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Sovereign of Karakura: The Unhurried God
CHAPTER 1: A SILENT ARRIVAL
The sky over Karakura Town split with a sound like tearing silk.
Not the thunderous crack of a Garganta opening to reveal Hueco Mundo's perpetual night. Not the geometric precision of a Senkaimon sliding apart to connect the Living World with Soul Society. Just a gentle parting of reality—as if the universe itself had stepped aside with an apologetic bow.
Vegito didn't fall or descend. He simply was there, standing on air as naturally as others stood on ground. His deep blue gi rippled slightly in a breeze no one else could feel. The white gloves on his hands remained pristine despite the chaos surrounding the town below.
He took a moment to center himself, eyes closed, feeling the unfamiliar rhythm of this new universe. When he opened them again, he began a meticulous observation of his surroundings. The architecture was different from anything in his universe—more compact, more orderly. A human city, but with traces of spiritual energy woven through it like invisible threads.
"Interesting," he remarked to no one, his voice calm and measured. "Not my universe, but not without potential."
He inhaled deeply, tasting the spiritual composition of the air. Different flavors of power here—more stratified, more hierarchical than the pure ki he was accustomed to. It flowed in layers rather than as a unified field. Souls here seemed... categorized, almost. Labeled and sorted into systems of power.
Vegito descended slowly, not flying so much as stepping down through the air itself, each footfall finding purchase on nothing. The sensation of this world's energy was peculiar against his skin—cooler, less vibrant, but with a structured complexity he found intriguing.
As his feet touched the ground on an empty street, Vegito sensed a presence approaching from behind. A predatory intent, hungry and mindless—but weak. Extraordinarily weak.
Without turning, he raised two fingers. The Hollow that had been stalking him—thinking it had found easy prey—dissipated into spirit particles before it could even realize its error in judgment. Vegito hadn't even bothered to look at it.
"Weak," he noted, but there was no malice in the observation. Just assessment. He brushed a speck of Hollow essence from his glove and continued walking.
The city around him bore the marks of recent conflict. Cracked pavement gave way underfoot. Buildings stood damaged, some with entire sections missing as if carved away by impossible blades. Occasional whiffs of spiritual residue lingered from clashing powers—distinct signatures that spoke of battles between different types of entities.
Yet human life continued uninterrupted. People moved about their day in blissful ignorance, their perception filtered by whatever mechanism kept this world's supernatural conflicts hidden from ordinary eyes. They walked right past gouges in reality that, to Vegito's senses, blazed like neon signs.
An elderly shopkeeper struggled ahead, trying to balance several bags of groceries while navigating around a partially collapsed building. The old man's face showed strain as one bag began to slip from arthritic fingers.
In the same moment, a faint cry reached Vegito's ears—a family trapped in the rubble of another collapsed structure half a block away. Their pleas for help were barely audible to normal senses, but to him, they might as well have been standing beside him.
"Help! Please, someone help us! The beams are giving way!"
Vegito disappeared with a silent flicker.
The old shopkeeper blinked in confusion as his groceries were suddenly secured, the weight vanishing from his arms. He turned to find a strange man in a blue gi standing beside him, holding all his bags with one hand as if they weighed nothing at all.
"These seem heavy," Vegito observed, looking at the bags rather than the man. "Where are you going?"
"Ah—thank you, young man," the shopkeeper said with a bow that made his back creak audibly. "Just to my home, three blocks that way." He pointed with a gnarled finger down a side street where several storefronts had their windows boarded up.
"I'll carry them," Vegito stated, not a question but not a command either. Simply a statement of what would happen next.
As they walked, the old man studied his unexpected helper with undisguised curiosity. "You're not from around here, are you? I know most faces in this neighborhood. Been here sixty-eight years, since I was just a boy."
"No," Vegito agreed. "I arrived today."
