A vast sinkhole split the battlefield, its rim choked with smoke and dust that drifted like storm clouds over the ruins below. The air trembled with the echoes of impact—each muffled boom rolling out like the beat of distant war drums. With every pulse of sound, the hearts of those who watched seemed to pound in rhythm, a slow, fearful thunder in their chests.
Shinigami and humans alike gathered at the crater's edge, drawn forward one after another until they could finally make out the scene within. The moment they saw it, silence fell.
At the bottom of the pit lay Aizen Sōsuke—broken, bloodied, and barely recognizable. His face was swollen beyond shape, his once-imposing figure covered in dirt and bruises, stripped of the calm, invincible air that had once made him seem untouchable.
And above him, straddling his chest, was Su Li. The boy's fists rose and fell again and again, raining down blows with relentless precision. Each strike landed with a deep, resonant thud—boom, boom, boom—the true source of the war-drum rhythm that had haunted the air moments ago.
Every punch made the onlookers flinch. The sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberated through the hollowed battlefield. It was raw, unending, and terrifyingly real.
Aizen's earlier battle against the Gotei 13 had left him only lightly wounded even after the captains took turns striking him. But now, with nothing but his own strength, a single young man had beaten him into such a miserable state that it defied reason.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Everyone knew Su Li was powerful—some had even called him monstrous—but this? This was something else entirely. Could one man truly surpass the combined might of all thirteen Court Guard Divisions?
Yamamoto Genryūsai stood in grim silence, eyes fixed on the crater. His burned arm throbbed faintly, yet his focus remained on the boy below. For the first time in centuries, the old Captain-Commander felt uncertainty gnaw at his pride. Was he still the strongest Shinigami alive?
Aizen, pinned beneath Su Li's fists, could no longer think clearly. He knew the boy was powerful—he had known it even before his evolution. That was why he had avoided facing Su Li until he had fully fused with the Hōgyoku. But now, even after achieving that perfect union and transcending the limits of ordinary souls, he was still being pummeled into the dirt. Confusion gave way to fury.
What kind of abomination had the Gotei 13 placed at their gates? Some glorified security guard turned divine executioner? If Su Li had possessed such strength all along, why hadn't he destroyed him back when he first defected from Soul Society?
That unanswered question burned in Aizen's mind—but Su Li gave him no time to voice it. The blows kept coming, each one heavier, sharper, and more deliberate than the last. The sound of fists striking bone rang out in steady rhythm, and though Aizen's skull bent under the force, his life refused to slip away. The Hōgyoku's power—its relentless, godlike regeneration—kept him alive through everything.
Nearby, Urahara Kisuke scratched his head with an awkward grimace. He wanted nothing more than to let Su Li continue, but reason tugged at him.
"Uh, Su Li," he said hesitantly, "I hate to interrupt, but Aizen's fused completely with the Hōgyoku. His regeneration is absolute. Killing him like this is... nearly impossible."
Su Li's fist froze mid-air. Slowly, he turned his head toward Urahara, sweat beading across his brow. Aizen's battered face, dented moments before, began to mend before everyone's eyes, the bones snapping back into place with unnatural speed.
Silence blanketed the field again. No one needed to speak; they all knew Urahara was right.
Su Li's brows furrowed in mild irritation rather than surprise. "If I don't beat him unconscious," he said evenly, "how else are you planning to seal him?"
Urahara's eyes widened. He hadn't told anyone about that plan. The boy's calm certainty unsettled him. "How does he even know...?" he thought, too startled to answer.
When no reply came, Su Li merely rolled his eyes and turned back to Aizen, resuming his brutal rhythm.
Boom, boom, boom.
Off to the side, Tōshirō Hitsugaya squinted in confusion. "Why is Su Li's arm turning black? Does anyone know what kind of technique that is?"
No one answered.
Yadōmaru Lisa, who had been scribbling notes the entire time, lifted her small notebook. "I've been keeping records," she said casually. "Want to see?"
