Nezuko's eyes shone with longing. She agreed: Yoshio was the strongest. Especially lately—his power seemed to be rising.
She was still too weak. If only she could help.
She kicked the sofa, sulking.
Then—knock, knock.
She opened the door to find a middle-aged man she knew.
"Uncle… Kurosaki?"
Isshin looked anxious. "Nezuko, have you seen Ichigo?"
"Ichigo?" she blinked. "No. We got out early because of the quake. They wanted parents to pick us up, but I slipped off early, so I don't know where he is. He didn't go home?"
"When I got to the school he was gone," Isshin said, worried. "Tatsuki said he talked to you, so I came to ask."
"Sorry… I really haven't seen him. Tell you what, I'll help you look?"
"That'd be great—thanks, Nezuko!" Isshin made a praying gesture. "If you find anything, go to my place first—Yuzu and Karin are home."
"Okay!"
She nodded; Isshin dashed off. Nezuko thought for a bit, closed the door.
"So? Kurosaki Ichigo's missing?"
Hela had heard. Coffee in hand, she approached.
"Not sure. At this time of all times… the idiot isn't out investigating that black sky, is he? That dunce! I haven't even moved yet!"
"It's not that you haven't—it's that you mustn't," Hela said. "Your dad told me: we are not to get involved."
Nezuko puffed her cheeks, eyes rolling. "But now it's different. My classmate's missing. I can't just leave him, right? Don't worry—I'll be fine!"
She darted to her room; moments later she came out changed. "Hela, don't wait for me for dinner!"
Hela sighed, took out her phone, and frowned at the feed: Ichigo stood, dazed, in Hueco Mundo.
"How did he get to Hueco Mundo?"
Hueco Mundo and Soul Society are reishi realms; without converting your body to reishi, you'd disintegrate entering them. Yet Ichigo was fine. And how did a human even get in?
…
At that moment—
Ichigo stared around, bewildered. He'd been worrying about the quake, the darkness, and Yuzu and Karin. Before Isshin could pick him up, he'd tried to climb out to check on them—then blacked out, tumbled like in a washing machine, lost consciousness, and woke in what felt like another world.
The sky was dark—not the earlier pitch-black, but normal night darkness. All around: endless desert—white sand everywhere; nothing else. He walked and walked, saw no one—as if he were the last person alive, the human bones of a ruined world ground into this pale desert.
Fear crept in. Being alone in a room isn't scary. Being alone in a world is.
Worse, he didn't know how his family was.
He didn't fear death; he feared for those he'd leave behind.
He kept walking, growing exhausted—just a middle-schooler, not a superman.
Tired, parched, throat aflame. He flopped onto the sand and stared at the sky. No stars, just a moon. He didn't know how long he'd walked; nothing changed, as if trapped in a looping maze.
Rooaaar—
He heard something ahead—a monster's bellow, spine-chilling, like a kaiju in Ultraman. A cold presence pressed on him; breathing grew hard. Tired, sleepy, afraid… his mind clouded. Lying on the sand, he felt like an angel was beckoning—
An angel?!
He jerked upright. There really was an angel: bathed in gold, with golden wings, a halo dispelling the dark. A feminine figure appeared before him. With her presence, his burden lightened; even the surroundings felt like Karakura—like home.
Ichigo scooted back. "Who are you?!"
Could angels be real?
As a junior high kid who could see souls, he was firmly non-materialist—but this?
The angel didn't answer. She looked at him; her eyes held every emotion, yet deeper down, an extraordinary detachment. She pointed at him; golden reiryoku gathered at her fingertip and shot into his body.
Information surfaced in his mind.
"Aiwass?" he blurted. He felt no pain from the golden beam—only lighter. He somehow knew her name.
The next instant, she vanished—golden light scattering into particles that melted into the reishi sand.
"Wait!" he called, too late. He slumped—how could he get home? Why an angel? What should he do? And… what did she leave?
He pressed his chest—where Aiwass had shot the light.
A cross-shaped pendant now lay there. He gripped it; golden reiryoku welled into his palm. The force knocked him back, and when he recovered, a golden long blade was in his hand.
"What… is this?" He stared, stunned. Then—another distant roar. No—close now. He spun around—and froze.
A gigantic monster towered over him, more than ten meters tall. Its body was black like a medieval witch's cloak; its face was a white clownish mask with a long nose. A huge hole gaped in its chest, a ridge above it, and higher still a devouring maw.
Terrifying. Even without knowing what it was, instinct screamed the power gap. From angel to demon in minutes?
Ichigo swallowed and ran. What, fight that thing?
The Gillian locked on him. Instinct said devouring this soul could trigger its evolution. Craving purification—no, evolution—it lunged. It inhaled; a massive suction dragged Ichigo. A pale hand emerged from the cloak—razor nails ready to skewer.
People think Gillian have no hands—but they're inside the cloak.
The black isn't skin; it's more like clothing—like a Shinigami's shihakushō.
The hand reached, and terror flooded Ichigo.
No!
He couldn't die—couldn't be eaten here, couldn't die in a place like this!
He gritted his teeth, looked at the golden reishi greatsword, and when escape seemed impossible, he suddenly turned and slashed.