"Bad timing," the shopkeeper said with a rueful chuckle. "These strange earthquakes have been getting worse. The authorities say it's just seismic activity, but..." He trailed off, looking meaningfully at damage patterns no natural earthquake would cause—perfect circular holes in concrete, diagonal slices through steel beams.
Vegito nodded but said nothing. The deception didn't interest him—worlds had their systems, their ways of maintaining order. It wasn't his place to disrupt them without reason.
"My grandson says it's spirits," the old man continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Says he can sometimes see them fighting. Most think he's just an imaginative child, but..." He shrugged. "I've lived long enough to know there are things beyond our understanding."
"Your grandson sees clearly," Vegito remarked.
The old man's eyes widened slightly. "You mean—"
"We're here," Vegito interrupted, stopping before a modest two-story home with a small garden out front. The plants were well-tended despite the chaos of recent weeks—evidence of care and routine maintained against adversity.
"Ah, yes. Thank you." The shopkeeper fumbled for his keys, then hesitated. "Would you like to come in for tea? My wife makes excellent dorayaki."
"Another time, perhaps," Vegito declined politely. "There are people who need help nearby."
"Of course, of course." The old man nodded, taking his groceries back with careful hands. "May I at least know your name, young man?"
"Vegito."
"Vegito," the shopkeeper repeated, testing the foreign name. "I am Tanaka Hiroshi. If you ever need anything while you're in Karakura Town, please remember this old man."
Vegito inclined his head slightly, then turned away. Once out of sight of the human, he moved at his true speed—not flying, but traversing space in a way this reality wasn't quite equipped to process. To an observer, he would have simply vanished from one location and appeared at another.
The collapsed building where the family remained trapped was a three-story apartment complex. The damage was peculiar—not the result of normal structural failure. Spiritual residue lingered, suggesting a battle between powerful entities had occurred here recently. The building had been unfortunate collateral damage.
Four people—parents and two children—huddled in a pocket of space where fallen concrete had formed a precarious shelter. The father was trying to shift a beam, his face streaked with dust and sweat. The mother cradled their youngest child, while the older one, a girl of perhaps ten, was attempting to help her father.
Vegito approached the rubble pile calmly. With methodical precision, he began lifting massive chunks of concrete and twisted metal, setting them aside as easily as one might arrange pillows. The trapped family stared in astonishment as daylight suddenly flooded their shelter.
"You should come out now," Vegito suggested, holding a particularly large slab of concrete overhead with one hand. "This building isn't stable."
The family scrambled out, the father carrying his youngest while the mother helped the older child navigate the debris. Once they were clear, Vegito gently lowered the concrete back into place, minimizing further collapse.
"How did you—" the father began, then stopped, seemingly unable to find words for what he had just witnessed.
"Thank you," the mother said, her eyes welling with tears as she clutched her children close. "We thought no one could hear us."
Vegito nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes taking in their condition. Minor injuries only—cuts and bruises. Nothing life-threatening. Good.
"Is there a market nearby?" he asked. "I'm hungry."
The family exchanged glances, clearly thrown by the casual shift in conversation after such an extraordinary rescue. Finally, the father pointed down the street, still dazed.
"Two blocks that way. Hitoshi's grocery is still open, I think."
"Thank you." Vegito gave them a slight nod and turned to leave.
"Wait," called the older child, a girl with dust-streaked pigtails and intelligent eyes. "Are you a superhero?"
Vegito paused, considering the question with unexpected seriousness. "No," he finally said. "Just hungry."
As he walked away, he heard the girl whisper to her mother: "He's definitely a superhero. He just doesn't want bad guys to know his identity."
A faint smile touched Vegito's lips.
Kisuke Urahara frowned beneath his striped hat. The sensors surrounding Karakura Town had gone haywire approximately sixteen minutes ago. Not with alarm, but with confusion—registering energy readings that simply didn't make sense.
"Captain," Tessai's voice was as measured as always, though there was an undertone of concern. "The readings... they're unprecedented."
