according to this plan, with my modifications."
"Of course, my king," BB agreed with a bow that concealed her satisfied smile. Sometimes managing powerful personalities was simply a matter of framing collective wisdom as individual insight.
"One additional consideration," Medea spoke up, her quiet voice nonetheless commanding attention. "Vegito's limitation on our powers will affect each of us differently. Those who rely on raw force will be more disadvantaged than those with versatile abilities."
"An astute observation," Female Solomon acknowledged. "We should prepare contingencies for when our primary abilities prove insufficient."
"You suggest we might fail?" Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I suggest we might need to adapt," Solomon clarified diplomatically. "Victory often comes through flexibility rather than overwhelming force."
"Hmph." Gilgamesh crossed her arms. "Very well. Each of you, consider how you might contribute beyond your obvious strengths." Her golden eyes gleamed with competitive fire. "We will demonstrate the superiority of divine ingenuity over mere combat prowess."
As the team dispersed to prepare their elaborate defenses, Kiara lingered behind, approaching Gilgamesh with her usual sensual grace.
"You know," she observed softly, "for someone who professes disdain for teamwork, you seem to be embracing the concept with surprising enthusiasm."
Gilgamesh scoffed. "This is not teamwork. This is proper deployment of resources under royal direction."
"Of course," Kiara agreed with a knowing smile. "Though I wonder... what drives the King of Heroes to participate in such games at all? Surely not mere competitive spirit?"
For a moment, Gilgamesh's imperial mask slipped, revealing something more complex beneath. "He interests me," she admitted quietly. "This being who walks like a god yet claims no divinity. Who possesses power beyond measurement yet exercises restraint beyond reason."
"Ah," Kiara's smile deepened. "So it's not just the game that intrigues you, but the game master."
Gilgamesh's expression hardened instantly. "Watch your implications, Beast of Pleasure. My interest is purely in understanding power and its applications."
"Of course," Kiara agreed, backing away gracefully. "Though in my experience, understanding often leads to... deeper interests."
As she glided away to join the others, Gilgamesh remained alone with her thoughts, golden eyes fixed on the distant figure of Vegito as he prepared the battlefield.
"Deeper interests indeed," she murmured to herself. "What are you really, Vegito? And what game are you truly playing with us all?"
Exactly one hour after the teams had dispersed, a pulse of energy rippled through the temple grounds. The ki limiters on each Servant's forehead glowed briefly, signaling the start of the exercise.
What followed was both less and more than a game.
Artoria's team executed their strategy with military precision. The defensive formation around their decoy flag was convincingly robust, drawing immediate attention from both Gilgamesh's offensive units and Vegito himself. Meanwhile, Arcueid slipped away with the real flag, utilizing her vampiric stealth to move through shadows toward an unexpected hiding place—the koi pond where Tiamat normally resided, now temporarily abandoned for the exercise.
Gilgamesh's team revealed unexpected cohesion despite their leader's imperious style. The magical labyrinth they constructed around their flag was a masterpiece of overlapping illusions, traps, and misdirections. BB and Kiara proved surprisingly effective as an infiltration team, their contrasting approaches—calculated precision and seductive distraction—complementing each other perfectly.
Vegito, for his part, provided the perfect opposing force—neither overwhelming nor yielding. He moved throughout the temple grounds like a force of nature, identifying weaknesses in each team's strategy and exploiting them just enough to create genuine challenge without ensuring his own victory.
The exercise lasted nearly three hours, evolving through multiple phases as each team adapted to the others' tactics. Temporary alliances formed and dissolved. Individual rivalries emerged and were set aside for collective goals. Moments of brilliant strategy were counterbalanced by spectacular failures as divine beings accustomed to overwhelming power learned to operate within limitations.
The conclusion came unexpectedly. After a particularly complex series of maneuvers involving most participants, Tiamat—who had remained largely passive throughout the exercise—suddenly acted. With a fluid motion that betrayed no prior intent, she simultaneously claimed both teams' flags and Vegito's position marker in a single sweeping gesture of primordial power.
