Bankai.
The final resort in the literal sense.
The ultimate manifestation of a Shinigami's soul, released in its purest, most destructive form.
And among all Bankai, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni's stood at the pinnacle.
For a thousand years—no matter what enemy or situation arose—he had refrained from unleashing it.
To outsiders, this restraint might seem like weakness.
A sign that the old man had grown soft, past his prime.
But no rumors, no whispers could shake his resolve.
Only Yamamoto himself—and those who followed him for decades—understood one truth:
This zanpakutō could destroy the world.
Unless on the verge of life and death, Yamamoto would never dare to unsheathe its full wrath.
And now, having chosen to do so—
It meant only one thing.
That Seiya Arima's existence had reached a level that demanded Yamamoto's true power.
Bankai.
Hsss...
The moment Yamamoto whispered the word, time itself seemed to pause.
Seiya felt an invisible field expanding outward, warping the space around them.
A strange unease rose in his chest.
He furrowed his brows, trying to adjust his posture—
And then, a crisp sound rang out.
Crack.
Something... tore?
He touched his lip.
A small split had formed at the corner—
Not from an attack.
It was just that dry.
His lips had cracked from lack of moisture.
The air itself was being desiccated.
Every ounce of water in the atmosphere seemed to evaporate.
The heat suffused in every direction—
And the winds began to spiral, air pulled toward Yamamoto like a whirlpool.
This wasn't the Bankai's power.
This... was just a natural reaction from being in his presence.
Not even the spiritual barrier Aizen had erected could contain it.
Outside the barrier, everyone felt it.
Jūshirō Ukitake was the first to show it—
His coughing worsened instantly.
"Captain Ukitake, are you okay?!"
"Cough— I... I'm fine…"
It wasn't his illness—
It was just the dryness burning his throat.
Nearby, Second Division's Sui-Feng wiped sweat from her brow, eyes full of confusion.
Ōmaeda was less composed—panting, wiping his face desperately.
"C-Captain! Isn't it getting hotter?!"
Sui-Feng didn't answer.
When she didn't understand something, she kept quiet.
Ukitake's sunken eyes scanned the area.
His lips were tightly drawn.
It's here.
"Sensei… must it come to this?"
His whisper never reached Yamamoto.
Meanwhile, Ise Nanao had already collapsed from the spiritual pressure.
Shunsui knelt by her, shielding her with his own reiryoku like a parasol against a storm.
His expression was heavy.
He'd wanted to ask Yamamoto not to take things this far.
Because this Bankai—
Was indiscriminate.
Looking at Nanao gasping, curled up tightly, he could only sigh.
Please, end this quickly, Yamamoto.
Otherwise... the Gotei 13 might be steamed alive before the enemy is defeated.
Elsewhere...
Even outside the false Karakura Town—
In the living world, Urahara Kisuke and Tessai noticed something was wrong.
The sunlight…
It was getting hotter. Much hotter.
Tessai worked nervously to stabilize the barrier.
Urahara's usual smirk was long gone.
Ururu ran up, holding a measuring device.
"Urahara-san, the t-temperature… it's gone up two degrees Celsius in just 15 seconds…"
Silence.
Urahara patted her head gently.
"Good job. Please keep monitoring. Don't be scared… we'll figure something out."
It was all he could say.
Normally, Urahara never felt helpless.
But now, even he had no answer.
Yes—the Gotei 13 were acting in justice.
But…
Yamamoto's power—
Could turn this internal conflict into a global cataclysm.
—
Meanwhile, in Hueco Mundo.
Ichigo stood over a fallen Ulquiorra, dismissing the remnants of his Hollow armor.
"You still want to fight?"
Ulquiorra's body was a wreck.
Half of it crushed and collapsed.
He couldn't even move his neck to look at Ichigo.
"…The sky in Hueco Mundo never changes…"
Inside, his mind was torn.
His duty was to guard Las Noches, to keep Orihime from being taken away.
That was Aizen's order.
But Seiya's words echoed too.
"If you can't win, give up. Don't die."
He didn't understand it.
A beast with broken fangs can no longer hunt.
It gets eaten.
What's the point of surviving if you're worthless?
You should die.
But Seiya had told him something else—
Even Arrancar should find meaning in life. Just surviving can change something.
Ulquiorra looked at the unchanging sky.
"…No. You've won."
Surrender.
A quiet form of acceptance.
Ichigo relaxed immediately.
He turned toward Orihime to speak—
But she was already kneeling beside Ulquiorra.
"What are you doing, woman?"
"I'm going to heal you!"
Her voice didn't waver.
"You didn't really hurt me. I don't want to see you die. But I'm sorry—I have to leave."
She wasn't conflicted anymore.
Seiya's teachings had changed her too.
Ulquiorra stared silently.
"You're not afraid I'll change my mind?"
"You won't."
Orihime bit her lip, channeling her power.
"And if you did… Ichigo would beat you again."
So simple.
Not kill.
Restrain.
Ulquiorra saw Ichigo's warm smile—and closed his eyes.
A man with no heart, finally done thinking.
When the healing finished, Unohana arrived.
"Ichigo, the battle in the real world is still ongoing. Will you assist?"
Unohana had a point—Ichigo was one of the few still untouched by Aizen's illusions.
He nodded firmly.
"Of course!"
As the Garganta opened, Unohana leapt in first—
Then paused, surprised.
"What's wrong?"
"…We need to hurry, Ichigo."
She exhaled sharply.
"The battle there… has reached its peak."
—
Because of Zanka no Tachi, everything was changing.
And at the heart of it—
Seiya.
He finally returned to himself.
Gazing ahead, he saw—
A bleached, burning world.
Air warped by heat.
Everything twisted, melting.
And at the center—
Yamamoto held a deceptively plain blade.
Compared to the roaring flames of Ryūjin Jakka, this was… humble.
No shine, no gleam.
Its edge was corroded, pitted with rust-like marks.
But seeing it—
Every instinct in Seiya's body screamed.
Extremely dangerous.
"Bankai, Zanka no Tachi."
"All of Ryūjin Jakka's flames sealed into the blade, stored within until they become complete… that is my Bankai."
"Anyone struck by this blade—without exception—will be consumed by boiling flames until nothing remains."
His voice was calm.
No emotion.
Just fact.
"This ability is simple. But it has a unique trait."
"All the fire I've cultivated through centuries of training continues to accumulate within."
"I haven't released it in a thousand years—
Not since I fought an old nemesis."
He raised the blade.
Yamamoto's eyes were steady.
As if he saw not just Seiya—
But something far, far beyond him.
"My body may decay.
My spirit may wane.
But training…
Training never betrays."
"All my years, all my blood, all my fire is in this sword."
"Seiya—
Do you believe you can withstand this?"
A question.
Was it a challenge? A monologue?
Seiya didn't know.
But he had to answer.
"…Quite the zanpakutō, truly…"
No tricks.
Just pure accumulation.
A furnace, constantly refined.
Its edge was Yamamoto's scars.
Years of hammering—of pain—reforged again and again.
Could Seiya withstand that?
He asked himself—
And his answer came with a smile.
"I think… I can."
Not arrogance.
Confidence born of mastery.
He raised Sāgara Ryū.
Flipped the blade downward.
And calmly declared—
"Bankai—Eight Aspects of the Heavenly Dragon: Tenbu."
Bankai vs. Bankai.
This was the summit.
The pinnacle of the Gotei 13.
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Powerstones?
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