"What a nice view..."
As the phantom of the red-haired goddess embraced Daemon, everyone—Kyoraku Shunsui, Soi Fon, Yamamoto Mei, Kasumigaoka Utaha, and even the spectators watching via the chat group—fell silent, expressions frozen in awe.
A hush swept over them.
Then came the inevitable: flushed cheeks, widened eyes, and even spontaneous nosebleeds—somehow, even from the girls.
It was her—Aphrodite. The goddess of love and beauty. A being whose allure once bewitched the twelve Olympians themselves.
She didn't need to seduce. Her mere existence exuded a charm so devastating that heroes and gods alike would willingly kneel, their hearts surrendered before they even knew it.
She was the embodiment of beauty.
"Unless someone is a truly heartless hero… who in the world could resist this kind of unfair charm?" Daemon muttered internally.
At that moment, the legendary Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto—captain of the Gotei 13—let out a muffled grunt. It was as though someone had hammered his mind. His vision spun, his knees buckled.
Under the stunned gaze of Soi Fon, Matsumoto Rangiku, and Kyoraku Shunsui…
Blood began to stream from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—perfectly enacting the grotesque image of "bleeding from seven orifices."
The old man, once standing firm like an immovable mountain, staggered and dropped to one knee. His figure was drenched in blood, trembling, unsteady.
"Captain!?"
"Teacher!"
"No way… even the Commander-in-Chief, the strongest Shinigami… was brought to this state from just one blow!?"
Soi Fon and Kyoraku Shunsui were speechless, their disbelief visible on their faces.
Even Yamamoto himself, who had been the first to insist on this duel, hadn't expected Daemon's new power to affect him like this.
Could it be… that his sword wasn't old after all? That deep down, even he longed for a love he never dared to admit?
As that stray thought passed through his battered consciousness, the old man slowly rose.
"Impressive…" he said, voice rasping. "It's been a long time since someone hurt me this badly. But your power… still isn't enough!"
Blood covered his face, running down into his beard, obscuring his vision. Yet Yamamoto's presence only grew more intense. With a deep breath, he raised his Zanpakutō, and the air warped.
"All things in the universe turn to ash—Ryūjin Jakka!"
The sheer weight of his Shikai release shook the air. Even at its base form, the heat rivaled the surface of the sun, causing the air to shimmer and forcing those nearby—Soi Fon, Kasumigaoka Utaha, and others—to retreat with expressions of horror.
"You may have had your moment, boy. But now, the true battle begins. If you can't handle it, surrender quickly—don't let yourself die!"
The air cracked as his flame-wrapped blade swung through the sky. A wave of fire surged forward.
"RYŪJIN JAKKA!!"
BOOM—!
The flame—hotter than hell itself—erupted like a solar flare, engulfing Daemon entirely.
The blast distorted the air, cracked the earth, and scorched the sky. Nature itself recoiled, as if recognizing the terror of the Death God's true strength.
"Hey—HEY! That guy's being roasted alive!" Soi fon shouted from the sidelines, eyes wide. "Why isn't he surrendering?! The captain's fire already swallowed him whole!"
Yamamoto Mei let out a dismissive snort. "Heh. Don't worry. You think that flame would be enough to burn Mr. Daemon?"
"Huh?! You call this 'just' a flame!?"
Soi fon could hardly believe it. Her skin felt like it was peeling just from being nearby.
"This temperature exceeds the surface of the sun! No one could survive this!"
Kasumigaoka Utaha chuckled confidently, flipping her ponytail with pride.
"Captain of the Second Division, you're underestimating Mr. World Noble."
She turned to the smoldering battlefield.
"Even 15 million degrees—the intensity that could reduce all of Soul Society to ash—is nothing to him. Not even his clothes would burn."
And as if to validate her words, a figure slowly emerged from the inferno.
Unscathed. Untouched. Unbothered.
Even his clothes remained perfectly intact.
Soi Fon stared blankly. "He's really not hurt… Could he… actually win against the Captain…?"
She recalled his earlier words—words she'd once dismissed as arrogant fantasy. But now…?
Could she really consider joining him?
Yamamoto stepped forward, frowning.
"You… are immune to fire?"
Daemon smiled lazily. "Who knows? But your flame won't harm me, that's for sure."
"Arrogant brat…" the old man growled. "You think resisting one of my powers makes you untouchable?"
Still, he was inwardly impressed. Toshiro Hitsugaya and Gin Ichimaru—both defeated by this man—suddenly made a lot more sense.
But it also meant…
"Shikai alone won't be enough to defeat you. That leaves me no choice."
He exhaled slowly, his spiritual pressure erupting to terrifying new heights, blanketing the entire battlefield.
Everyone around—Soi Fon, Utaha, Kyoraku—gasped for breath, their bodies trembling under the weight.
"Since this is not a life-or-death battle, unleashing my full power won't destroy the Soul Society outright. But a fight this rare… it would be a shame to hold back now."
Then came the next transformation.
"Bankai! Zanka no Tachi!"
The spiritual pressure exploded again. The ground liquefied into magma. The sky burned. The temperature soared across the entire realm. The oceans sizzled and clouds evaporated.
Panic spread through the Seireitei as Shinigami everywhere began to collapse. The Fourth Division was overwhelmed with wounded.
Even Captain Unohana, mid-surgery, paused.
"Toshiro… Ichimaru… and now… Captain-Commander's full power… Has Yhwach returned?"
Back on the battlefield, Yamamoto raised his flaming blade, speaking with grim finality.
"This is your last chance. Surrender. If I strike now… even I can't control what happens."
Daemon looked unimpressed.
"Old man, you really think you're the only one with dangerous flames? If I wasn't going easy on you because of Mei… you'd already be lying in that sea of lava."
