Valley of Screams – Present Moment
The Valley of Screams had now twisted into something far more disturbing. What had once been a grotesque cocoon imprisoning Senna had transformed—warped by unknown forces—into a massive, ghostly pale tree rising from the very heart of the realm.
The tree loomed like a monument to despair, its bark a sickly grayish-white, almost translucent. Its enormous trunk cracked with veins of dark energy that pulsed slowly, as if the tree itself were breathing. Branches the size of mountain ridges twisted upward endlessly, vanishing into the heavy, storm-choked skies. The swirling clouds above seemed to have grafted themselves onto the tree like parasitic leaves, flickering with distant flashes of lightning.
Yato stood at the edge of a shattered plateau, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. His gaze darted across the unnatural forest of branches and ruins, searching.
Ganryū had vanished, slipping into the chaos like a shadow in fog. Meanwhile, his underlings, the Dark Ones, and the countless mindless Blanks swarmed like insects, preventing Yato and Ichigo from gaining any ground.
"Dammit," Yato muttered through gritted teeth. Every time he or Ichigo attempted to move forward, another wave of Blanks surged in their path. The Blanks were weak and unstable but plentiful, and worse still, the Dark Ones had begun to absorb them, bolstering their spiritual energy. Their reiatsu fluctuated erratically, making them difficult to predict—one moment sluggish, the next overwhelming.
Weak as they were individually, they were becoming dangerous en masse.
Yato moved across the terrain, every step weaving a web of invisible threads through the environment. His fingers twitched slightly, each motion embedding spiritual wires into the air, earth, and even the Blanks themselves. He was preparing for something massive—he'd decided to detonate everything and cleanse the area in a single strike. He was confident he could shield himself and Ichigo with his Fullbring, and collateral damage was the last thing on his mind right now.
But just as he was about to pull the proverbial trigger a thunderous pressure descended from above, crushing the atmosphere like a meteor of spiritual power.
Yato's head snapped upward, eyes flaring wide. The very air trembled as an immense reiatsu hurtled toward them, accompanied by the deep, manic laughter of someone entirely too familiar.
The Blanks froze. Even the Dark Ones faltered.
"What the hell?" Ichigo blurted, his instincts kicking in. Without waiting for Yato, he leapt clear of the target zone.
Yato followed suit in a blur, snapping his threads loose with a flick of his wrist as he moved. Whatever was coming, he wasn't about to get caught under it.
A split second later—
BOOM.
The ground exploded as Captain Kenpachi Zaraki slammed into the valley like a meteorite.
The earth groaned and cracked beneath the force of his landing, shattering into a spiderweb of fractures. A vast crater yawned open at the impact site, and dozens of Blanks were sucked in by the collapse as they vanished into the abyss. Ganryū's followers scattered like roaches, barely avoiding the shockwave.
Kenpachi stood there, unfazed, his tattered haori fluttering in the turbulence. He didn't even look at anyone directly—he was facing away, one hand holding lazily on his zanpakutō, supporting a grinning Yachiru Kusajishi on his back, who waved cheerfully.
"It's dangerous to stand right there," he said nonchalantly, his voice low and gravelly, as if he'd just stepped out of a bar fight.
"Hey, Ichi!!!" Yachiru called out, wiggling her fingers at Ichigo.
Ichigo's face twisted in disbelief and panic. "Kenpachi!?"
Across the battlefield, Riyan, one of Ganryū's elite, growled in irritation, his body coiled to strike. "Who the hell is that lunatic?" he hissed but he didn't get the chance to strike.
Suddenly, a ice dragon surged in from behind, coiling like a serpent through the air before crashing toward Riyan. The enemy barely leapt aside in time, narrowly dodging the chilling force of the attack.
Standing on the icy ridge was none other than Captain Tōshirō Hitsugaya, his piercing eyes narrowed. Flanking him were several familiar figures: Lieutenants Rangiku Matsumoto, Shūhei Hisagi, Izuru Kira, Nemu Kurotsuchi, and Momo Hinamori. Alongside them came Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika Ayasegawa, both grinning with barely restrained eagerness.
Yato came to a sharp stop, gaze flicking between them all.
He opened his mouth to throw out a sarcastic remark, but something caught his eye—and it wasn't Zaraki, nor the storm forming overhead.
It was Hinamori.
His expression shifted into one of mild confusion. 'Wait a sec… what's she doing here?' His eyes lingered on her unsure figure. 'Okay, Nemu I get. But Momo? Wasn't she like, in the hospital…? Or still swooning over Aizen like he was some sort of messiah?'
A familiar voice echoed inside his mind with a knowing smirk.
'Did you forget you healed her, dumbass?' Cheshire drawled lazily.
'Oh yeah… I mean, I remember helping... still...'
'Maybe she just… I dunno, came back to work? She is a shinigami, after all.' Cheshire sounded more amused than certain.
'Since when do shinigami actually do their jobs properly?' Yato muttered internally, frowning.
"Stop wasting time, you two!" Captain Hitsugaya's words echoed across the broken terrain of the Valley of Screams, snapping both Yato and Ichigo out of their focus.
Startled, Ichigo blinked and looked up. "You guys?!" he exclaimed, stunned to see a squad of Shinigami descending from the jagged cliffs behind them.
Standing among them was Ikkaku Madarame, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his zanpakutō, which lay slung over his shoulder like a challenge. A smirk spread across his face.
"Did you seriously think we were gonna let you hog all the action?" he said, his tone almost teasing.
Beside him, Yumichika gestured with graceful flair, his every move exuding elegance despite the grim surroundings. "There hasn't been a party like this for a while, so we want our chance, too." he said with a twirl of his fingers, as if conducting a fashion show rather than standing in a battle.
Rangiku, with her arms crossed and a proud smirk on her lips, stepped forward, her eyes gleaming. "All it took was a few well-placed comments," she said, tilting her head with a playful glint in her eyes. "And suddenly everyone wanted in on the action. You can thank me later."
