A thunderous explosion split the air.
The ground heaved and tore apart.
The sky trembled beneath the weight of spiritual power.
The energy unleashed from the battle had ravaged every corner of the Seireitei. Bottomless fissures scarred the land, and shattered buildings lay strewn like ash—each ruin bearing witness to the ferocity and devastation of what had transpired.
Yet, to the eyes of the Shinigami coalition, this chaos was only the surface. The truth of the battle between Aizen and Su Li transcended such destruction. It was not a clash of brute force, but of worlds colliding—of divinity against something beyond comprehension.
Aizen's movements grew increasingly frenzied, his once serene face twisted by madness. Each swing of his blade came faster, heavier, more desperate. By contrast, the youth before him only seemed to grow calmer, his presence more fluid, more serene.
In the eyes of those watching, Su Li resembled a lone sail adrift in a raging sea—fragile yet untouchable. The storms of Aizen's spiritual power crashed against him endlessly, yet the sail never broke. It moved with quiet elegance, bending but never shattering, slipping through the chaos like a wisp of moonlight over water.
Aizen's attacks poured down like relentless rain—countless strikes woven into a hurricane of destruction. But Su Li remained tranquil, walking the shadows of the shattered sky as if through a quiet courtyard. His footwork flowed like ink on silk, his presence ethereal.
Those who watched were entranced. Their minds flashed back to the captain assessment decades ago, when a young man—this same boy—had faced Zaraki Kenpachi and danced through death with the same effortless grace.
But now his opponent was Aizen—an existence who had already transcended the boundaries of life and death, Shinigami and Hollow. To stand unbroken before such power was something beyond human comprehension. Su Li's calm, his precision, his unearthly elegance—all of it defied reason.
The Shinigami could only stare, their eyes wide with wordless awe. There was no hatred or fear, only reverence. The youth before them was no longer merely a warrior—he was a dancer upon the edge of the world, weaving through death itself.
Every motion was art. Every step defied inevitability.
And in his hand, not a sword—but a pen.
Even as he moved, Su Li wrote upon Aizen's chest with invisible ink born of spiritual essence. Each line was deliberate, each stroke carrying a weight of power that words could not describe.
The battle became a calligraphy of motion and spirit.
Each mark carved unseen upon Aizen's form—an elegant script of death.
With every stroke of his pen, the dancer became a scholar, a sage lost in the poetry of combat. The battlefield turned into a stage of ink and blood, where every movement resonated with both beauty and terror.
The watchers were spellbound. Time itself seemed to halt, their breath caught in their throats.
But Aizen—his composure cracked. His movements grew sharp, erratic, unrestrained. His eyes burned with a madness only gods could know.
He could feel it. The inscription on his chest was nearly complete. He did not need to see it to understand—two lines of characters had already taken form; only one remained unfinished.
Though Su Li's touch left no wound, Aizen could sense the truth in every stroke. His chest burned with the weight of a seal not yet complete, and his instincts screamed of annihilation.
He tried to strike faster, harder, to silence the boy before the final word was written. But the harder he fought, the colder his heart became. From beginning to end, Su Li never looked at him—not once.
And yet every strike, every step, every breath was perfectly timed to evade Aizen's might.
That impossible rhythm… it was something Aizen had glimpsed long ago in another youth—a technique that defied all reason, all logic. He had dismissed it then as illusion. But now, faced with it again, he understood it was real.
A power that moved beyond intent and instinct.
A state where body and spirit flowed in perfect harmony—beyond will, beyond consciousness.
Su Li's Ultra Instinct.
Even Aizen's godhood could not pierce it. From the beginning to the end, he had not even touched the hem of Su Li's robe.
Zaraki, Soi-Fon—those who had fought this boy before—had they felt this same despair? This same impossible sense of futility?
Confusion. Helplessness. Despair.
Aizen's thoughts sank deeper and deeper, until suddenly—he saw it.
The faint curve of a smile on Su Li's lips.
That calm, gentle smile—warm as spring sunlight, yet to Aizen it felt colder than the void.
Su Li's gaze drifted to Aizen's chest, his eyes serene, his tone faintly joyous.
"It's just the last word," he murmured softly, as if speaking to himself.
Those simple words fell like a death sentence.
Aizen's heart convulsed. Desperation twisted his features.
"Impossible!!" he roared. "I am the existence beyond all living beings! I am the true god! You… are nothing but a mortal!!"
His Reiatsu exploded, swallowing the heavens.
The air shattered with a deafening boom.
Wings of divine light burst open behind him, each tipped with skull-like appendages that writhed like serpents. They lashed out, six in total, coiling toward Su Li and binding him in midair.
The monstrous heads opened their jaws wide, glowing with an eerie blue radiance.
"A Li!!"
"Little Junior Brother!!"
"Captain Su Li!!"
Cries erupted from the Shinigami ranks.
A heartbeat ago, victory had seemed within reach—now it was slipping away into horror. Everyone could feel the crushing might radiating from Aizen's final attack.
This was no ordinary strike.
This was the culmination of Aizen's evolution—his final forbidden art.
The Ultimate Radiation Breaker.
"Let's die together, Su Li!" Aizen screamed, his voice breaking with madness. "Your Ultra Instinct ends here! Along with your foolish pen!!"
The world blazed blue.
A cataclysmic beam engulfed everything—sky, land, and soul.
Sound vanished. Space froze.
Then—
The explosion came.
A roaring storm of light tore across the Seireitei, vaporizing everything in its path. The shockwave flung even captains like rag dolls through the ruins.
When the thunder finally ceased, silence fell—a silence so vast it felt eternal.
The battlefield was gone. In its place yawned a colossal crater stretching beyond sight, magma churning faintly within its depths.
The Shinigami clawed their way from the rubble, coughing, bleeding, trembling. Their eyes turned to the heart of the devastation.
Where Aizen and Su Li had stood, nothing remained but scorched earth and the scent of ozone.
The sight froze every heart.
Could anyone—could even Su Li—have survived such an attack?
The air was thick with fear. Breath caught in every throat.
All eyes fixed upon the abyss.
And deep within the silence, something flickered.
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