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Kurosaki Ichigo's pupils shrank to pinpricks, heart hammering against his ribs. The scene before him—this exact sensation—was disturbingly familiar. Someone had once stopped his blade in precisely this way. But that was then. Now, he stood in the state of Bankai—faster, sharper, his spiritual pressure far beyond what it once was. He'd pushed past his limits, climbed beyond the level he'd once thought unreachable. And still, his attack had been stopped—again—this time not by Kenpachi or Byakuya or even an Espada, but by someone different. Someone worse. Only now, as the dust settled and blood hung metallic in the air, did he fully understand why Urahara Kisuke had warned him—over and over again—before entering Soul Society. "Be careful," Urahara had said with that maddening half-smile. "There are monsters here."
A cloud of crimson mist exploded in front of Ichigo. His body wavered, strength draining fast, and before the darkness overtook him, he turned with a final effort. Far in the distance, standing on the edge of the cliff like a god watching over insects, was a man with a calm smile. Aizen Sōsuke. They're all monsters… was Ichigo's last coherent thought before he collapsed in a pool of blood, unconscious.
Rukia and Orihime's voices cracked the air as panic surged. Faces pale, hearts racing, they rushed toward his fallen body. Renji Abarai stood frozen, his eyes locked on the shattered remains of Zabimaru—his Bankai, the pride of his soul. This was the first time he had drawn it fully into battle... and it had been reduced to fragments. In mere seconds, he'd been overpowered and discarded. In the silence that followed, a heavy weight of doubt began to crush him from within.
But Aizen, unmoved by the wreckage of strength around him, raised his hand with no change in expression and spoke softly. "Hadō Number Four—Byakurai." A bolt of piercing white lightning surged from his fingertip, far more refined and lethal than any typical casting of the spell, and it tore straight through Renji's chest. Blood sprayed across the stone. Renji's eyes rolled back as his body crumpled, unmoving.
Rukia's face was speckled with warm blood, her mind shattered by disbelief. Her body wouldn't move. Her thoughts refused to form. They were supposed to be strong. Ichigo had mastered Bankai. Renji too. She had watched them both climb to that peak—the pinnacle of Shinigami power. But before this man, even that highest power looked meaningless. They hadn't stood a chance.
And then came the voice, calm and close. "Stand up, Rukia Kuchiki." The sound froze her veins. She turned slowly, every movement strained, and met the serene eyes of Aizen Sōsuke. He smiled gently, his hand extending toward her like an offer of salvation—but to her, it looked like a claw reaching from the depths of hell. Her limbs locked up. She couldn't flee. Couldn't even scream.
Two sharp bursts split the wind as blades flashed and blood exploded into the air again, staining her already-soaked robes. In her trembling vision, she saw Aizen's body pierced by two swords. "Brother… Vice-Captain Sasakibe…" Kuchiki Byakuya and Chōjirō Sasakibe stood with blades buried in Aizen's body. Their eyes were cold, their stances rigid, their timing perfectly aligned—an ambush executed at the very brink of disaster. But then both men staggered. Their faces paled. They coughed blood—simultaneously—and Rukia's heart dropped into her stomach.
Aizen's body vanished like mist. Before her now stood a horror far worse—both blades had struck true, but not into Aizen. They were lodged in each other's chests. Stunned, disoriented, the two men looked down at their own weapons, then into each other's eyes. Confusion, betrayal, disbelief all surged through them in waves. They had been tricked—completely.
Orihime gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Others stood paralyzed, unable to speak. In their eyes, two Captains had impaled each other without hesitation—and not one had seen the illusion.
"My, my," said Gin Ichimaru with a grin, his voice as silver and sharp as his eyes. "Kyōka Suigetsu really is a terrifying ability, isn't it?" Aizen stood behind them all, hands calmly folded behind his back, not a single strand of hair out of place. "I could've ended things myself without the theatrics," he said, his voice smooth, his tone amused. "But watching them strike down their own allies is… endlessly fascinating." The softest smile touched his lips—a smile that chilled bone. "You've got a wicked sense of fun, Aizen-taichō," Gin added, his grin stretching wider than ever.
Byakuya and Sasakibe fell without a word, the life draining from their bodies as their blades slipped free. Neither could fight anymore. Their spiritual pressure was flickering embers—barely there, almost gone. Rukia stared at her fallen brother, her throat tight, her eyes burning. She looked up slowly toward the man who had dismantled her world in moments. What is he?
In seconds, Ichigo, Renji, Byakuya, Sasakibe—warriors she had trusted, admired, leaned on—were left broken at Aizen's feet. She wanted to scream. She wanted to say something. But fear clamped down on her chest, holding every word prisoner. Her body trembled violently, a visible quake of helplessness. And someone noticed.
A heart, fragile but defiant, stepped into the storm. "I reject—Santen Kesshun!" Orihime's voice rang out, steady and brave. A golden barrier light surged forward like a comet, racing toward Aizen. He tilted his head. The attack missed. But it curved—impossibly—looping midair like a blade drawn by fate, arcing back and charging again at the captain. Aizen raised his brow slightly and caught the energy with a casual gesture. Clap. It stopped in his fingers.
"Let me go, damn it!" A shrill, furious voice broke the air—Tsubaki. Orihime cried his name, eyes wide with horror. But Aizen didn't flinch. He watched the struggling, foul-mouthed spirit with mild curiosity. "Fascinating…" Tsubaki unleashed a burst of golden force in protest. But it was too late. Aizen pinched—just enough—and Tsubaki spat blood, his energy blinking out. Orihime's voice cracked with anguish.
And then—movement. A giant black fist crashed toward Aizen. Sado Yasutora's powerful strike exploded through the air—but Aizen turned slightly, lifted his Zanpakutō, and with one precise swing, the arm shattered. Orihime and the others shouted in horror as Sado hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath him. He gritted his teeth, growling. "Damn it… this guy… If only I still had my power…"
Uryū Ishida watched from the shadows, his fists clenched, helpless. He had sacrificed everything in the battle against Mayuri Kurotsuchi—his Quincy power gone, his spirit weapon burned out. What remained was only a boy in glasses and rage. "Tch… This is why I can't stand Shinigami…" Shiba Ganjūrō's voice was laced with fury.
But before anything more could be said, a roar thundered across the battlefield. Not human. Not hollow. Something bestial and seething with fury. "Tōsen!!!" A black shadow plummeted from the sky above. Sōkyoku Hill shook. And the monster had only just arrived.
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