Hitsugaya's gaze locked onto Ichigo and Yato once more, his voice firm. "Hurry, you two!!"
Ichigo couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, guys!" he called out, giving a quick wave before dashing off.
Yato didn't waste words. With a flicker of light beneath his feet, he activated Bringer Light, disappearing from the crowd of Blanks in a brilliant flash. Within seconds, he had surged ahead of Ichigo.
"Move out!" Hitsugaya barked the order. In perfect synchronicity, the Shinigami around him vanished in bursts of Shunpo, their forms becoming blurs as they descended the Valley.
A streak of dark energy slammed down in front of Yato, forcing him to skid to a halt.
"You think you're just gonna pass by?" a sneering voice snapped.
Jai materialized from the mist, landing with a crack of energy that shattered the stones beneath his feet. His twisted grin widened as he raised his hand, ready to strike.
Yato gritted his teeth, already shifting his stance to counter when suddenly a second blur of motion shot past him.
CRACK.
A devastating kick collided with Jai's side. The blow was so powerful it launched him through the air like a ragdoll, smashing him into a rock wall, where he vanished in a cloud of shattered stone and dust.
Yato blinked in surprise.
Standing where Jai had been, poised as if the impact had been nothing more than a gentle breeze, was Nemu Kurotsuchi.
Her expression was blank as ever, stoic and unfazed.
"It's good to see you again, Yasakani-sama," she said with detached calm. "Proceed without hesitation. We will ensure that no one interferes."
Her voice, though emotionless, carried the weight of complete certainty.
"Thanks," Yato replied quickly, already racing past her with Ichigo just a step behind.
But just as they broke into a clearing between the corrupted roots of the massive tree, a sudden storm of Blanks came surging toward them from above.
Before either of them could react—
<< Change, Mizuko Jizō. >> • 水子地蔵, Water Child Jizō •
Nemu's voice was low and reverent as she drew her zanpakutō, inverted in her grip, the blade pointing downward toward the fractured earth.
In her hands, the sword began to transform.
The once-slender blade split into three iridescent triangular segments, converging at a needle-like tip. The guard dissolved, replaced by a closed bronze lotus flower, binding the blade to the hilt. The pommel morphed into six tiny baby-like heads, each with their hands joined in prayer, their eerie serenity cast in a tarnished bronze. Two rows of three heads lined either side. Her zanpakutō no longer resembled a wakizashi, but a ritual dagger—a phurba from a forgotten temple.
Nemu's stance shifted slightly, preparing to leap—and then—
BOOM.
A rosy fireball exploded midair, tearing through a swarm of Blanks with searing heat and shrill impact. The blast sent a wave of scorched energy across the ground.
Yato and Ichigo glanced over their shoulders in time to see another figure stepping forward into the fray.
Lieutenant Momo Hinamori was already raising her zanpakutō again.
<< Snap! Tobiume! >> • 飛梅, Flying Plum Tree •
She shouted and with a soft keening cry—strangely reminiscent of a seagull's call—Tobiume unleashed a second fireball, which spiraled outward in a helix of pink flame and exploded through another wave of Blanks.
"Don't worry about the rest! We'll hold them off!" Hinamori shouted urgently without looking back. Her stance was firm, her eyes locked on the waves of Blanks approaching from all directions.
Suddenly, a familiar blur dashed back into view. Jai, who had previously tried to block their advance, lunged forward once more, blade poised for a quick strike at Yato and Ichigo.
But before his sword could meet its mark—
A hand caught his wrist.
Nemu had moved faster than either Yato or Ichigo had seen, appearing beside Jai with mechanical precision. Her fingers clamped down hard on his arm, her grip unnaturally strong.
In her right hand, the phurba-like zanpakutō gleamed, its blade pulsing faintly, as though drawing breath. But it was her left hand that gripped Jai's wrist, fingers locking around bone like iron clamps.
Yato blinked.
Something was different.
The glow of Nemu's blade hadn't touched her wrist—but still, her skin had shifted color. A silvery metallic sheen spread across her left hand like liquid mercury, hardening rapidly. Within a second, the sound of bones cracking echoed across the valley.
"Grrk—!" Jai let out a strangled cry as his wrist was crushed by her enhanced grip.
Yato raised an eyebrow, curious.
She had modified her hand's structure without even making contact with her zanpakutō's blade.
Nemu calmly released Jai, who collapsed backward in pain and fury.
Almost as if she had sensed Yato's silent intrigue, she turned her head slightly in his direction.
Raising two fingers in a subtle "V-shape", she gestured toward him in a way that might have passed for a small sign of victory—or acknowledgment.
Her face, however, remained perfectly emotionless, that signature stoicism intact.
Yato blinked, momentarily thrown off. The combination of the gesture and her cold, deadpan expression made the moment almost comically awkward.
"I've been training, Yasakani-sama." Nemu said plainly, as if that explained everything. And in her mind—it did.
Yato gave a half-chuckle and a smirk, briefly amused. There was something strangely endearing about how her robotic delivery clashed so perfectly with the subtle attempt at a casual boast.
Behind them, Hinamori sent another fireball spiraling into the crowd of Blanks and with that, Yato and Ichigo charged forward once again, pushing deeper into the heart of the grotesque landscape. Around them, the twisted roots of the tree writhed like veins of some ancient beast, curling upward into a forest of bone-colored trunks.
As soon as Yato and Ichigo disappeared, Nemu stood silently, her pale gaze turning—almost imperceptibly toward Hinamori.
Lieutenant Hinamori stood no far from her. Her posture was steady, her sword still raised, but Nemu's precise observational eye picked up the cracks beneath the surface.
Dark, heavy shadows circled beneath Hinamori's eyes like bruises etched by sleepless nights. Her skin looked paler than usual, stretched thin over hollow cheeks, and her stance, while brave, was subtly unbalanced—like a soldier willing herself to keep moving forward on willpower alone.
