Chapter 106: Bankai
The azure lightning crackled through the air with devastating velocity, its serpentine form twisting and writhing as it bore down upon Fiander with the fury of a raging tempest. The very atmosphere seemed to hum with electrical energy, each arc of lightning painting the battlefield in brilliant flashes of blue-white radiance. Zaraki Kenpachi, ever the opportunist in combat, decisively leaped backward the moment he witnessed Unohana's attack manifest, his scarred face splitting into a savage grin as he completely abandoned any pretense of protecting his temporary ally. The Captain of the Eleventh Division had no qualms about leaving Fiander completely exposed to the Fourth Division Captain's merciless assault—after all, in his philosophy, only the strong deserved to survive such encounters.
With his back turned toward the incoming devastation, Fiander remained perfectly motionless, his silver hair catching the ethereal glow of the approaching dragon of thunder. To the observing captains, he appeared almost meditative, as if the roaring tempest of spiritual energy bearing down upon him was nothing more than a gentle breeze. His breathing remained steady, controlled, even as the very air around him began to vibrate with the intensity of Unohana's technique. The ground beneath his feet started to crack from the sheer pressure of the approaching attack, yet still he did not move.
At the precise moment when the thunder dragon's maw opened wide to consume him, when the crackling energy was mere inches from searing through his flesh, Fiander raised a single finger with deliberate slowness. His voice, calm and measured despite the chaos surrounding him, cut through the roar of lightning like a blade through silk: "Bakudō no Hachijūichi: Splitting Void!"
The incantation rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, each syllable resonating with power that seemed to shake the very foundations of reality. A massive transparent barrier materialized instantly, its crystalline surface rippling like disturbed water as Unohana Retsu's devastating attack collided with it. The impact sent shockwaves radiating outward, causing the assembled captains to brace themselves against the overwhelming force.
But Fiander was far from finished. Before the echoes of the collision had even begun to fade, he extended a second finger, his expression remaining eerily serene as he continued his incantation: "Bakudō no Hachijūichi: Kai: Splitting Void!"
The modification to the binding spell transformed the very nature of the barrier. With a sound like reality itself being torn asunder, Unohana Retsu's Dragon Striking Thunder Cannon was not merely blocked—it was absorbed, integrated into the structure of the Splitting Void itself. For a heartbeat, the barrier pulsed with captured lightning, blue veins of energy racing across its transparent surface like trapped storms. Then, with explosive force that dwarfed the original attack, the technique reversed course entirely, hurtling back toward its caster with amplified power that made the air itself scream.
The redirected blast carved through the atmosphere like a falling star, its intensity magnified beyond what even Unohana had originally unleashed. Zaraki Kenpachi, recognizing the lethal beauty of the approaching destruction, moved with the fluid grace that belied his brutish reputation. In a single bound, he positioned himself beside the Fourth Division Captain, his massive hands gripping his Zanpakutō with white-knuckled intensity. The blade sang through the air as he brought it down in a devastating arc, the sheer force of his swing creating a visible distortion that cleaved the redirected Hadō cleanly in half, causing the bifurcated energy to disperse harmlessly into the sky.
Witnessing Zaraki Kenpachi's raw swordsmanship—the ability to literally cut through spiritual energy with nothing but steel and will—Fiander's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. The expression was predatory, calculating, like a master chess player who had just seen his opponent make exactly the move he had been hoping for. His voice carried a note of genuine amusement as he spoke: "If this is truly the extent of your abilities, then your appearance before me at this moment represents nothing short of a catastrophic error in judgment."
The words struck Kenpachi like physical blows, and the Captain's eyes widened with a mixture of rage and recognition. This was the same contemptuous tone that had haunted him through two previous defeats, the same dismissive superiority that had driven him to train harder, fight more desperately, seek greater heights of power. Without hesitation, his scarred hands reached up and tore away the eyepatch that had been restraining his spiritual pressure—a self-imposed limitation that he reserved for only the most dangerous of opponents.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Violent, turbulent reiatsu erupted from Zaraki's form like a geyser of pure malice, the golden energy taking on an almost tangible quality as it pressed against the surrounding environment. The very air grew heavy with his killing intent, and for a moment, the spiritual pressure coalesced into the spectral image of a massive skull—a manifestation of his bloodlust made visible. The powerful shockwave that followed sent Fiander's hair and clothing whipping behind him, yet the Arrancar remained unmoved, his feet planted firmly on the cracking ground.
