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Rukia's mind went utterly blank. She couldn't comprehend it—the expression on his face, calm and composed, even serene, as though he were watching the blooming of spring rather than the looming of death. Why would someone poised to die wear such a look?
Then, like a bell tolling in the recesses of memory, Su Li's voice resurfaced in her thoughts. She recalled his visit, the faint warmth in his tone, the strange certainty that had struck her as out of place at the time.
"You'll be fine, Rukia."
Back then, she had taken it as nothing more than a well-meaning lie, the kind of empty reassurance meant to soften the fall. But now, remembering the way he had spoken—without hesitation, without doubt—her eyes shimmered, not with tears, but with confusion, with a question she hadn't dared to ask: could he have truly meant it?
"Really… I really…"
But the flicker faded as quickly as it came. Doubt, cold and heavy, reasserted itself. Her shoulders lowered, her gaze fell, and her voice slipped out in a barely audible murmur.
"How could that even be possible…"
Everything had reached its end. There was no one left to intervene, no miracle waiting in the wings. Her fate had already been carved into the bones of history. Whatever Su Li had meant, it didn't matter now. His words were a kindness, nothing more, and the strange look on his face—something between defiance and tranquility—meant little in the shadow of the Sōkyoku.
So she let go. Of fear. Of resistance. Of everything.
"Goodbye… nine hundred and forty years…"
The number escaped her lips like the final toll of a bell, soft and inevitable, and in the brilliance of the Sōkyoku's light, her face bore nothing but the stillness of quiet surrender.
"Damn it… how long is that guy going to keep us waiting?!"
Kyoraku Shunsui's nerves stretched taut beneath the weight of tension. His fingers drifted toward the hilt of his Zanpakutō, the gesture slow but decisive. He had already made his choice—if Jūshirō didn't appear in time, then he would act, regardless of the consequences. Yet as he stared up at the monstrous, flaming titan that was the Sōkyoku's firebird, a dreadful uncertainty crept through him. The sheer spiritual pressure radiating from it shook the ground beneath his feet and stirred unease even in a seasoned captain like him.
Across from him, Su Li stood still as stone, his eyes fixed on Rukia's bound form. A faint smile touched his lips—strangely gentle, unreadable—but the moment passed, and something in his gaze shifted. His brows drew inward, his posture tightened, and then, without warning, a tremor of recognition flashed through his expression.
A voice, long buried in silence, surged into his mind.
His Zanpakutō—silent for forty years—was calling out to him.
Su Li's breath hitched, his eyes widening as the weight of it hit him. For decades, he had tried everything to reach it. He had leveled Karakura Town in a single night. He had whispered by candlelight, day after day, year after year, pouring out his thoughts into a void that never answered. He had waited, and hoped, and despaired. And for forty years, there had been only silence. Cold. Unyielding. Empty.
Until now.
Now, at the brink of Rukia's death, the voice had returned. But it wasn't the same. This wasn't just an echo—it was willful. It was awake. It was his Zanpakutō… and something else entirely.
"What? You wanna slice that turkey?!"
The sudden crudeness of the remark nearly made Su Li stumble.
"Well… technically, sure, there's no issue… but did you have to call it a turkey? That's not exactly respectful…"
"Also, this would be the moment you call me something like 'Father,' right? I brought you into the world—spiritually speaking…"
"Wait—did you just curse at me?! Who taught you language like that?! What kind of corrupt influence—?!"
"Me? …Okay. Point taken."
Despite the irreverence, the sarcasm, and the downright vulgarity, Su Li couldn't suppress the thrill that surged through him. After all these years, after everything he had done, Eggy—his once-mute partner—was finally speaking again. It didn't matter if its tone was obnoxious. It didn't matter that its mouth—or will—needed washing out. The connection was real. The bond had been reignited. Shikai, Bankai… everything he'd longed for was now just ahead, no longer a dream but a path opening at last.