"I can see that," Urahara replied, fan snapping open to conceal the seriousness of his expression. He studied the monitors arrayed before him in the underground chamber of his rebuilt shop. Numbers scrolled past, graphs spiked and flattened, spiritual pressure indicators pulsed in patterns he'd never witnessed in centuries of research.
"A reiatsu signature that behaves like neither Shinigami nor Hollow, not Quincy or even Arrancar. And yet..." He hesitated, the scientist in him both thrilled and disturbed. "And yet it dwarfs even Aizen's current output."
"Should we alert Soul Society?" Tessai adjusted his glasses, the movement betraying his unease.
Urahara tapped his fan against his chin thoughtfully, spinning his chair to face a different monitor. "And tell them what, exactly? That something impossible has arrived, and it's currently..." He checked the monitor, blinked, and let out a confused chuckle. "...helping an old woman with her groceries?"
"The readings cannot be accurate," Tessai insisted, leaning closer to examine the data streams. "Even Captain-Commander Yamamoto's reiatsu doesn't register at these levels."
"Oh, I think they're accurate," Urahara mused. "Which is precisely what worries me. Anything with this much power should be causing massive spiritual disruption just by existing here. Yet it's moving through Karakura Town like... like a tourist."
"A strategic disguise, perhaps?" Tessai suggested, his massive frame tense with readiness. "Aizen has proven skilled at concealing his true nature."
"Perhaps." Urahara's eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat. "But this doesn't feel like Aizen. There's no deception in these readings, no illusion. Whatever this is, it simply... is." He rose from his chair with sudden decision. "I'm going to observe personally. Contact Yoruichi. Tell her to meet me at coordinates 35-B."
"And if this entity proves hostile?" Tessai's question hung in the air.
Urahara's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then we'll have front-row seats to the apocalypse."
As Urahara prepared to leave, a small alarm chimed on one of the auxiliary monitors. He paused, glancing at the notification.
"Well now," he murmured. "That's interesting."
"What is it, Captain?"
"The old spiritual anchor points around town—they're activating. All of them. Simultaneously." Urahara's expression grew more serious. "Including the ancient fail-safe seal at the east shrine."
Tessai's eyes widened behind his glasses. "The summoning gate? But that would require immense spiritual pressure to trigger. It was designed to only activate in the most dire circumstances."
"Exactly," Urahara said grimly. "And guess where our visitor is heading right now?"
Vegito walked through the partially damaged shopping district, a bag of vegetables slung over one shoulder. He'd paid with strange gold coins that the shopkeeper had accepted with wide eyes and no questions. The man had stammered something about not having change for "ancient currency," but Vegito had simply waved off the concern. Money was a convenience, not a necessity.
The calm way Vegito moved through the chaos of the town—emergency vehicles rushing past, people crying, buildings damaged—created a strange contrast. He seemed to exist in his own bubble of serenity, untouched by the anxiety permeating the air.
His senses, however, were anything but serene. They cataloged everything: the distinct flavor of this world's spiritual energy, the hierarchical layers of power, the different frequencies at which souls here seemed to vibrate. Most importantly, he noted the watchful eyes tracking his movements—at least three different observers with varying degrees of skill at concealment.
One particularly interested party was perched on a rooftop two blocks back, spiritual pressure carefully suppressed but still detectable to Vegito's heightened senses. The watcher's energy felt clever and cautious—more scientist than warrior, though capable of both. Vegito made no indication that he was aware of the surveillance, continuing his unhurried exploration of Karakura Town.
The streets grew narrower as he moved east, buildings older and bearing more traditional architecture. This area had been less affected by the recent supernatural conflicts, the damage more subtle—scorch marks on stone walls, small craters in the pavement, the occasional tree twisted into impossible shapes.
He stopped at a partially collapsed torii gate near what appeared to be an abandoned shrine. Something about the energy signature intrigued him. Not powerful, but complex. Layered. Like a puzzle box made of spiritual pressure.