"Game over," she announced in her multi-layered voice, holding all three objectives.
A moment of stunned silence followed, then a chorus of protests erupted from both teams.
"That's impossible!"
"She wasn't even participating properly!"
"The limitations should have prevented such movement!"
Vegito silenced the objections with a raised hand, his expression thoughtful as he approached Tiamat.
"Interesting strategy," he observed. "Care to explain?"
The primordial goddess tilted her head slightly. "While others fought for dominance, I observed patterns. All forces, when in motion, create predictable ripples. I simply positioned myself at the convergence point and waited for inevitability."
"You calculated the exact moment when all three objectives would be vulnerable simultaneously," Vegito realized. "Impressive."
"Not calculation," Tiamat corrected. "Perception. The universe has rhythms. I listened."
The explanation silenced further protests, replacing them with thoughtful consideration. Even Gilgamesh seemed more intrigued than outraged.
"The lesson," Vegito addressed all sixteen Servants, "isn't about winning or losing. It's about understanding different approaches to the same challenge. Some rely on direct force, others on deception, others on perception." His gaze swept across the assembled divine beings. "Against Aizen, we'll need all three."
"And which approach do you favor?" Female Solomon asked, scholarly curiosity evident in her voice.
Vegito smiled slightly. "Adaptability. The strongest warrior isn't necessarily the one with the most power, but the one who can adjust most effectively to changing circumstances."
"A convenient philosophy for one already possessing overwhelming strength," Morgan observed dryly.
"Perhaps," Vegito acknowledged. "But necessary nonetheless. Aizen is evolving, becoming something new. Fixed strategies will fail against a changing opponent."
"So what exactly is your plan for confronting him?" Scathach asked directly. "We have less than two days remaining before his supposed ascension."
Vegito looked toward Karakura Town, his expression turning serious. "First, we need to understand exactly what he's becoming. Then, we need to show him precisely what he's overlooking."
"And what might that be?" Gilgamesh inquired, genuinely curious rather than challenging for once.
Vegito's answer was simple yet profound:
"The difference between power and wisdom."
As evening fell, the temple settled into its now-familiar routine. The exercise had created a new dynamic among the Servants—more cooperative, less competitive, though the underlying rivalries remained.
In the main hall, an unexpected gathering had formed. Durga had proposed a cultural exchange, with each Servant sharing a story, song, or tradition from their original time and place. The suggestion had been met with surprising enthusiasm, transforming dinner into something resembling a festival.
Nero had gone first, naturally, delivering a dramatic recitation of Roman victory odes while striking heroic poses that made even Gilgamesh roll her eyes (though the King of Heroes was paying closer attention than she let on).
Musashi followed with a demonstration of tea ceremony, her swordsman's precision perfectly suited to the ritual's exacting requirements. Ishtar contributed a Mesopotamian hymn that made the very air vibrate with divine resonance. Medea, normally reserved, surprised everyone with ancient Greek poetry recited in its original dialect—the words carrying traces of magic that created subtle illusions as she spoke.
Even Morgan participated, sharing Celtic legends with unexpected storytelling skill that held everyone's attention despite (or perhaps because of) the dark themes woven throughout her tales.
Vegito sat among them, observing more than participating, though he listened to each contribution with genuine interest. The cultural tapestry being woven before him—spanning millennia and multiple mythologies—created a unique perspective on human (and divine) experience.
"Your turn," Arcueid declared suddenly, crimson eyes fixing on Vegito. "We've all shared something of our worlds. What about yours?"
The request drew murmurs of agreement from the others, their curiosity about their mysterious summoner evidently undiminished by days of close proximity.
"I'm not much of a storyteller," Vegito demurred.
"Then demonstrate something," Gilgamesh challenged. "Show us an aspect of your world we haven't yet seen."
Vegito considered for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."
He rose and moved to an open space in the center of the hall. With casual grace, he began a series of movements that resembled a martial arts kata but was unlike any fighting style the Servants had seen before. Each motion flowed into the next with liquid precision, creating patterns of energy that became visible even to normal perception—trails of blue-white ki that lingered in the air like luminous calligraphy.