Though she tried to mask it with forced resolve, it was clear Hinamori was running on sheer emotional inertia.
The reality was simple. Ever since the betrayal of Sōsuke Aizen, she had never truly recovered. Her body had mended, thanks in part to Captain Unohana's careful medical treatment and Yato Yasakani's powers. But her mind—her heart—remained trapped in that moment when everything she believed in was shattered.
Even after seeing the truth with her own eyes—even after nearly dying by Aizen's hand—a part of her refused to accept it. She clung to the fantasy that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. That Aizen had been manipulated, or coerced, or forced by some unknown enemy. Anything but the truth she could not face.
Nemu, not one to speak often unless it served a purpose, tilted her head just slightly and asked with her usual calm, emotionless tone:
"Are you certain you should be here, Lieutenant Hinamori?" Her voice was perfectly measured, yet if one listened carefully, it carried a faint—almost imperceptible—note of genuine concern. "Given your current physical and psychological condition, engaging in combat is illogical."
Hinamori turned to her with a soft, weary smile. It was the smile of someone who had nothing left but duty—thin and tired, but quietly determined.
"I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant Kurotsuchi, but I'm fine. Really." She tried to sound reassuring, though her voice trembled ever so slightly. "In a way… I owe Yato Yasakani a debt. If fighting here helps repay even a fraction of that—" she paused, pressing a hand lightly to her chest, "—then that's something I can still do. So please… don't worry about me."
Her voice cracked faintly at the end. She caught it quickly and straightened up, trying to reassert the mask of composure.
Nemu's eyes lingered on her, unreadable as always and silently respecting the fragile conviction of the lieutenant's heart.
But the moment of peace was fleeting.
In an instant, the air around them shifted.
A flicker of reiatsu tore through the atmosphere, and Nemu spun around just as a furious blur surged toward them. The ground beneath their feet cracked from the pressure as Jai launched himself back at Nemu with a scream of rage and madness.
His eyes blazed with hate as he brought down his chakram, the curved blade spinning toward Nemu's face.
Nemu raised her zanpakutō just in time, the sleek phurba-like blade catching the chakram in a clean parry. Sparks flew from the collision as the two weapons scraped violently against one another.
Their eyes locked for a brief second. Jai's were wild while Nemu's remained perfectly calm, an unsettling contrast of serenity in the face of rage.
"I broke your wrist." Nemu said, clinical and curious, watching as the previously crushed limb of her opponent began to tremble… then twist.
All around them, the Blanks responded to Jai's need. They surged toward him, streams of pale, flickering reiryoku pouring into his arm, warping the bone and sinew back into form with grotesque speed.
Jai's broken wrist snapped back into place with a disturbing crack. His skin re-knitted, fingers flexed, and from the reformed arm a second chakram emerged.
With a snarl, he hurled it directly at Nemu.
She didn't blink. Her form blurred as she shifted to the side, effortlessly avoiding the spinning blade as it screamed past her head and vanished into the distance. Her hair fluttered slightly in the wake of its passage, but her focus never left the man who stood before her.
"I won't let you take the Shinenju!" Jai howled, veins bulging along his neck. His voice cracked under the weight of obsession, his mind clearly teetering on the edge.
His spiritual pressure surged wildly, unstable and chaotic, fed by the surrounding Blanks that flowed toward him like moths to a flame. His body shook from the unnatural regeneration, and his aura flickered with volatile power. There was no logic left in his eyes. Only desperation. Only madness.
Nemu narrowed her gaze slightly, analyzing him without a trace of fear.
Then, like a scientist addressing a failed experiment, she spoke in her flat, eerily composed tone.
"…I see. Then I'll dismantle you entirely."
**
The Shinigami forces had spread out across the terrain like streaks of lightning, dispatching wave after wave of Blanks, but in the distance, perched atop a jagged ledge, stood Benin, one of Ganryū's followers. Unlike the others, she remained calm. She knelt beside a craggy outcrop and raised her crossbow. Her eye glowed faintly behind an enhanced scope fixed over one lens, scanning the battlefield with sniper-like intent.
Her gaze locked onto Yumichika Ayasegawa, who was weaving through clusters of Blanks, his every move practiced and theatrical—even in combat. With a smirk, Benin adjusted the scope for maximum focus and alignment. The crosshairs settled neatly between Yumichika's shoulder blades.
"Got you." she whispered.
With the lightest pressure, she released the first arrow.
Seconds passed and Yumichika never flinched. He never slowed. He didn't even seem to notice.
"…Huh?" she muttered in disbelief, adjusting her scope.
Yumichika was still moving fluidly, untouched. Confused, Benin cursed under her breath and quickly loaded another arrow. With a swift movement, she fired again.
And again… nothing.
"What the hell is going on?" she growled, her brow furrowing. She stood up slightly, frustrated, scanning the area around Yumichika.
That's when she heard it.
"Hey."
Benin's blood ran cold as she turned abruptly toward the voice.
Standing just meters away on the same cliff, as if she had materialized from the shadows themselves, was Captain Soi Fon, commander of the 2nd Squad and head of the Onmitsukidō.
"Looking for these?" Soi Fon asked with a smirk and with a flick of her wrist, she held up her right hand. In her fingers—both of Benin's arrows, pinched effortlessly between her fingertips.
Benin hadn't missed her target.
They had been intercepted.
Without ceremony, she crushed the arrows between her fingers. The shards disintegrated into reishi dust that drifted away on the valley's unnatural winds.
"You bitch." Benin spat, already raising another arrow to reload, but the moment her fingers touched the next arrow—Soi Fon vanished.
Benin's eye widened as she instinctively fired into the space where the captain had stood. The shot hit something white—Soi Fon's captain's haori, fluttering gently in the air like discarded paper. The fabric floated to the ground, pierced and torn, but the woman herself was gone.
Benin's gaze snapped up just in time to see a blur of motion when Soi Fon reappeared, sprinting toward her at an inhuman speed with her zanpakutō drawn, the blade glinting in the murky light of the dimension.