Setting his groceries down, he approached the damaged gate. The red paint was peeling, revealing ancient wood beneath. Symbols were carved into the posts—not obvious to the casual observer, but Vegito saw them clearly. They pulsed with dormant power, like embers waiting for a breath of wind.
He traced one symbol with his eyes—not quite kanji, not quite any language he recognized. It resonated with something deeper than language: pure conceptual meaning. Protection. Summoning. Last resort.
"Interesting craftsmanship," he murmured, running a gloved finger along one of the symbols.
The gate shuddered.
The carving beneath his finger began to glow with golden light that spread to each connected symbol in a cascading pattern. The air grew heavy, charged with potentiality. Space itself seemed to hold its breath.
Vegito raised an eyebrow, more curious than concerned.
Then reality tore open again—not a gentle parting this time, but sixteen simultaneous rips that blossomed around him like the petals of a deadly flower. From each tear, a figure emerged.
Women. Warriors. Goddesses. Beings of legend and power.
They descended in a circle around him, weapons drawn, eyes wary and confused. Each one radiated power that would have frozen an ordinary soul with terror—divine might, ancient magic, conceptual weapons that could rewrite reality.
Artoria Pendragon materialized first, her golden sword Excalibur gleaming even without being fully released. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she assessed the situation, her royal bearing evident in every line of her body. The King of Knights stood ready, though not yet hostile.
Morgan le Fay appeared opposite her half-sister, dark energy crackling around her ornate staff, her expression cold and calculating as she took in both Vegito and her unexpected companions. A faint scowl touched her lips when she noticed Artoria.
One by one, the others manifested: Scathach with her crimson spear held in perfect readiness, ancient eyes evaluating threats with the wisdom of millennia; Female Solomon, regal and composed despite the unexpected summoning, her rings glowing with barely contained power; Musashi, both blades already drawn, her stance betraying her samurai training; Ishtar floating above the ground, her divine aura shimmering like heat waves, a playful yet dangerous smile on her lips; Tiamat, her presence so vast it seemed to darken the sky, primordial energy radiating from her form; Minamoto no Raikou, maternal yet lethal, her hand resting on her sword hilt; BB flickering between digital and physical form, her expression showing surprise—a rarity for the AI; Female Gilgamesh, golden armor catching the light, imperial arrogance personified; Durga with her multiple arms each bearing a different weapon, her serene expression at odds with her battle-ready stance; Medea, quiet but ready, her ancient magics already gathering in preparation; Nero Claudius in crimson regalia, dramatic as always, striking a pose despite the tension; Kiara Sessyoin, sensual and dangerous, her eyes assessing Vegito with inappropriate interest; Kama with her playful yet deadly demeanor, arrows of desire already nocked; Arcueid Brunestud, her crimson eyes assessing Vegito with predatory interest, vampiric nature barely contained; and finally Nightingale, her healing arts prepared for battle if necessary, clinical gaze already assessing everyone for potential injuries.
Sixteen legendary beings, each powerful enough to reshape reality in their own way, each confused and wary, forming a perfect circle around Vegito.
He picked up his grocery bag.
"If you're all looking for the owner of this gate," he said casually, "I think they left. But I'm going to cook dinner at that park over there." He gestured to a small green space visible between damaged buildings. "You're welcome to join me if you're hungry."
Sixteen pairs of eyes—ranging from divine gold to blood crimson to ethereal blue—stared in collective bewilderment.
Female Gilgamesh was the first to recover, her golden armor gleaming as she raised her chin with imperial hauteur.
"You dare address me, the King of Heroes, with such casual—"
"Do you like spicy food or mild?" Vegito interrupted, already walking toward the park.
Ishtar, floating slightly above the ground, burst into startled laughter.
"He just... walked away from us," Musashi observed, sheathing one sword but keeping the other ready. Her expression showed more intrigue than offense. "From all of us."