He'd never studied kendo, but he knew karate—and he knew how to fight. In junior high, punks challenged him; others harassed Nezuko and Tatsuki.
Tatsuki could handle herself; with Nezuko, he often intervened. He'd gotten used to fighting.
Maybe Karakura's rapid development had attracted outsiders and worsened public safety.
Anyway, faced with a giant, he didn't lose his nerve. In a fight, the key is to strike first. People or monsters—it's the same. The hand's out? Then sever it!
He chopped down—and it felt like hitting steel. Its skin was harder than iron. Shocked, he was knocked onto his back. The monster, enraged, slapped down with its huge hand.
Ichigo rolled aside; the sand cratered where he'd been. Cold sweat poured—any slower and he'd be paste.
"You monster!"
He sprinted again.
"Aiwass! Are you still there? Help!"
Demons should be handled by angels—why make a normal human fight?
"Summon your courage, Kurosaki Ichigo," Aiwass's voice seemed to whisper. "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."
Who talks like that?
Do what you will—make it your law.
What he willed…
He ran, grinding his teeth, remembering. Like my name—Ichigo: to protect. I have to return and protect the ones I protect. So… no more chase.
Feeling another oppressive gust from above, the darkness thickening, he stopped running. He was exhausted; if he kept going, he'd burn out and lose all chance. Better to spend the last of his strength to fight.
As the huge white hand fell, he gripped the hilt with both hands and slashed upward.
Squelch!
This time, pouring all his spirit and will into the strike, the blade met no resistance—it sliced the huge hand cleanly.
Blood sprayed but arced away from him, spattering the white sand—an eerie contrast under the black sky.
"Hah…" Breath ragged, he didn't stop. He charged and hacked again.
"Argh!!" the Gillian howled, surprised this flimsy soul could counterattack. It moved to strike again, but a flash of gold swept by—and one of its legs was cut off. Ichigo struck again and again; pain drove the Gillian mad. It swatted him.
A human couldn't withstand a Gillian's blow; he flew ten meters and crashed hard.
He coughed blood and stared as the monster's wounds writhed.
"What?!"
The hand, leg, and gouges all began to regenerate.
Then what was the point of his effort?
As despair closed in, the Gillian opened its mouth; red light gathered—Cero.
The power swelled, immense. Ichigo was badly hurt—the swat felt like a truck hit him. If he hadn't been tough and well-trained, he'd already be dead. Now he could barely move. Seeing his attacks undone, facing an immortal-seeming foe, he exhaled the last of his held breath.
"Damn…"
Vision blurred, he raised his head at the crimson blast. He knew that beam would obliterate him. He dropped to his knees—
Boom!
At the last second, he saw someone about his size in black appear before him—a woman with a sword, but not glowing gold.
The black hem flared in the explosion, exposing… a school uniform? He stared, thinking of Nezuko—but then he blacked out.
Boom!
The Cero split in two, like Moses parting the sea; the halves detonated left and right, sending reishi sand into towering waves.
Nezuko stood before Ichigo, her death apotheosis activated.
She looked at the Gillian without fear; her earlier slash had not only split the Cero, it had cut the Gillian itself—from bottom to top, it split in two and crashed into the sand, spraying pale grit.
"What an idiot," Nezuko sheathed her Zanpakutō, clicked her tongue at the unconscious Ichigo. "How did you end up in this dump?"
She pressed her hands together; her skirt fluttered without wind. A toothed black void opened before her. She hoisted Ichigo with one hand and tossed him into the portal.
...
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Ichigo felt someone patting him.
Remembering the Gillian, he jolted up with a shout. "Ah!"
Nezuko and Tatsuki jumped back.
"Whoa, you idiot, what are you yelling for?" Nezuko snapped. "Why were you sleeping here?"
"Nezuko? Tatsuki?"
Ichigo blinked. "Where's the demon?"
"Demon?"
They exchanged a look. "You're babbling. Demon? Don't tell me you got brainwashed by those outside weirdos and think the world's ending?"
It dawned on Ichigo that he was back in Karakura—nestled in flowers outside the school. He scratched his head—and winced. "Ow… Where am I?"
"Flowerbeds outside school," Tatsuki said, stifling a laugh. "Did you botch your fence jump and knock yourself out?"
Ichigo protested, "No! I was in a desert—I saw an angel. And a demon. And at the end I saw someone in black…"
He glanced at Nezuko. He couldn't shake the feeling it had been her.
Had she rescued him?
"What nonsense?" Nezuko and Tatsuki looked weirder. Tatsuki felt his forehead. "No fever…"
"I'm serious! Look!" He yanked open his shirt to show the cross—but found nothing there.
A punch cracked him on the head.
"Pervert?" Tatsuki barked. "You look fine. Go home. Your dad and sisters are going crazy!"
"Right! Yuzu! Karin!"
Ichigo bolted. "Thanks!"
"This guy…" Tatsuki pouted. "Mention his sisters and he sprints."
Nezuko stretched.
"All right, I'm heading home."
"Me too. It's chaotic out; my dad doesn't want me out."
They parted.