Realizing she had no time to retreat or snipe again, Benin tossed aside her crossbow and pulled out a pair of curved daggers, their blades connected by a long chain affixed to the hilts.
Steel met steel as the two women clashed violently in a blur of motion and sparks.
Their blades collided again and again, ringing out like shrieks in the desolate air. The chain between Benin's daggers lashed through the space between them, while Soi Fon weaved through each strike, countering with blindingly fast slashes of her zanpakutō.
The battle dragged them across the valley, darting between the shattered stones, but then they broke apart—each skidding to a halt atop opposite cliffs.
Benin's eyes narrowed as she noticed something odd.
A faint, dark butterfly-shaped mark, the << Hōmonka >> • 蜂紋華, Hornet's Crest •, glowing softly on her chest.
She looked up, and Soi Fon met her gaze with the same unreadable expression.
Suzumebachi had been activated, and she had already struck once.
"Damn you!" Benin snarled, her face contorting with rage.
She lunged again, the chain of her blades whipping wildly as the two clashed in a second furious storm of strikes. Soi Fon attempted to use Shunpo, vanishing from sight again to strike from behind.
But this time, Benin anticipated her.
With a swift spin, she lashed out with her hooked daggers, catching Soi Fon's ankle mid-step, yanking her out of rhythm. The captain's strike missed its mark, and Benin delivered a kick that sent Soi Fon flying downward, her body crashing violently into the rock-strewn valley floor.
Without wasting a second, Benin hurled one of her hooked daggers downward. The chain followed like a snake, wrapping around Soi Fon's neck and pulling taut.
Benin grinned, teeth bared. With a sharp tug, she reeled the chain in, dragging the captain across the ground, bouncing against the sharp stones and debris, before yanking her violently upward.
Soi Fon dangled by the neck, the chain coiled tightly around her throat.
"Not so smug now, are you?" Benin taunted, tightening the grip, her muscles straining.
But her grin faltered.
In a blink Soi Fon vanished again, as if slipping through the chain like a blurr.
Benin's eyes widened—too late.
With a sudden burst of air, Soi Fon reappeared beneath her, eyes narrowed with deadly, and delivered a devastating upward kick to Benin's chest. The force launched her skyward.
As Benin soared, struggling to right herself midair, she looked down—just in time to see Soi Fon already in pursuit.
Before Benin could even block Suzumebachi struck again. The blade pierced her chest in the same exact spot as before.
A second Hōmonka mark bloomed over the first.
Soi Fon's cold whisper rang out through the valley like a death sentence:
<< Nigeki Kessatsu. >> • 弐撃決殺, Death in Two Steps •
Benin froze. Her body pulsed, and in the next heartbeat, her entire form dissolved, consumed by the expanding butterfly mark now glowing like a cursed brand.
Her scream echoed across the cliffs before being silenced, her body reduced to nothing but spiraling particles of energy, fading into the wind.
**
Elsewhere in the Valley of Screams, amidst the grotesque formation of blank white trees twisted together like the malformed roots of a long-dead forest, Kenpachi Zaraki strode leisurely along one of the massive gnarled branches. His tattered haori flapped with each step, and his zanpakutō rested lazily across his right shoulder, the blade humming faintly with spiritual pressure.
Perched comfortably on his left shoulder, as if he were no more than a walking playground, was Yachiru Kusajishi, his ever-cheerful lieutenant. Her tiny legs kicked playfully in the air as she leaned forward, her bright pink hair catching the low, ghostly light that filtered through the dense reishi fog above them.
Zaraki's lone visible eye scanned the bizarre, pulsating forest with disinterest.
Suddenly a glint sliced through the air—followed by a sudden cut across his face.
Blood trickled from a shallow gash that crossed the bridge of his nose. The blade hadn't even been deep enough to make him blink.
"Huh?" Zaraki grunted. He looked more irritated than surprised.
From the shadows, more projectiles rained down—sharp, whirling objects that howled through the air. Zaraki tilted his head, batting them away effortlessly with either the flat of his blade or by simply letting them bounce off his body. One embedded itself in the branch beside him, and with a flick of his fingers, he caught another midair.
"Ridiculous." he muttered, studying the weapon. It was a two-pointed shuriken, sleek and deadly—but utterly unimpressive to someone like him.
He snorted and flung it back with casual strength, the air cracking as it sailed into the distance like a bullet.
Somewhere further ahead, Mue, one of Ganryū's followers, ducked low behind a crooked tree trunk. He had been tailing Zaraki, watching for an opening. But his hiding spot suddenly split open as Zaraki's shuriken sliced through the tree, lodging into the wood just inches from his neck.
Eyes wide, Mue stepped back in alarm.
"Wha—?!" He stumbled directly into something solid—something that radiated a suffocating amount of spiritual pressure
Mue turned only to see Zaraki Kenpachi behind him.
The captain chuckled. "I hate chasing people. But turns out I'm pretty good at it."
Without hesitation, Mue dashed away, leaping across the web of branches. But he wasn't alone for long.
Suddenly, right beside him, Yachiru appeared giggling—skipping along the branches, keeping pace with the man as if this were all a game.
Frustrated, Mue launched himself toward a distant branch.
"Get him, Ken-chan!"
Mue lands hard and spin around—only to find Zaraki already there, standing calmly in front of him, blade still resting across his shoulder like he hadn't moved at all.
"Can I cut you yet?" Zaraki asked, an edge of anticipation creeping into his voice. His grin had turned predatory, but there was a hint of annoyance in his eye.
Realizing he couldn't keep fleeing, Mue finally lunged, drawing his sword and thrusting it straight toward Zaraki's gut.
Zaraki made no effort to block or dodge. Instead, he reached out and caught the blade mid-thrust—his hand clamping around the metal with a crunch.
Mue grinned. The sword's hilt detached, and the visible blade retracted, revealing a hidden segmented golden whip-like edge, thin and razor-sharp. With a flick, he lashed it across Zaraki's chest, tearing a deep, diagonal gash through his uniform and into flesh.