Kenpachi's face transformed into a mask of primal ferocity, his lips pulling back to reveal teeth bared in a savage snarl. The murderous gleam in his eyes spoke of battles fought in the deepest pits of Zaraki District, of blood spilled and lives taken in the pursuit of the perfect fight. His figure blurred with speed that defied comprehension, reappearing behind Fiander in the space between heartbeats. The Zanpakutō in his hands seemed to sing with anticipation as he raised it high above his head, the jagged edge gleaming with deadly promise as it descended toward Fiander's exposed neck.
But Unohana Retsu, ever the master tactician, had been waiting for precisely this moment. Her hands moved in perfect synchronization with Kenpachi's attack, her voice ringing out with authority: "Bakudō no Hachijūkyū: Linglong Lock Ring!"
Five bands of brilliant yellow energy burst forth from her wrists like striking serpents, each one precisely calibrated to bind a different part of Fiander's form. The rings moved with supernatural speed and accuracy, wrapping around his limbs and torso in a configuration designed to completely immobilize even the strongest opponent. The binding spell pulled taut with a sound like singing metal, holding Fiander fast as Kenpachi's blade continued its deadly descent.
"Heh!" Kenpachi's voice was rough with savage satisfaction. "I may despise resorting to such tactics, but you, my friend, are the very first person to make me believe that sometimes even distasteful methods serve a purpose."
The crash of steel meeting flesh should have echoed across the battlefield. Instead, there was only a sharp, metallic clang as Kenpachi's Zanpakutō struck an invisible barrier barely a centimeter from Fiander's neck. The blade, despite all the tremendous force behind it, despite the spiritual pressure that had been focused into its edge, simply could not advance any further. It hung there, suspended in space as if the very laws of physics had suddenly decided to take a different course.
"Impossible!" Kotetsu Isane gasped from her position among the observing officers, her hands flying to cover her mouth in shock. "How can this be? Does an Arrancar's Hierro truly possess such defensive capabilities?"
"Something... something truly extraordinary has manifested here," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of crackling spiritual energy. "This defies everything we understand about Arrancar physiology!"
Kurotsuchi Mayuri, the ever-analytical Captain of the Twelfth Division, found his usual composure cracking for the first time in recent memory. His golden eyes widened behind his distinctive headdress, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his painted features. Throughout his long career, he had prided himself on anticipating every possible variable, on preparing contingencies for every conceivable outcome. He studied his opponents like specimens under a microscope, cataloguing their abilities and predicting their responses with scientific precision.
But this—this was beyond his calculations entirely.
"No," Mayuri said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty despite his obvious bewilderment. "This is not the Hierro of an Arrancar. That defensive technique, formidable though it may be, does not possess capabilities of this magnitude."
His analytical mind raced as he replayed the moment of impact, examining every detail with the precision of a master scientist. "I observed the exact instant when Zaraki's blade made contact. A blue pattern—intricate, geometric, almost circuit-like in its complexity—manifested upon the skin of his neck. It formed what can only be described as a transparent barrier, one that deflected the attack with minimal apparent effort."
Mayuri's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud might somehow make them less impossible: "This defensive mechanism bears striking resemblance to the Blut Vene of the Quincy—the static blood that hardens their spiritual pressure into armor. But how can this be? How can an Arrancar possess such abilities?"
The revelation sent shockwaves through the Captain's understanding of spiritual biology. While he had long theorized about the possibility of Shinigami undergoing Hollowfication—indeed, he had witnessed such transformations firsthand—the reverse process had always been considered theoretical at best. That a Hollow could somehow acquire Shinigami abilities was unprecedented enough, but for an Arrancar to demonstrate Quincy techniques suggested a level of spiritual evolution that challenged the very foundations of their understanding.
"Damn it all!" Kenpachi snarled, his frustration boiling over into raw fury. His reiatsu flared even higher, the golden aura around him intensifying.
"Die!" The word erupted from his throat as both battle cry and promise. Cold light flashed along the edge of his Zanpakutō as he drew upon every ounce of his considerable strength. This time, his attack carried with it the accumulated power of decades spent in combat, the refined killing intent of a man who had carved his way to captaincy through nothing but raw strength and indomitable will. The blade seemed to tear through the very fabric of space as it descended, reality itself bending around the edge of his weapon.