The demonstration was neither flashy nor overtly powerful, yet it held an undeniable beauty—the perfect unity of movement and energy, form and function, strength and grace. As Vegito continued, the patterns grew more complex, weaving together into a three-dimensional mandala of light that filled the hall with gentle radiance.
When he finally returned to his starting position and the energy patterns faded, a moment of appreciative silence followed.
"That was the Dance of the Full Moon," he explained. "A Saiyan meditation technique for harmonizing body and spirit. It's traditionally performed on nights when three or more moons are visible."
"Your world has multiple moons?" Female Solomon asked, scholarly interest piqued.
"The world I was born into," Vegito clarified. "Though I've existed across several realities."
"You speak of your birth as something distinct from your existence," Scathach observed, her ancient eyes studying him carefully. "As if they are separate events."
Vegito nodded. "In a sense, they are. My... nature... is complicated."
"You mentioned 'versions' of yourself before," Kiara recalled. "Fusions of separate beings, you said."
"In other timelines, yes," Vegito acknowledged. "But I was born complete."
"Yet you retain memories of these other existences?" BB's analytical curiosity was evident.
"Echoes," Vegito corrected. "Like dreams half-remembered upon waking."
The conversation might have continued in this revealing direction had they not been interrupted by an unexpected arrival. Space distorted near the hall's entrance, and Urahara stepped through, accompanied by a black cat that moved with suspiciously human-like grace.
"Pardon the intrusion," the shopkeeper said with a tip of his striped hat. "But we have a situation developing in town that you should be aware of."
Vegito rose immediately. "Aizen?"
"Not directly," Urahara replied. "But definitely connected. Several Espada-class Arrancar have entered Karakura Town. They appear to be... testing defenses."
"Or creating distractions," the black cat added in a distinctly feminine voice that surprised none of the Servants. Supernatural felines were common enough across mythologies.
"How many?" Vegito asked.
"Three confirmed," Urahara answered. "Possibly more we haven't detected yet. They're targeting spiritually aware humans—friends of Ichigo Kurosaki, specifically."
"Hostages," Artoria concluded grimly. "Or bait."
"Most likely both," Urahara agreed.
Vegito turned to the assembled Servants. "This changes our timeline. Aizen's moving faster than anticipated."
"We should respond in force," Gilgamesh declared, already summoning her golden armor. "Crush these lesser creatures and send a message."
"No," Vegito countered. "A full-scale engagement is exactly what Aizen wants—to assess our capabilities before his transformation is complete."
"So we do nothing?" Ishtar asked incredulously. "Allow innocent humans to be harmed?"
"I didn't say that," Vegito clarified. "We respond, but selectively. A small team with specific objectives: protect the humans, gather intelligence, and minimize confrontation."
"I volunteer," Scathach said immediately. "My presence in this world is already minimal compared to some others here. I can move undetected."
"As do I," Musashi added. "My swordplay is well-suited to precision rather than wide-scale battle."
"Three should be sufficient," Vegito decided. "Scathach, Musashi, and..." He surveyed the remaining Servants thoughtfully. "Nightingale. Your healing abilities may be needed if civilians are injured."
The chosen three nodded in agreement, already preparing for deployment.
"What about you?" Urahara asked Vegito directly.
"I'll remain here for now," he replied. "If this is a distraction, splitting our core strength plays into Aizen's hands. Besides..." His expression grew thoughtful. "I suspect he's watching to see how we respond."
"Playing psychological games with a manipulator like Aizen is dangerous," the cat observed, stretching languidly.
"All games with Aizen are dangerous," Vegito acknowledged. "But necessary. Understanding his approach is as important as countering his forces."
As the selected team prepared to depart with Urahara, Gilgamesh approached Vegito, her expression uncharacteristically serious.
"You're allowing them to face Espada without your support," she observed. "That suggests either great confidence in their abilities or deliberate testing of their limitations."