Blood sprayed into the air.
There was a moment of silence.
Then—
Zaraki smiled.
His single eye glinted with unrestrained joy as he looked down at the fresh wound, blood soaking into his robes.
"Ohhh… What's this?" his voice rising with excitement. "Looks like I can have some real fun with you."
He stepped forward, the ground beneath him cracking slightly under the force of his reiatsu.
Zaraki raised his zanpakutō and brought it crashing down—not at Mue, but at the thick branch where his enemy stood. The blow shattered the wood like dry bone, sending a violent shockwave through the reishi-infused forest.
Mue's eyes widened in alarm. The branch beneath his feet split apart, and he had no choice but to leap into the air, twisting mid-flight to maintain balance. Splinters and shards of pale bark exploded around him.
But Zaraki was already moving—springing after him like a predator unleashed.
With reflexes honed by desperation, Mue lashed out. The segmented golden blade he had revealed earlier came to life again, the chain hissing as it unfurled like a serpent. The sharp, glinting segments launched forward in rapid succession, aimed directly at Zaraki's midsection.
Kenpachi didn't slow. He swung his sword in a wide arc—cleaving through the segmented whip with a single, brutal motion. The pieces deflected off his blade and scattered across the forest..
Before Mue could react, Kenpachi grabbed him mid-air, his hand clamping down on the front of Mue's kimono. In one fluid motion, he pulled Mue in and slammed a punch into his gut with the force of a wrecking ball.
Mue was launched downward, his body crashing through layers of dead branches until he finally landed hard on a lower platform of twisted wood.
Groaning, he forced himself up—blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. But his hand never stopped moving. He reached for the hilt still gripped tightly in his fingers, which was now connected to Kenpachi's blade by the chain of his segmented weapon.
With a snarl, Mue twisted the hilt and activated the mechanism within.
A current of electricity surged through the golden chain, racing upward toward Kenpachi like a lightning strike conducted by steel. As the charge hit the captain's blade, there was a brilliant blue flash—followed by a violent explosion that shattered the surrounding branches into ash and smoke.
Mue shielded his face from the fallout, panting. "That should've—"
But then the smoke parted.
A wave of spiritual pressure rolled forward like a crushing tide, suffocating and wild.
From within the dissipating haze, Kenpachi emerged, untouched—his body completely unharmed.
Before Mue could react, Kenpachi descended upon him like a meteor, his blade coming down in a vertical arc that cleaved through wood, stone, and reishi alike.
Mue's body split apart, falling in two halves, before dissolving into fading particles of reishi.
Kenpachi stood tall among the wreckage, his grin returning, blood dripping from the edge of his sword.
**
<< Sit Upon the Frozen Heavens, Hyōrinmaru! >> • 氷輪丸, Ice Ring •
Instantly, a roar of cold wind surged from his blade, curling into the form of an immense ice dragon, serpentine and coiling, its translucent body reflecting shards of light like a living sculpture. With a piercing cry, the dragon lunged forward.
Across the shattered terrain of the Valley, Riyan merely grinned.
Perched atop a twisted ledge, Riyan responded with a hiss of steam and pressure. The rocketpacks on his back glowed, and with a mechanical snarl, dozens of explosive projectiles launched from the tubes, screaming through the air.
The two forces collided and the explosion lighting up the valley with a violent shockwave as Hyōrinmaru's form shattered in mid-flight.
Riyan laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the canyon walls.
"Don't try to outlast me, boy!" he sneered. From all around them, Blanks began to emerge, phasing from the white mists like crawling phantoms. They swarmed toward Riyan, their distorted bodies sinking into the mechanical packs on his back, replenishing the volatile energy inside.
"You can't honestly believe that your spiritual pressure will outlast mine." He let out another bark of cruel laughter. "I'll fight as long as I damn well please. Now take this!"
He fired again, unleashing a barrage of projectiles that screeched through the air.
Hitsugaya sprang into the sky, his white cloak fluttering behind him. He weaved between the projectiles, his zanpakutō slicing some of them in mid-air, sending fiery blossoms of premature explosions around him. Despite his speed, the rest adjusted course and continued to chase him.
One of them caught him mid-flight—
BOOM!
A fiery detonation exploded against his left side, swallowing him in flames and smoke.
Riyan let out a triumphant howl of laughter, already loading another set of projectiles. "Let's see how long you can keep this up."
As more Blanks merged into his rocketpacks, the number of projectiles multiplied. He fired again—dozens, then hundreds of shots soared into the sky, hunting the fading silhouette of the captain.
"Looks like this is the end," Riyan grinned, his tone smug. "Try not to—huh?"
His grin faltered.
As the smoke cleared, a powerful gust of cold wind blew through the valley, causing a mist of frost to spiral upward. The temperature dropped drastically in seconds, and the battlefield was suddenly silent.
Emerging from the icy haze were two massive wings of pure, crystalline ice—spanning wide across the battlefield, each feather shimmering like sculpted diamonds.
Riyan's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Bankai…" came Hitsugaya's calm voice, sharp as a blade, and utterly unfazed.
The icy wings opened wide, revealing Tōshirō Hitsugaya transformed. His right arm was completely encased in a dragon-shaped gauntlet, its fanged snout enclosing the hilt of his zanpakutō. The blade itself had changed—its guard now gleamed with the pattern of an eight-pointed star, and its edges seemed to shimmer with inner frost.
From his back, the enormous wings unfurled, connected to a flowing ice tail. Ice crawled down his left arm, forming a clawed gauntlet. Floating behind him, three glowing ice flowers—each composed of four purple diamond-shaped petals.
<< Daiguren Hyōrinmaru! >> • 大紅蓮氷輪丸, Grand Crimson Lotus Ice Ring •
"Damn it… he still had that much spiritual energy left?" Riyan's voice cracked, disbelief twisting into panic as he stumbled back. The chill in the air had deepened, biting through the seams of his armor. His breath came out in frantic clouds of steam, eyes darting to the icy silhouette floating in the sky before him.