Elation flooded through him, filling every breath, every heartbeat. But as he looked once more at the Sōkyoku, burning brighter than ever, his joy gave way to solemn purpose. Originally, he had planned to disrupt the execution through sheer chaos—by overwhelming the field with unpredictability. But now, with Eggy awake, everything had changed. He owed it this moment. He owed it action.
"I'll let you handle this one," Su Li murmured, voice calm and reverent as he turned to face the great fiery beast.
At that same moment, a deep, ancient voice echoed across the stone execution grounds.
"Though several captains remain absent, the time dictated by Central 46 has come."
The command came from Yamamoto Genryūsai himself, his voice absolute.
"Proceed with the execution."
Kyoraku exhaled slowly, the finality settling into his chest like lead.
"Jūshirō… you're not going to make it in time, are you…"
Elsewhere, barreling up the mountain path with wind screaming around him, Ukitake ran at full speed. Slung to his back was a massive mechanism, its weight slowing his movements to a crawl. Behind him, Qingyin and Kōsentarō gasped and staggered, their bodies nearly giving out as they fought to keep pace.
"Damn it… we're going to be too late…"
He could already see it—the massive firebird hovering high above the Sōkyoku, radiating flames and fury. But the platform was still far, and time had run out.
Within the watching crowd, concealed in the shadows, Shihōin Yoruichi's jaw tightened with frustration. Her sharp eyes locked onto one particular figure standing among the ranks.
"Damn it!! Why is that guy still not moving?!"
And then, King Ryūjin spread his wings with a thundering shriek. Flame surged outward in a scorching wave, distorting the very air as the spiritual heat slammed against the mountain. Byakuya Kuchiki closed his eyes, breath shallow, his hands trembling despite the poise he worked so hard to maintain.
"Forgive me, Scarlet…"
"I couldn't keep my promise…"
The silence that followed was absolute, as though the air itself held its breath.
Then, with the force of a falling star, the Sōkyoku's firebird launched downward.
Its massive beak, forged in spiritual flame, plunged toward Rukia with killing intent so absolute that the mere touch would disintegrate her where she stood.
She did not resist. She did not cry out. She simply closed her eyes, accepting the final moment with a quiet exhale.
But just before the darkness swallowed her vision—
A figure stepped between her and death.
"Su… Su Li!!!"
Her voice rang out, high and raw with disbelief.
Yamamoto's eyes snapped open, wide with surprise. Kyoraku jolted upright, alarm etched across his face. Yoruichi surged to her feet, tension radiating from every line of her body. Even Byakuya, frozen until now, opened his eyes in stunned silence. And Sui-Fēng—ever disciplined—visibly flinched.
There was no mistaking it.
The man now standing between Rukia and the Sōkyoku… was Su Li.
"Su—Su Li!! Move!! Get out of the way!! You'll die!!"
Rukia's voice cracked with desperation. She had already made peace with her death. But to let someone else die in her place—that she could not bear.
"Fool!! What do you think you're doing?!" Yamamoto roared, his reiatsu crackling.
But Su Li only smiled. Unbothered, even calm, he stared up at the incoming inferno and reached for his blade.
"Rukia," he said, voice carrying like thunder over the silent hill, "I told you."
"You'll be fine."
And then, a flash.
A blinding arc of white light burst forth as Su Li's Zanpakutō cut through the sky. The radiance glowed not with fury, but with purity, as though it rejected the firebird's judgment outright. With a single, fluid motion, he brought the blade down upon the Sōkyoku's beak.
Ding—
The sound echoed like temple chimes, soft but resolute.
His Zanpakutō, slim and almost fragile against the towering bulk of the firebird, should have shattered on contact. Logic demanded it.
But logic meant nothing here.
The beak split.
The head followed.
And in an instant, the great body of King Ryūjin—Sōkyoku's wrath made manifest—was cleaved in two, undone by a single stroke.
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