But even this supreme effort met with casual dismissal. With movements so fluid they seemed almost choreographed, Fiander reached up and caught the descending Zanpakutō between two fingers of his free hand. The sight was so shocking, so fundamentally wrong according to everything the assembled captains understood about combat, that for a moment time itself seemed to stand still.
"Captain of the Eleventh Division, Zaraki Kenpachi," Fiander said, his voice carrying the patient tone of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. "I believe you may have fundamentally misunderstood the nature of our relationship here."
His grip on the blade tightened slightly, and hairline fractures began to appear along the steel—not from any applied force, but simply from the overwhelming spiritual pressure radiating from his fingertips. "From the very beginning of this encounter, I have harbored no intention whatsoever of engaging you in what you might generously call 'combat.' You see, a dragon of the heavens does not lower itself to feel anger toward a defeated cur that barks impotently at its feet."
The words hit Kenpachi like physical blows, each syllable calculated to wound pride that had been carefully built over centuries of victory. But before the Captain could formulate a response, before he could even begin to process the full implications of what had just been said to him, cold light flashed in the space between them.
Fiander's free hand moved with speed that made even Kenpachi's enhanced reflexes seem sluggish by comparison. His fingers, bare of any weapon or implement, carved through the air with surgical precision. The sound they made was like wind through winter branches—sharp, cold, and somehow final. When his hand completed its arc, a long, deep gash had opened across Kenpachi's chest, extending from shoulder to hip in a perfectly straight line.
Blood erupted from the wound in a crimson fountain, droplets catching the light like scattered rubies as they arced through the air. But even as the vital fluid left his body, an unnatural cold began to spread outward from the wound itself. Frost crystals formed along the edges of the cut, and the blood that had been flowing freely began to slow, then stop entirely as it froze solid. Worse still, the supernatural chill began to seep inward, following the pathways of his circulatory system toward his vital organs.
"Nemu!" Kurotsuchi Mayuri's voice cracked like a whip through the suddenly tense air, carrying with it decades of absolute authority and barely concealed panic.
The artificially created lieutenant responded with inhuman speed and grace, her modified body moving in ways that seemed to defy the constraints of biology. In a burst of flash-step that left afterimages trailing behind her, she snatched Zaraki Kenpachi's rapidly weakening form from immediate danger, cradling his massive frame as if he weighed no more than a child. Her movements were so fluid, so perfectly calculated, that she managed to return to Mayuri's side without disturbing so much as a single hair on the injured Captain's head.
Unohana Retsu immediately rushed forward, her hands already glowing with the warm, golden light of Kaidō healing techniques. But even her legendary medical skills were tested by what she found. The wound itself was severe enough—a cut that deep would have been life-threatening under normal circumstances. But it was the supernatural cold that posed the real danger, the unnatural frost that was even now creeping deeper into Kenpachi's body cavity.
"This chill," she murmured, her usually composed voice tight with concentration as she worked to drive the invasive cold from his system. "It's unlike anything I've encountered before. If it reaches his internal organs, if it manages to freeze his heart or lungs..." She didn't need to finish the sentence. They all understood the implications.
Even maintaining a safe distance, even without directly touching the affected area, Unohana found her own battle uniform becoming covered with a thin layer of frost simply from proximity to the wound. The cold seemed to radiate outward like a malevolent living thing, seeking to claim everything it touched.
"What manner of power is this?" she whispered, her breath forming visible puffs in the suddenly frigid air around them.
"When compared to his previous demonstration during Kurosaki Ichigo's invasion of Soul Society," Mayuri observed with clinical detachment, even as his hands worked frantically to prepare medical equipment, "this entity appears to have grown significantly stronger."
The memory was still fresh in many of their minds—that chaotic day when a substitute Shinigami and his allies had turned the Seireitei upside down in their quest to rescue Rukia Kuchiki. Fiander had appeared then as well, ostensibly fighting on behalf of Tōsen Kaname, and had indeed managed to defeat both Komamura Sajin and Zaraki Kenpachi in single combat. But that victory had come at the cost of Fiander fighting at what appeared to be his full strength as a Shinigami, and even then he had sustained notable injuries in the process.
This time was different. This time, he had faced the coordinated assault of multiple captains and emerged without so much as a scratch to show for it.