Outside was messy—some were looting, convinced the end was nigh.
Karakura, being a new development zone, was no exception. But these middle-schoolers were anything but normal in combat ability, so they weren't worried.
Nezuko returned home and opened the door—Hela was packing.
"Going out? This late?"
"I just got back," Hela said coolly, tossing her a talisman. "From your father."
"What's this?" Nezuko asked.
"Instant teleport charm—something like that. Yoshio says when the time is right, it'll activate and take you to him. The talisman will light up."
"Uh…"
Strange symbols marked it.
"To dad? Where?"
"Soul King Palace."
...
Soul Society, Seireitei.
Three days had passed since the tremors. Though nothing had happened, the Shinigami stayed on guard.
Disaster loves to strike when you relax. Like… now.
It had rained for days; humidity blanketed the Court. Today the sun shone; the heat lifted some gloom; even the Shinigami felt lighter.
In such weather, peace feels sweeter. Flowers swayed; birds stirred. But then a bank of clouds swept in and swallowed the sun.
"Back to this weather?" Yoshio stood in 10th Division's yard, watching the sky and telling his squad to get under cover. "I have a bad feeling."
"Finally coming?" Rangiku asked, face serious. Many in the Gotei felt the same.
A lightning bolt split the sky, thunder like a god's wrath. A mild breeze flipped into a howling gale. Leaves flew; birds scattered. In a blink, the world changed masks.
"A downpour's coming," Yoshio said.
Another slash of lightning lit the heavens, as if to announce: the one who would light—or extinguish—the world… had arrived.
A figure—no, a Hollow—descended with the thunder. A mask covered his head; the black hollow hole in his chest was like a black hole, ready to devour everything.
After his transformation, Angra's mask had fallen and his hollow hole had changed. But Angra's path differed from the Left Hand's.
Angra was a Hollow who broke the boundary with Shinigami power; the Left Hand was pure Hollow power. After being devoured by the Left Hand, Angra naturally became a purer Hollow. If Yoshio could become a Hollow, Angra certainly could.
The moment he appeared, the sky exploded with thunder and rain, as if his existence turned the world into a hell of despair. His roar shook the Seireitei; buildings near him blew apart; many Shinigami were blasted away.
The Gotei scrambled. Seeing only one enemy, captains and lieutenants sighed in relief. Thank goodness he had no sense to bring Arrancar—that would be disastrous.
Before the captains reached him, Angra spread his arms and unleashed a flood of blackness. A reishi storm turned into a hurricane, assimilating everything. Fallen buildings and fallen Shinigami were swallowed, converted; the Shinigami screamed Hollow roars; even architecture seemed to animate. In a blink, the area became a hellscape.
Genryūsai arrived first, pupils tightening. "No Shinigami below captain-level are to approach! Clear this battlefield!"
Normally, fodder can at least wear an enemy down, but this enemy could control and convert others—throwing grunts in was feeding him. He would sacrifice to kill—but not waste lives.
Other captains arrived. Yoshio looked at Angra with a strange feeling—fighting himself? Angra, meanwhile, rocketed skyward.
"Stop him!" Genryūsai barked. "Do not let him into the Soul King Palace!"
His mere flight shredded the air. Flames like a sea surged up as Genryūsai swung; the blaze could scorch the sky, and Angra felt the heat. He halted and conjured a flowing black greatsword from liquid darkness. He chopped down; the blade split the inferno.
"Roar!"
He gathered Cero Oscuras. The instant it formed, Seireitei's space warped. He fired; space ahead twisted to the extreme, collapsing into a black ruin. The power was enormous—several captains together couldn't block it; they retreated. A titanic explosion swallowed dozens of square miles in black fire that flowed like liquid and consumed all. The shockwave traveled even farther, as if the Court were being destroyed.
Boom!
A black mushroom cloud rose. Perched above it, Angra was the true god of death, bringing death. With one strike, several captains were badly injured.
He ignored them and shot upward, but a flurry of cherry blossoms drifted in—millions of blades forming a terrible force. He waved and blew them apart with a pressure gust. A long blade lunged; he caught it, yanked its owner away.
Another brute leapt from the smoke, laughing as he chopped. "Insect." Irritated, Angra swept his dark blade—Zaraki Kenpachi's sword snapped in two; a splitting force nearly bisected him. Blood exploded; he plummeted.
"Captain Kenpachi!"
Shinigami cried out. The strongest Shinigami downed in one blow?!
Unohana's pupils blew wide; she darted, caught him, and poured kaidō into him. But the blackness in his wounds resisted her skill—and crept toward her. She was about to pour more power when Kenpachi's eyes snapped open—black as pitch.
Not good.
Unohana jumped back as the darkness knitted his wounds, and a sinister aura poured from him. He raised his broken blade and slashed at her. She parried.
"Wake up," she said coldly. "I don't want to fight you—not now."
But Kenpachi had lost all reason, a puppet flooded with Angra's black mud. Enraged, he slashed dozens of times. Unohana's face chilled; the old kind mercy vanished, and the First Kenpachi's killing intent returned. She hadn't wanted to fight him now—but challenged, the First Kenpachi would not refuse.