Hitsugaya, now fully enveloped in his Bankai, stood suspended in the air. The atmosphere trembled under the pressure of his Reiatsu, the very particles in the air beginning to crystallize and drift like snow.
"Tch… fine. If that's how you want it..." Riyan growled, spinning around, hoping to recover his upper hand.
He turned toward the swarms of Blanks that still twisted and writhed across the Valley, ready to absorb more of them into his rocketpacks to restock his devastating projectiles. But as he crouched to engage the absorption process—
He froze.
Literally.
A horrible cracking sound rose behind him. Riyan blinked and craned his neck over his shoulder. His rocketpacks, once blazing with heat and energy, were now encased in thick, translucent ice. Glimmering frost had spread along the ground behind him like a creeping glacier, coiling up the sides of the machinery and sealing every seam, every intake, every vent.
"W-What?!"
Behind Hitsugaya, forming from the vapor in the sky and the spiritual pressure flooding the battlefield, an enormous dragon of ice had silently coiled into existence. Its massive head bowed just behind the young captain, shimmering scales refracting pale blue light. As Riyan turned to face him again, his eyes met the frozen gaze of the beast.
With a subtle shift of his sword, he gave the unspoken command.
The ice dragon roared to life, launching itself forward. The earth beneath it fractured from the force of its movement. Riyan had time to scream—just once—before the beast slammed into him with titanic force.
A shockwave of frost burst outward, engulfing everything within a wide radius.
The scream cut off abruptly.
Where Riyan had once stood, there was now only a massive spike of jagged, twisting ice, spiraling upward like a frozen monument. Shards and snow drifted lazily around the scene as silence fell again over this portion of the Valley.
The battle with Riyan was over and Hitsugaya's gaze turned toward the center of the Valley. Where the grotesque tree of Blanks loomed like a parasitic tumor growing from the world itself.
**
Soul Society — Seireitei, Sōkyoku Hill
A heavy stillness blanketed the air atop Sōkyoku Hill, broken only by the rhythmic chanting of incantations echoing across the plateau.
Looming at the center of the hill was the enormous structure of the Kidō Cannon, surrounded by a semicircle of Kidō Corps members in ceremonial black cloaks marked with glowing incantation sigils. They moved in unison, weaving intricate hand seals in the air, their voices harmonizing into a resonant hum of pure reiryoku.
Standing a short distance away, watching the ritual in grim silence, were Captain-Commander Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, flanked by Captain Jūshirō Ukitake, Captain Shunsui Kyōraku, and Lieutenant Chōjirō Sasakibe.
The elderly Captain-Commander stood unmoving like a stone monument, his eyes locked on the sky where space had begun to tear. Around him, the wind whispered uneasily, rustling the folds of his robes like premonitions carried on the air.
Suddenly, one of the Kidō Corps members vanished from the circle with a flicker of Shunpo, reappearing instantly in front of Yamamoto. The robed man dropped to one knee, head bowed low in deference.
"Third Division is in position. Preparations for firing are complete." His voice was steady despite the gravity of the moment. "Our latest readings confirm the dimensional convergence will reach the critical point in less than five minutes."
With his message delivered, the soldier vanished again, rejoining the others as the air around the cannon began to thrum with latent power.
Captain Ukitake's brow furrowed deeply, his expression drawn tight with concern. He took a step forward, casting a glance at the Kidō Cannon, then back at Yamamoto.
"Captain-Commander…" he said, his voice gentle but urgent, tinged with the weight of hesitation.
Yamamoto didn't look at him immediately. He remained still for a long moment, eyes narrowed, as if reading the shifting patterns of energy threading through the skies above Seireitei. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and solemn—gravel crushed by the weight of centuries.
"I understand." He nodded slowly. "We will wait... until the very end."
Ukitake visibly exhaled, some relief breaking through his worried gaze. For a moment, there was hope that perhaps a catastrophe could be averted.
But Yamamoto was not finished.
"However..." His eyes sharpened, turning toward the horizon—toward the mirror of the human world that now shimmered faintly above the Seireitei like a ghost image superimposed over reality itself.
**
Valley of Screams
Yato and Ichigo stood just a few paces away from the grotesque, towering tree that had erupted at the heart of the Valley of Screams. The closer they got, the heavier the atmosphere became, thick with unstable reiryoku and the eerie cries of wandering Blanks dissolving into the tree's roots.
They had barely taken another step forward, preparing to launch themselves into the web of giant branches that spiraled upward like skeletal arms, when it came.
Dozens of chakrams, glowing with a sickly red aura, spun through the air from every direction.
In an instant, Ichigo brought his oversized Zangetsu up, its wide blade intercepting a flurry of incoming chakrams with swift, practiced slashes. Sparks erupted around him with each impact. Meanwhile, beside him, Yato's red spiritual threads lashed outward with calculated speed. His Fullbring extended, catching several of the chakrams midair, twisting and binding them.
"You're not getting the Shinenju!" a manic voice shrieked.
Jai exploded from the shadows without warning, his chakram already mid-swing, aiming directly for Yato's chest. Eyes narrowing, Yato twisted at the last moment and launched himself backward, narrowly avoiding the blade.
Before Ichigo could rush to back him up, another presence dropped from above with a thunderous impact that shook the ground beneath them. A hulking figure crashed down in front of him, swinging two giant clubs with brutal force. Ichigo barely managed to block the attack with Zangetsu, the sheer pressure forcing him to skid backward through the dust and gravel.
The attacker was dressed in the same eerie green shihakushō worn by the other Dark Ones, but stood much taller and broader than Jai. Atop his head sat a dark green beret, and covering his face was a pale grey veil, bearing the crimson symbol of "Ōm" etched at its center.
"Bau, let's crush these brats already!" Jai shouted, furious that Yato had dodged.