That crossed a line.
"You brat! Enough arrogance!"
"North Flame of Ashes—Final Incineration!!"
The sword, brimming with fire that could melt dimensions, came down. The sky fractured. The earth shattered. Entire buildings in the distance collapsed like sandcastles.
"RUN!!"
Soi Fon and Kyoraku simultaneously unleashed their Shikai, shielding Kasumigaoka and the others with powerful Kidō barriers as they escaped.
"He's gone mad! He's going to destroy the whole Soul Society just to defeat that brat!"
"No," Utaha said calmly, her eyes locked on the inferno.
"Mr. World Noble will not lose."
Kyoraku glanced sideways, surprised.
"You're awfully confident for someone watching their man burn."
He sighed, half in admiration, half in jealousy.
"If I had a woman like that loving me… I'd be ready to die too."
At the same time, deep within the magma ocean—
Contrary to what Kyoraku Shunsui had expected, the outcome of the battle wasn't one-sided. The student didn't fall so easily. In fact, the teacher—Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni—found himself facing something far beyond what he could have anticipated.
His sword, Zanka no Tachi, bathed in a heat hot enough to resemble the core of the sun, descended like divine wrath. It was meant to incinerate anything it touched.
But it never landed.
A blinding flash—then silence.
In the heart of the blazing battlefield, a hand reached up and caught it. The audience—those watching from afar—saw an image forever burned into memory: Daemon, standing there unscathed, holding Yamamoto's scorching blade as if he were gripping sunlight itself.
"You... boy…" Yamamoto's voice trembled as he took in the impossible sight. "Not only are you immune to flame... you're unaffected by the temperatures of the sun's core? What are you? The actual son of the Sun God?"
Despite releasing a slash meant to vaporize mountains, there was no burn on Daemon's hand. Not a scorch mark on his body. Not even a wrinkle on his clothes.
For the first time in two millennia, the man known as the God of Death, commander of the Gotei 13, looked genuinely shocked.
Where did my granddaughter meet this monster…? he thought grimly. Even Yhwach wasn't this terrifying...
Daemon, on the other hand, looked calm almost bored.
"Are we done here, old man?" he asked with a faint smile. "This was just a bit of fun for me, but I think you've had enough. Haven't you?"
With a slight clench of his fingers, Daemon's grip tightened.
Crack.
The 15-million-degree sword slash shattered dispersed into nothing like brittle glass, vaporizing into the air.
A moment later, a new sword began to form in Daemon's hand—gilded, regal, impossibly radiant.
The sheer presence of it sent a shiver down Yamamoto's spine. His instincts screamed at him to retreat. His centuries of battle experience told him this was no ordinary weapon.
But it didn't matter.
Even with distance, even with speed—there was no escaping that blade.
"God-Avoid."
Daemon whispered.
A golden flash tore through the battlefield.
The sword didn't miss.
It couldn't miss.
Yamamoto's body convulsed as the blade sliced from his right waist to his left shoulder. Blood burst from the wound, painting the ground in crimson. His zanpakutō deactivated. His power vanished. The battle was over.
The great Captain-Commander collapsed.
The Soul Society, which had been turned into an inferno, finally came to a halt.
A terrible silence followed.
Lying in a pool of his own blood, Yamamoto could only stare up at the sky, stunned.
"That sword… it's absurd," he muttered through coughs of blood. "It doesn't need to aim… doesn't need technique… doesn't even need to find weaknesses. It just wins. What point is there in swordsmanship anymore?"
He wasn't lamenting the pain or defeat—but the very meaning of the path he'd walked for centuries.
Daemon could only scratch the back of his head, expression innocent.
"It's not like I chose for it to be like that," he said, almost apologetically.
The golden blade, his Noble Phantasm, was the ultimate embodiment of the concept of a 'cut.'
A merciless mockery of every swordsman who had trained their entire lives for something it could achieve effortlessly. It was exactly why Daemon used it so often—because it simply worked.
"Mr. Daemon!"
A sharp, familiar voice rang out. Daemon turned.
From above, Yamamoto Mei and the others arrived, stepping across the sky using spiritual energy. They had escaped the core of the battlefield just moments ago, and now stared in disbelief.
"Teacher—!?" "Captain—!?"
Kyoraku Shunsui, Soi Fon, and the other Captains landed, shocked to see Yamamoto Genryusai lying on the ground—battered, broken.
But what truly stunned them was the sight of Daemon, standing there without so much as a scratch.
They could barely comprehend it.
Daemon had defeated the strongest Shinigami—the legendary Captain-Commander himself and looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Only Mei and a few others from the dimensional chat group remained unsurprised. They'd seen Daemon's feats.
They knew he was a natural predator of anyone who relied on flame and brute power.
Yamamoto had power.
But Daemon?
Daemon had dominance.
As he lay in agony, Yamamoto couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
He had fought well, and in a sense, he felt content. He had tested his strength one final time and met a worthy opponent.
But watching the state of the Soul Society—now scorched and ruined—filled him with sorrow.
"I was too impulsive…"
But Daemon had no interest in seeing this world destroyed.
Reaching into his dimensional inventory, he pulled out a glowing crystal vial—The Goddess's Tear, enhanced twelve times by Luo Hao.
He raised it gently and activated its power.
A wave of divine light surged across the sky. Then—
Rain.
Gentle, warm rain fell across Soul Society. The magma cooled. The burnt land revived. Wounded Shinigami began to stir as their injuries healed.
Even Yamamoto's wounds began to close.
Soi Fon, watching all this unfold, felt a strange chill. Her mind reeled.
"This… is this man a god…?"
And that old, dangerous desire—the one she'd buried long ago—resurfaced.
If I stay with him… maybe I really can catch that damn woman Yoruichi one day…
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