Tōshirō snatched it from her hands and flipped through the pages, eyes scanning rapidly—until he stopped, face flushing crimson.
"It darkens, hardens, and the diameter increases slightly upon visual inspection..." he read aloud, before his voice broke.
Matsumoto Rangiku blinked in concern. "Captain, are you alright? Did your wound open again?"
Tōshirō shook his head frantically, steam practically pouring from his ears. "What did you show me?!" he hissed, snapping the notebook shut and thrusting it back at Lisa.
Lisa only grinned. "That's right—it turns black, hardens, and—"
Before she could finish, Rangiku clamped a hand over her mouth.
Meanwhile, down below, Su Li's fists had already fallen more than a hundred times. He finally paused, lifting an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Aizen's resilience was absurd—his flesh refused to tear, his blood reformed as quickly as it spilled, and even after such relentless punishment, his eyes still carried that same cold, calculating calm.
From the beginning, Aizen hadn't fought back. He had been watching, waiting—measuring something. When Su Li's hand hesitated and that small gesture of fatigue appeared, Aizen's lips twitched faintly. His suspicion was confirmed.
Forty years ago, during the graduation trials at the Spiritual Arts Academy, Aizen had noticed a subtle flaw in the boy's fighting rhythm—a weakness buried deep within his Ultra Instinct. But back then, he had lacked proof. Now, seeing the faint sheen of sweat and the slowed motion of Su Li's arm, he knew for certain: the flaw was still there.
Ultra Instinct devoured stamina at an incredible rate. Su Li's physical strength was finally waning. And if Aizen didn't act now, he would lose this chance forever.
With a flick of his wrist, darkness rippled through his palm, coalescing into a small black cube—Negación. Originally used to confine rebellious Espada, its spiritual resonance could trap even a Shinigami.
In an instant, the barrier expanded outward, engulfing Su Li in blinding light.
"Su Li!!"
"Little Junior Brother!!"
"Captain Su Li!!"
Cries echoed as Aizen's battered body rose from the crater. Without hesitation, he swung Kyōka Suigetsu in a massive arc. The sword pressure crashed outward, splitting the air with a roar that sent waves of crushing reiatsu sweeping across the battlefield.
Shinigami scattered in panic, but few escaped unscathed. Blood sprayed across the ground as dozens were flung backward, coughing and gasping.
Only Unohana Retsu managed to withstand the strike, her blade humming under the weight of Aizen's reiatsu. Even so, she slid backward across the ground, boots carving deep furrows in the stone.
When the shockwave finally cleared, Aizen was gone.
Unohana's eyes narrowed sharply. She turned her head toward the distant horizon—just in time to see a figure materializing beside Ichimaru Gin.
"Come, Gin," Aizen ordered briskly. His tone betrayed a rare edge of urgency. The current him could not defeat Su Li, not until he evolved again. Once his transformation advanced further—once he reached the next stage—he would return to end it. At that time, Su Li's stamina would be spent, his Ultra Instinct unusable, and his defeat inevitable.
That was Aizen's plan.
"Let's go."
He opened a black gate, its frame wreathed in hellish light, the portal leading toward the Soul Society—far from Su Li, and closer to both the Royal Palace and his ultimate goal.
But before he could step through, Gin hesitated.
Behind him, Rangiku watched, eyes wide and glistening. Her voice was soft—too soft to carry across the distance.
"Gin…"
Yet somehow, he heard her. His shoulders stiffened, his steps slowed.
Aizen glanced back, confused by the pause—only to see Gin draw his blade with quiet resolve.
The cold whisper of steel slid free of its sheath.
Aizen's eyes widened in disbelief as Gin raised his weapon.
"Shoot him," Gin murmured. "Shinso."
And in that moment—the man who had lived as a spy for love, who had hidden his fangs for countless years—finally bared them in defiance.
The blade flashed like lightning.
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