The night was dark and the wind sharp — a perfect time for killing.
Corpses of shinigami littered the streets of the First Division, blood flooding the stone until the ground glistened crimson.
Even Ninth Division members lay among the dead, but their own captain, Tōsen Kaname, showed no hesitation.
"Ah, Captain Tōsen," Gin strolled in with his ever-smiling eyes, his blade spotless. "Didn't Captain Aizen only ask us to clear patrols? You didn't have to kill everyone."
Tōsen's face was ice. "This mission is too important. No mistakes are allowed. You let none live?"
"Of course not," Gin said lightly. "If it's Aizen's command, I'd never leave stragglers. Still…" He tilted his head toward Aizen, who had removed his glasses. "Are you sure, Captain? Our opponent is the strongest shinigami of the last thousand years."
Plans never survived contact with reality. Even Gin hadn't expected it — Aizen's flawless schemes now leading to a direct clash with the Head Captain himself.
Aizen's calm voice cut the air: "Are you worried for me, Gin?"
The weight of his gaze pressed down like a blade. Gin chuckled weakly, but Aizen was already walking toward the First Division barracks, hand brushing Kyōka Suigetsu's hilt.
"Before us," he said softly, "there are no enemies."
Inside, Yamamoto Genryūsai studied the Hōgyoku.
"Head Captain, is this orb really as miraculous as Kisuke claimed?" Chōjirō asked.
To him, it felt like nothing more than glass.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed. "Strange indeed. When I hold it, it tries to merge with me."
Chōjirō's heart leapt. "Then perhaps—!"
But Yamamoto shook his head. "No trinket can elevate me beyond the Soul King. The worlds themselves are his creation. At best, this orb would poison me with hollow taint."
Chōjirō bit his lip. "Shall we give it to the Research and Development Institute? Perhaps Mayuri—"
"Enough." Yamamoto's grip tightened on his zanpakuto. Flames licked its edge even in sealed form, the air swelling hot.
The Vice-Captain stiffened. Yamamoto was serious now.
Footsteps echoed outside — three sets.
"Yamamoto Genryūsai," a cool voice said. "It's been a long time."
Chōjirō's senses flared. The patrols near that street… gone. Thirty shinigami erased without alarm. His face paled. "Head Captain… the guards are all dead."
Yamamoto didn't blink. His blade cleaved the door apart.
"Kō!"
Inferno burst outward, shattering the gate, a sea of fire roaring into the sky. Seireitei blazed like midday. Terrified shinigami screamed "Enemy attack!" rushing from their quarters.
As the flames ebbed, three black-robed figures emerged, shielded by a glowing blue barrier.
Chōjirō hissed, "Bakudō #39: Enkōsen?"
To block Yamamoto's casual strike with such low-level kido — their strength rivaled any captain.
One voice mocked gently, "Head Captain, you're still as hot-tempered as ever. That scared me."
"Shinji Hirako!?" Chōjirō gasped. The voice was identical.
Another growled, "Old man, prepare yourself. You should have expected this day when we escaped."
"Kensei Muguruma!?"
But Yamamoto's eyes cut through the illusion. "Shinji. Kensei. You lack the courage to face me. Whoever you are, your disguises are wasted."
He raised his blade, flames coiling. "Chōjirō. Keep the young ones away. This is no place for them."
"Yes, Head Captain!"
As his lieutenant withdrew, Yamamoto's blade ignited fully.
"All things in the universe… return to ash."
"Ryūjin Jakka!"
The ancient sword roared, firestorm engulfing the barracks. Air warped, space trembled, and Seireitei quaked beneath the strongest zanpakuto ever born.
Gin, watching from afar, hid his unease behind a smile. The Head Captain's power… is even greater than I imagined.
(End of Chapter)
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