"Perhaps both," Vegito admitted. "We need to know how effectively they can operate in this world against its native threats."
"A battlefield experiment," Gilgamesh noted with grudging approval. "Perhaps you have some strategic merit after all."
"High praise from the King of Heroes," Vegito remarked with a slight smile.
"Don't become accustomed to it," Gilgamesh warned, though without her usual imperious tone. "I merely recognize tactical necessity when I see it."
As the strike team departed with Urahara, the remaining Servants gathered around Vegito, their expressions ranging from concern to excitement to thoughtful calculation.
"What now?" Artoria asked, ever practical.
"Now," Vegito replied, "we prepare for Aizen's real move. Because this—" he gestured toward where Urahara's portal had closed, "—is merely the opening gambit."
Outside the temple, night fell over Karakura Town like a velvet shroud, concealing the movements of predators and protectors alike. The game had begun in earnest, with the lives of mortal and immortal alike hanging in the balance.
CHAPTER 6: FIRST BLOOD
Orihime Inoue had been having a perfectly normal evening until the sky cracked open above her apartment building.
She'd been folding laundry, humming softly to herself, trying very hard not to worry about Ichigo (who hadn't answered her texts all day) when she felt it—the distinctive pressure of a Garganta opening nearby. The spiritual pressure that poured through was cold, predatory, and unmistakably Arrancar.
Her hands froze mid-fold, a half-folded shirt clutched between suddenly trembling fingers. Three distinct signatures, all captain-level at minimum. All heading directly toward her.
Orihime reached for her phone, but before she could dial, her apartment door simply... disintegrated. Not blown in, not broken down—the molecules comprising it seemed to lose cohesion, turning to dust that scattered across her floor.
In the doorway stood a slender figure with pale skin and emerald eyes that regarded her with clinical detachment. Ulquiorra Cifer, Fourth Espada, hands casually in his pockets as if he were merely making a social call.
"Orihime Inoue," he stated flatly. "You will come with me."
To her credit, Orihime didn't scream or cower. Months of spiritual battles and training had tempered her natural timidity. Instead, she took a step back, hands rising defensively as her Shun Shun Rikka hairpins began to glow.
"Why should I?" she challenged, voice only slightly unsteady.
"Because if you resist, I am authorized to kill the other humans with spiritual awareness in this town." Ulquiorra's tone remained perfectly emotionless. "Starting with Tatsuki Arisawa, currently at her dojo three blocks from here."
Orihime's eyes widened. "You're bluffing."
"I do not bluff." Ulquiorra reached into his pocket and withdrew a small device that projected a holographic image—Tatsuki training alone in her family's dojo, completely unaware of the Arrancar named Yammy looming in the doorway behind her.
"One word from me, and she dies," Ulquiorra stated. "As will Chad Yasutora and the Quincy, Uryu Ishida. Both are currently under similar surveillance."
Orihime's shoulders slumped slightly as the calculation became clear. Her powers were extraordinary, but not combat-oriented. Even if she could somehow defeat Ulquiorra—which was extremely unlikely—she couldn't save her friends simultaneously.
"What does Aizen want with me?" she asked, buying time while desperately trying to think of options.
"Your abilities interest him," Ulquiorra replied. "Particularly in light of recent developments. You have thirty seconds to decide before I order the executions to proceed."
Orihime closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. "I'll come with you. But you have to promise my friends won't be harmed."
"I do not make promises," Ulquiorra stated. "But Lord Aizen has instructed that if you cooperate, the others will be left unharmed... for now."
It was the best she could hope for. Orihime took a deep breath, preparing to step forward—
And then everything changed.
A crimson spear erupted through the ceiling, striking the floor between Orihime and Ulquiorra with such precision that neither was harmed, though the shockwave pushed them apart. Before either could react, the spear twisted in a way that defied physics, its shaft somehow bending at impossible angles to create a barrier.
Through the new hole in her ceiling descended a woman Orihime had never seen before—tall, regal, with crimson eyes and hair that matched her spear. She landed with inhuman grace between the human and the Arrancar.
"I believe