Bau did not reply. He simply grunted in response, low and guttural, like a beast acknowledging its command. His lack of speech was almost more disturbing than a roar would have been.
But Yato was no longer listening.
"What the hell is this freak doing here again?!" Yato snarled through gritted teeth, his patience entirely gone.
The crimson threads of his Fullbring coiled around his arms and legs, encasing his limbs in a web of glowing red energy like a second skin. His speed increased dramatically, propelling him forward like a cannonball. He launched himself at Jai, his zanpakutō igniting with crimson force. In a flash of motion, he struck.
The force of the blow sent Jai flying through a cluster of branches, snapping them like dry twigs. The shockwave rippled outward.
Before Bau could intervene, Ichigo stepped in, intercepting the brute with a wide slash of Zangetsu that forced Bau to block, his massive frame sliding back.
But Ichigo wasn't focused solely on the fight anymore. His eyes kept flicking toward Yato.
To Ichigo, Yato Yasakani had always been someone who lived just outside the storm. A laid-back figure with a calm, almost lazy expression, Yato was a guy who avoided trouble unless it absolutely demanded his attention. He rarely raised his voice, rarely let emotions cloud his judgment. Even when annoyed or frustrated, Yato's reaction had always been the same: a quiet sigh, maybe a sarcastic comment, or simply a decision to walk away.
But now… now he was someone else entirely.
It had started when the problem with the Soul Society and Senna started, but it truly escalated after Ganryū's ambush.
Ichigo hadn't been close enough to see exactly what had happened when Yato was nearly killed… but the change had been undeniable.
Before Ichigo could voice his concerns or process Yato's outburst further, something unexpected seized his attention—something unnatural.
All of the chakrams he had deflected… and those that Yato had immobilized with his crimson threads… began to vibrate.
A thick, pulsating mass of Reiatsu began to seep from each spinning weapon, distorting the air around them like heatwaves. Ichigo's eyes narrowed as the energy rapidly intensified. Then, with a series of grotesque flashes, each chakram morphed, reshaping with a sickening twist of metal and spirit energy.
To Ichigo's disbelief, each chakram transformed into a fully-formed copy of Jai.
"Hahahaha!! You fools!!" all the Jai replicas cackled in unison, their voices warped and echoing like a deranged choir. "Did you really think it'd be that easy to kill me?!"
Their madness was unmistakable—manic grins stretched across every face as they surged toward Yato like a pack of ravenous beasts, each clone conjuring a new pair of glowing chakrams in their hands.
"Yato!!" Ichigo shouted, starting to rush toward him—but Bau let out a guttural roar, charging once again with his twin clubs. Ichigo cursed under his breath, forced to intercept the attack. 'Damn it!'
Meanwhile, Yato had already pivoted on his heel, his red threads coiling like angry serpents around his limbs as he prepared for the storm of Jai clones. The ground beneath him cracked from the sheer force of his Reiatsu. He was about to strike—
—but then the air shifted.
From behind Yato, a sudden blast of cold wind howled across the battlefield, carrying with it a spiraling wave of snow and razor-sharp ice shards. The temperature dropped in an instant. The blizzard struck the swarm of Jai replicas, freezing each one in mid-leap, encasing them in jagged sculptures of crystal-clear ice.
One of the Jai clones managed a desperate scream, hurling a chakram away just before the frost overtook him, his expression frozen mid-howl.
Suddenly a voice rang out behind them.
"Bankai!!"
<< Hihiō Zabimaru!! >> • 狒々王蛇尾丸, Baboon King Snake Tail •
Yato and Ichigo both turned toward the sound instantly, recognizing the tone and the spiritual pressure behind it.
Rukia stood poised amidst the fading snow with her Sode no Shirayuki in hand, the blade glowing with an ethereal white aura, her breath misting in the frozen air.
Beside her, Renji gripped his transformed Zanpakutō—now a massive segmented weapon resembling a serpent's vertebrae, but even larger, with jagged protrusions and a snake's skull-like head as its crown. The segments of the blade slithered and shifted with a life of their own. Around Renji's shoulders was a green-furred cowl.
"Both of you—hold on tight!" Renji shouted, launching Zabimaru's enormous skeletal head toward them like a living battering ram.
Yato and Ichigo leapt up, landing squarely on the skull of the summoned beast. The massive Bankai began to extend and launch forward at incredible speed, like a serpent in full strike.
It tore through the valley, crushing frozen Jai copies beneath its bulk and sending Bau flying in its path—shattered debris and broken branches raining down in its wake.
The cutting wind still carried shards of ice through the air, cracking like shattered glass as they swirled. The battlefield trembled beneath the heavy footsteps of Bau, who rose from the rubble, patches of broken frost clinging to his hulking frame like shattered armor.
Nearby, Jai, having replicated himself once more through the lone chakram that escaped the freezing storm, emerged again—this time, targeting Rukia. He darted toward her with a snarl.
But the petite Shinigami no longer saw him clearly.
The cold emanating from her Shikai curled around her like a living mist, but that wasn't the cold she felt now.
It was deeper. Internal.
She could feel it—him.
Even far away. Even without seeing.
Yato.
The connection stirred inside her like an open wound that refused to close. Even with her back turned to him—while he and Ichigo vanished into the distance toward Senna—she could feel every flicker of his spiritual energy. Every surge. Every fracture.
Once again, Yato was afraid. Once again, he was angry.
But this time… this time was different.
'He's furious,' Rukia thought, her brow furrowed with concern. She had thought she helped him the last time he fell into that darkness, that she had been a guiding hand. But now she realized just how easily Yato could fall again—and this time felt worse. Deeper. Like he wasn't just angry at the world… but at himself.
'You're breaking,' she thought bitterly, the pain not entirely his anymore.
She stepped forward as the air buzzed ominously. The chakrams that Jai had begun to manifest again spun above her in rapid, taunting arcs. But her eyes weren't focused on them.
They were distant.