"This is unprecedented," Female Solomon stated, her royal composure momentarily slipping. "The summoning ritual was incomplete, yet all of us manifested simultaneously." She raised one hand, studying the absence of Command Seals on her summoner's body. "And that man..."
"Is not human," Scathach finished for her. "Not Servant, not magus, not divine. Something else entirely." Her ancient eyes narrowed with assessment. "Something... new."
"Well, I'm curious," Arcueid declared with a predatory smile, her fangs just visible. "And he did mention food. I haven't eaten in..." She paused, considering. "Well, this form was just summoned, so technically never."
"We cannot seriously be considering following this... this commoner," Gilgamesh sputtered, though her eyes never left Vegito's retreating form. "He doesn't even acknowledge who he addresses!"
"That's precisely what makes him interesting," Morgan observed coolly. "When was the last time someone simply walked away from you, King of Heroes? Or any of us, for that matter?"
Gilgamesh's scowl deepened, but she had no immediate retort.
"I don't know about you," Ishtar said with a mischievous gleam in her eye, "but I haven't been this intrigued in centuries. Besides..." She glanced down at her own form, then at the others. "Do any of you feel the connection? We're bound to him somehow."
One by one, the Servants realized what Ishtar meant. A subtle but unmistakable thread of magical energy connected each of them to Vegito—not controlling, not commanding, but definitely binding. It wasn't like a normal Master-Servant bond. It was... deeper, more fundamental.
"How is this possible without Command Seals?" Medea whispered, her knowledge of magecraft struggling to comprehend the phenomenon. "The binding is complete, yet there was no ritual, no anchor point except..." Her eyes turned to the glowing symbols on the gate.
"Perhaps," Kiara suggested, her voice like silk, "we should ask him directly. I'm quite skilled at... extracting information." The suggestive tone left little doubt about her methods.
"I bet you are," Kama muttered with an eye roll. "But perhaps subtlety is called for when dealing with a being who can summon sixteen divine spirits by accident."
Raikou was already moving toward the park. "I, for one, would appreciate a proper meal after materialization. Summoning always leaves me famished."
"It's settled then," Nero declared dramatically, as if she had made the decision for everyone. "We shall investigate this mystery together, with the great Emperor Nero taking the lead, of course!"
As the Servants followed, some eagerly and others with great reluctance, none noticed the wide-eyed figure watching from a nearby rooftop. Kisuke Urahara's fan had fallen from suddenly nerveless fingers.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "this just got exponentially more complicated."
Beside him, newly arrived, Yoruichi's golden eyes narrowed. "What the hell did I just witness, Kisuke?"
"History in the making," he replied softly. "Or possibly the end of the world. I'm still deciding which."
"What do you mean, 'they just appeared'?" Captain-Commander Yamamoto's voice rumbled through the emergency meeting hall, the temperature rising subtly with his agitation. The captains of the Gotei 13 had assembled with unprecedented speed, each sensing the gravity of the situation.
Captain Kurotsuchi's painted face twisted into an expression of irritation. "Precisely what I said. Sixteen spiritual signatures, each at captain-level or above, materialized simultaneously near Urahara's former shop. None match any known entity in our database."
The emergency captain's meeting had been called less than an hour after Urahara's urgent message reached Soul Society. The atmosphere was tense, each captain sensing that the delicate balance of power—already threatened by Aizen's rebellion—was now shifting in unpredictable ways.
"And there's another signature," Captain Ukitake added quietly. His normally gentle face was grave, long white hair contrasting with the seriousness in his eyes. "Singular. Unlike anything I've ever felt."
"Aizen?" Captain Soi Fon's voice was sharp, her small form tense with battle readiness.
"No," said Captain Kyoraku, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with something more alert. His straw hat was tilted back, eyes serious beneath its brim. "I felt Aizen's reiatsu when he revealed himself. This is... different. It doesn't feel malevolent. Just... vast. Contained, but vast."
