The dazzling white light swallowed the heavens.
The world beneath it was washed in brilliance so absolute that even the outlines of existence trembled.
Every gaze turned upward, caught between awe and dread.
That radiance—Su Li's blade—cut through the very concept of darkness.
They all knew Kurosaki Ichigo had been deceived by Aizen, manipulated into this tragedy. Yet sin, born of confusion, was still sin—and the retribution descending from the sky was merciless.
The instant that white blade reached his body would mark the end of everything.
Faces across the battlefield paled.
Even Kurosaki Isshin, usually calm as iron, lost his composure, his breath ragged with helpless terror.
But who could resist such force?
Even Kurosaki Ichigo—whose strength had long since exceeded the limits of mortal or Shinigami—had been crushed beneath that light when he unleashed the full might of the "Last Crescent Moon."
How could anyone else hope to endure?
Kurosaki Ichigo stared blankly as the luminous wave approached, the world before him swallowed by radiance.
His thoughts blurred; only despair remained.
He could feel it clearly—the last embers of his Shinigami power disintegrating within him.
The price of "Saigo no Getsuga Tenshō" was absolute: the loss of everything that made him a Shinigami.
As the blinding light surged closer, the cold crept into his bones. His body felt hollow, his soul suspended in an endless void.
Even having risked everything, he could not overcome that white light.
And now, stripped of power, how could he possibly survive it?
Despair. Unwillingness. Fear.
His lashes lowered. He exhaled softly, surrendering to the inevitable.
"I'm sorry, Dad…"
"I couldn't become the kind of existence you hoped for…"
"Goodbye… for the family."
The words formed silently in his heart.
No one could save him now.
His strength had surpassed everyone's, and yet not one soul could shield him.
So this was it—the end he had chosen.
The heavens detonated with a thunderous boom.
The white blade light came crashing down like divine judgment, carrying the force to sunder sky and earth alike.
Above, the rift in the clouds widened; the heavens bled open.
Below, the shattered ground deepened into an abyss, a wound carved straight through creation.
What had once been a black ocean now turned blindingly white.
Even the most battle-hardened Shinigami averted their eyes.
None could bear to witness Kurosaki Ichigo's death beneath that holy light.
And then—
The blade stopped.
The blinding white brilliance froze just before his body.
The next instant, it dissipated entirely—fading like mist at dawn.
Darkness returned.
The world regained its form.
Everyone blinked in disbelief, unable to process what they saw.
Ichigo, too, opened his eyes, trembling.
At his feet stretched a colossal chasm, deep enough to swallow mountains, extending beyond the horizon like a scar across the earth.
The boy stood wordless.
He did not know why the light had spared him—only that it had been a choice.
The one who unleashed that power did not wish to kill him.
Why?
Confusion filled him. Slowly, he raised his eyes toward the end of the devastated sky.
And there—
He did not see Aizen.
He saw the white-haired youth standing quietly amid the ruin.
That calm, familiar face struck him harder than any blade could.
Only then did Kurosaki Ichigo understand.
It wasn't Aizen's illusion he had struck—it was Su Li's.
Under Kyōka Suigetsu's deceit, he had raised his blade against the one person who least deserved it.
He had wanted to surpass him, to prove his resolve—
Yet in the end, he had become the one trying to kill him.
Guilt twisted through his chest.
"…He's the true sinner here," Ichigo whispered, voice hollow.
His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, the weight of shame crushing him.
The battlefield fell silent.
Every gaze turned toward the white-haired youth who stood amidst the ruins, his blade still gleaming faintly.
"To halt such an attack without a trace…" murmured Kyōraku Shunsui, his expression caught between admiration and disbelief.
"Withdraw freely, release with calm…" Yamamoto Genryūsai's tone was low, almost reverent. "It seems the boy's realm lies even higher than the old man imagined."
"Tch, why didn't he just cut that yellow-haired brat in half!" Omaeda shouted, face red, shaking with leftover terror.
"That," Sui-Feng said proudly, chin lifted, "is the mercy of the strong toward the weak."
To her, everything Su Li did was right by definition. Her heart needed no other reason.
Under their gazes, Su Li slowly bent down and picked something up from the shattered ground.
It was the hilt of a broken Zanpakutō.
Aizen's Zanpakutō.
Aizen's pupils contracted.
He froze as Su Li tossed the hilt at his feet with a cold flick of the wrist.
"Still want to play?" Su Li's voice was calm, but the chill within it pierced like frost.
That tone drained every last illusion from Aizen's heart.
When the youth spoke gently, he carried the warmth of spring.
But when that gentleness vanished, what remained was winter—the kind that freezes the soul itself.
The game was over.
There was nothing left to play.
Aizen's eyes dimmed as he understood.
His plan, years in the making, had unraveled completely.
He looked up at Su Li's unclouded eyes.
He wanted to ask: Are you a god—or a devil?
But the question no longer mattered.
The answer stood before him.
Su Li was beyond either.
Neither deity nor demon—simply the existence that stood above both.
"Possessing such power, yet choosing to live beneath a rotting heaven…" Aizen whispered. "What are you striving for?"
Su Li's gaze was tranquil, his tone faint as drifting ash.
"When you look up, there are gods three feet above your head."
"But above those gods—there are greater ones still."
Aizen froze.
He didn't fully understand, but he felt the truth in those words.
"What you wish to replace," Su Li continued quietly, "is nothing more than a wedge in the order. Nothing beyond that."
Aizen's eyes widened slightly.
He wanted to respond, but the words never came.
Defeat was already complete; speculation was meaningless.
The light in his eyes went out.
A red glow erupted from within his body.
Dozens of crimson beams burst from his skin, spreading like veins of fire.
The air vibrated.
The binding Kidō that Urahara Kisuke had prepared activated at last.
Su Li exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing.
The battle was over.
The storm of spiritual pressure dispersed.
His hair returned to its natural color, and his blade dimmed.
Aizen could only stare blankly as the white seals of Kidō formed around him—dozens, hundreds—locking him in place, layer upon layer.
Once that seal activated, there was no escape.
And thus ended Aizen Sōsuke—
The man who defied heaven and sought to stand above gods—
Silenced at last beneath the hand of one who needed neither throne nor title to prove his divinity.
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