Despite the overwhelming display of power he had just witnessed, despite the casual dismissal of attacks that should have been devastating, Fiander seemed almost bored by the entire proceedings. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed Kenpachi's Zanpakutō away as if it were nothing more than scrap metal. His attention shifted to the assembled captains with the sort of mild interest one might show when observing insects in a garden.
"This overly cautious approach does not suit your reputation, Captain Zaraki," Fiander remarked, his tone carrying notes of genuine disappointment. "I had expected something rather more... direct from the man who carved his way to leadership through nothing but raw aggression and indomitable will."
The words struck home with surgical precision. Veins began to bulge along Kenpachi's forehead as rage built in his chest like a physical pressure. Despite his injuries, despite the unnatural cold that was still being driven from his system by Unohana's healing techniques, he forced himself to stand. His massive hands reached up and tore away the upper portion of his shihakushō, revealing a torso that was a roadmap of old battles—scars upon scars, each one telling the story of a fight survived, an opponent defeated.
"Heh," he growled, the sound emerging from deep in his chest like the rumble of distant thunder. "Your words are designed to provoke, and I'll admit they're having their intended effect."
With deliberate movements that spoke of barely restrained violence, Kenpachi retrieved his Zanpakutō and settled it across his shoulder in his characteristic stance. His eyes, no longer hidden behind the restraining eyepatch, fixed upon Fiander with the sort of focused intensity usually reserved for prey that had proven particularly elusive.
"Oh?" Fiander's eyebrows rose with what appeared to be genuine surprise. "Are you finally prepared to face me with the seriousness this situation demands?"
His expression shifted slightly, taking on the patient air of a mentor who had grown weary of repeating the same lesson to a stubborn student. "Though I must say, your approach to combat continues to mystify me. After engaging with me across multiple encounters, why do you persist in this self-destructive pattern of behavior?"
Fiander began to pace slowly, his movements fluid and predatory as he continued his verbal dissection. "As I have mentioned before—repeatedly, if memory serves—when one possesses techniques of genuine power, the optimal strategy is to deploy them immediately upon the commencement of hostilities. This stubborn reluctance to utilize your full capabilities until you have already sustained significant injury is not courage, Captain. It is merely poor tactical planning."
He gestured dismissively toward where Kenpachi stood, still swaying slightly from his recent wounds. "On this particular point, I would strongly suggest you study the combat philosophies of Kurosaki Ichigo and Hitsugaya Tōshirō. Both of those young warriors understand a fundamental truth that continues to elude you: when faced with a serious opponent, immediate Bankai is not merely advisable—it is the only rational response. They never hesitate, never hold back their true power in some misguided attempt to prolong the engagement."
The criticism was delivered with such casual authority that it stung worse than any physical blow could have. But rather than deflate Kenpachi's fighting spirit, the words seemed to have the opposite effect. A sword-like gleam appeared in his eyes—not the wild, unfocused bloodlust that usually characterized his battle fury, but something far more dangerous: concentrated, deliberate killing intent refined by years of combat experience.
Without warning, without any of the preliminary posturing that usually preceded his attacks, Kenpachi gripped his Zanpakutō with both hands and launched himself forward. His movement was a blur of barely contained violence, decades of accumulated battle instinct channeled into a single, perfect strike.
"RAAAAH!"
The sound of his battle cry merged with the whistle of displaced air as his blade carved through space. This was not the wild, uncontrolled swinging that characterized his usual fighting style—this was precision given form, raw power channeled through perfect technique.
The attack struck with enough force to split the earth itself, carving a crater nearly fifty meters in length and leaving Kenpachi momentarily drained from the sheer amount of spiritual energy he had poured into the blow.
Smoke and debris filled the air, obscuring the point of impact and leaving the assembled observers to wonder whether such a devastating attack could possibly have been survived.
Even for someone of Fiander's demonstrated capabilities, the sheer destructive force that had just been unleashed seemed beyond what any defense could reasonably withstand.
The tension stretched taut as silk as everyone present focused their attention on the settling dust cloud. Hearts pounded in throats, hands unconsciously tightened on weapon grips, and more than one captain found themselves holding their breath as they waited to see the results of Kenpachi's supreme effort.
It was Unohana Retsu who broke the silence, her voice carrying the weight of grim certainty: "He's coming."