With a swift motion, she invoked an icy wall that erupted from the earth in a burst of glimmering white, halting Jai's assault mid-charge. But he kept multiplying.
Her Sode no Shirayuki sang through the air, but the chill in her bones wasn't spiritual. It wasn't from her blade.
It was the echo of Yato's spirit—buried beneath layers of thorns, pulsing with anguish.
She could feel it.
Not just fear or anger… but self-loathing. A haunting certainty.
'His rage isn't only for the enemy. It's for himself… like he's decided to do something he'll regret—and he's already punishing himself for it.'
The hilt of Sode no Shirayuki trembled slightly in her grip—not in protest, but in empathy. The blade, too, felt it. It shared the bond. Rukia could sense Yato's emotions as if they were her own.
'He's sinking.'
She spun just in time, deflecting a chakram aimed at her side and freezing it midair with a sweep of her blade.
'Where are you going with all that pain, Yato…?'
Rukia's hand tightened around her sword.
The snow generated by her reiatsu began to fall heavier, the flakes denser.
She knew Yato. He never spoke his pain aloud—not from arrogance, but from a desire to protect others. He kept his thorns hidden, offering only flowers.
But now… even from this distance, she could feel them. Every thorn embedded in his spirit.
Because they pierced her too.
She still felt him.
And she knew—he still felt her.
The wind shifted.
For a single heartbeat, it was as if a silent presence swept past her back.
Rukia looked up at the gray sky, then to Jai, her gaze narrowing.
At that moment, Renji, clashing with Bau across the field, caught a glimpse of her. As he kept the monstrous warrior at bay with his massive Bankai, he noticed the tension in her expression.
"You okay, Rukia?" he called, panting.
She inhaled slowly, her breath emerging in a cloud of frost. "I'm fine," she said simply, though her thoughts burned colder than the air.
'You're stronger than this, Yato… I know you'll make the right choice...'
**
At the far edge of the valley, high in the towering branches of the grotesque, corrupted tree at the center of the Valley of Screams, Yato and Ichigo had just landed.
As Yato's feet touched the gnarled wood, his zanpakutō, Ōkagetsu, pulsed faintly in his hand.
He paused.
A sudden chill crept up his spine—not hostile, not threatening. It was cool and quiet, like a hand reaching through the storm to touch his soul. Comforting… familiar.
The path had narrowed due to the overwhelming number of branches blocking their way. Ichigo look the surroundings, trying to sense Senna's Reiatsu.
But Yato… hesitated.
The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, but not because of the battles between the Shinigami and the Dark Ones or the Blanks. It was him — his own soul, trembling within, cracking with invisible fractures.
"Yato… I don't know what's going through your head right now… but we need to get Senna out of here," Ichigo said, without looking back.
Yato didn't answer. He was just a few steps behind.
He could feel Senna. Like an whisper that didn't belong to this world — just like himself. An echo of laughter and memories that were never meant to take form. And yet... there she was. The girl made of memories. An artificial existence. An anomaly with eyes that saw the world as if it were real.
He remembered how he had sworn he wouldn't let Senna vanish like in the story he had once seen. How angry he was at not knowing how to help. But after nearly dying at Ganryū's hands, the possibility that Senna could be used against him — threatening to expose who he really was — had left Yato afraid.
He stopped walking for a moment.
'She's just a collection of memories… and even if she dies, the world will keep moving forward. People will forget her, and everything will return to normal. No one will have a chance to use her scattered memories to learn anything about me.' he thought, trying to convince himself.
His right hand still gripped Ōkagetsu tightly.
But his heart — that held nothing firmly.
Not when the name Senna kept echoing in his mind.
'Just let the story play out… the Gotei 13 will fire the Kidō Cannon, the dimensions will become unstable, and Senna will use all her powers to undo it, vanishing in the process… no one will remember her… And if no one remembers, there's no risk of someone digging into those scattered memories and uncovering anything about me… or about the Yato Yasakani before I ended up in this body…'
Yato had repeated that to himself like a mantra ever since he entered that place.
He didn't come to save her.
He came to get revenge on Ganryū — to cut off a real, concrete threat at the root. Something tangible.
And yet… her name haunted him.
Senna.
He clenched his teeth.
The memory of the girl's soft smile when he chose to play tag with her — even knowing who she truly was — and those bright eyes that still shone despite not belonging anywhere…
It disturbed him.
'I'm not the hero of this story. I'm not like Ichigo.'
The thought was dry — almost bitter.
Yato knew that if she disappeared, balance would be restored.
The memory of the Shinenju was never meant to exist independently.
If she vanished, everything would fall back into place. No impact. No mourning.
No lasting pain.
At least not officially.
But he couldn't quite convince himself.
Yato closed his eyes. And there, in the silent darkness of his mind, Rukia's image appeared.
She said nothing. Just looked at him — as if she could feel it all. Because she could.
She felt his hesitation, his anger, and the cold emptiness where a decision should have been.
His chest tightened. Not with physical pain. But as if his soul was being pulled in two directions — one current dragging him toward duty, the other toward guilt.
He slowly opened his eyes, the weight of fatigue and anger lingering in his gaze. Ichigo was already several meters ahead, alert to the distortions in the air.
Yato took a long breath. Cold, heavy. The kind that tries to steady a storm swirling within.
'Now then…' Came a voice like silk. It wasn't spoken aloud. It resounded inside his mind. Cheshire.
The feline's voice dripped with amusement, echoing through Yato's thoughts like a purr wrapped around knives. Cheshire seemed to love watching Yato teeter on the edge of morality.
'So… have you made up your mind?' Cheshire asked with a mocking lilt, as if savoring every ounce of Yato's hesitation. 'Or are you still pretending you've got a line you won't cross?'
"I'm going to find Ganryū and make him pay for nearly killing me... and as for everything else... I'll set things right... even if my choice is morally wrong."
He looked up — and could no longer see the sky of the Valley of Screams.
Everything had been swallowed by the massive roots.