The simple words sent ice through the veins of everyone present, because they all understood what she meant. If Fiander was still capable of movement after sustaining an attack of that magnitude, then they were dealing with something that existed on an entirely different level of power than anything they had previously encountered.
"Such incredible strength," Kotetsu Isane whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of settling debris. "Captain Zaraki's attack was powerful enough to level a city block, and yet..."
"They are not operating on the same level of existence," she continued, her words carrying the weight of dawning comprehension. "This is not merely a difference in skill or experience. This is a fundamental gap in the very nature of their being."
The observation was painfully accurate. From the very beginning of the engagement, it had been Fiander who remained stationary, who absorbed every attack directed at him without so much as shifting his footing. While the captains had thrown their most powerful techniques at him, while they had coordinated their assaults with tactical precision honed over centuries of combat experience, he had simply... endured. Not defended, not countered—merely allowed their efforts to break against him like waves against an immovable cliff.
"Honestly," came Fiander's voice from within the dissipating smoke, carrying notes of mild exasperation that somehow managed to be more insulting than open mockery would have been. "I finally manage to acquire clothing of acceptable quality, and you insist on reducing it to tatters yet again."
As the dust settled, his figure became visible once more. He stood in exactly the same position he had occupied before the attack, his feet planted in the same spots, his posture unchanged. The only difference was that his upper garments had been completely destroyed, leaving his torso bare and revealing something that sent shock waves through the assembled captains.
There were no Arrancar features visible on his body. No mask fragments, no Hollow hole, no sign of the fundamental transformation that defined his supposed species. His skin was unmarked, unmarred, bearing none of the identifying characteristics that should have been present on any Arrancar above the level of a common Menos.
"This..." Kurotsuchi Mayuri's voice trailed off as his analytical mind struggled to process what his eyes were showing him. "What manner of being are we actually confronting here?"
The question hung in the air like a physical presence, because it represented the collapse of everything they thought they understood about their opponent. If Fiander was not truly an Arrancar, if the assumptions they had built their strategies around were fundamentally flawed, then what were they actually dealing with?
"Heh," Fiander chuckled, the sound carrying notes of genuine amusement as he observed the confusion and growing fear in the faces around him. "I must admit, I had hoped to avoid resorting to this particular technique when dealing with opponents of your... relatively modest... capabilities."
His hand moved slowly, deliberately, toward the Zanpakutō that hung at his side. The weapon had been so unremarkable throughout their engagement that many of them had forgotten it was even there, dismissing it as merely decorative given his apparent preference for hand-to-hand combat. But now, as his fingers wrapped around the grip, the very air around them seemed to grow heavy with anticipation.
"However," he continued, his voice taking on a tone of mock consideration, "you are, after all, guests who have traveled far to reach this place. The basic principles of hospitality demand that I ensure your entertainment is... memorable."
The Zanpakutō began to slide from its sheath with agonizing slowness, each inch of revealed steel seeming to alter the fundamental nature of the battlefield around them. The weapon itself appeared unremarkable—a standard katana with no obvious distinguishing features—yet its mere presence in Fiander's hand seemed to make the very atmosphere thrum with barely contained power.
When the blade was roughly half-drawn, when perhaps a foot of steel gleamed in the pale light, Fiander's voice rang out with absolute authority:
"Bankai!"
The word hit the assembled captains like a physical blow. Not because of any spiritual pressure that accompanied it—indeed, Fiander's reiatsu remained as controlled and measured as ever—but because of the sheer impossibility of what they were witnessing.
"Bankai?!"
"A Shinigami's Bankai?!"
"How can an Arrancar achieve Bankai?!"
The confused shouts of the captains overlapped and intertwined, creating a cacophony of disbelief that spoke to the fundamental wrongness of what they were observing. Everything they understood about spiritual evolution, about the relationship between Hollows and Shinigami, about the very nature of power itself, was being challenged by this single impossible moment.
But Fiander was not finished. His voice rose above their confusion, carrying with it the weight of absolute finality:
"Bankai: Ten Chi Dōdō, Ai Kokoni Kitaru! (Heaven and Earth Both Mourn, Love Arrives Here!)"
The name of his released state hung in the air like a funeral dirge, each syllable resonating with power that seemed to reach into the very souls of those present. Whatever was about to unfold, whatever transformation was about to take place, they all understood with crystal clarity that they were about to witness something that would fundamentally alter their understanding of what was possible in the spiritual realms.
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