"Like an ocean deciding to behave like a pond," Ukitake agreed, exchanging a meaningful glance with his oldest friend.
Yamamoto's ancient eyes opened slightly, a rare occurrence that underscored the gravity of the situation. "And what is this entity doing now?"
The answer came from an unexpected source. Nemu Kurotsuchi's monotone voice cut through the tension.
"According to our surveillance, he appears to be making curry."
A moment of confused silence fell over the assembly.
"Making... curry?" Captain Komamura repeated, his wolf-like head tilting in bewilderment.
"Yes, Captain," Nemu confirmed, her expression unchanged. "In a public park. The sixteen unknown entities are with him. They appear to be... dining."
"Perhaps it's a trap," Soi Fon suggested, ever suspicious. "A way to lure Shinigami into a false sense of security."
"With curry?" Captain Kyoraku couldn't help but smile slightly. "That would be a novel approach."
Captain Kenpachi Zaraki, who had been showing signs of boredom, suddenly grinned. "Sixteen captain-class fighters plus whatever this other thing is? Now that sounds like fun."
"Restrain yourself, Captain Zaraki," Yamamoto commanded, his voice like granite. "We will not engage without understanding the situation." He turned to Ukitake and Kyoraku. "Send reconnaissance only. Observe but do not approach unless absolutely necessary."
"What about Kurosaki?" Captain Hitsugaya asked, his young voice serious despite his youthful appearance. "He's in Karakura Town now."
"Inform him of the situation," Yamamoto decided after a moment's consideration. "But instruct him to keep his distance as well. Until we know more about these entities and their purpose, we will proceed with extreme caution."
"Captain Kurotsuchi," he continued, turning to the painted face of the 12th Division Captain. "What of the spiritual pressure at the seal site? You mentioned unusual readings."
Kurotsuchi's gold teeth gleamed as he grinned. "Yes, most fascinating. The ancient fail-safe seal appears to have recognized this entity as a suitable catalyst. Its spiritual composition must have been compatible with the summoning requirements in some way."
"The fail-safe was designed for extinction-level threats," Captain Unohana observed quietly. "To be activated only when Karakura Town faced complete destruction."
"Are we to believe this entity triggered it accidentally?" Soi Fon's skepticism was evident.
"The data suggests exactly that," Kurotsuchi replied, clearly irritated by having to repeat himself. "Though why a being of such power would need to summon allies remains a mystery."
"Perhaps," Captain Ukitake suggested thoughtfully, "it wasn't seeking allies at all. Perhaps the seal itself recognized something and acted of its own accord."
As the captains dispersed, Ukitake lingered beside Kyoraku in the corridor outside. "Sixteen divine-class beings appearing at once, plus whatever this other entity is," he murmured. "It cannot be coincidence, not with Aizen's plans so close to fruition."
"The board just got more crowded," Kyoraku agreed, adjusting his hat. "Question is, are they playing our game, or their own entirely?"
Ukitake's eyes grew distant. "I felt something when that power first appeared. Just for a moment. It was like..." He hesitated, searching for words.
"Like what, old friend?"
"Like the universe recognized something. Something it had been waiting for." Ukitake shook his head. "I know that sounds mystical, but—"
"No," Kyoraku interrupted softly. "I felt it too."
CHAPTER 2: DINNER WITH DIVINITY
The park had become an impromptu dining hall by twilight.
Vegito had constructed a cooking fire with such casual precision that even Scathach—goddess of the dead and master of all martial skills—found herself studying his technique. He had gathered stones to form a perfect circle, arranged kindling in a pattern that optimized airflow, and ignited it with nothing more than a tiny, controlled pulse of energy from his fingertip. The flames burned hot and even, despite the damp wood. The curry he prepared filled the air with spices that made even divine mouths water.
Most of the Servants had reluctantly settled around the fire, curiosity overcoming suspicion. Only Morgan and Female Gilgamesh remained standing at a distance, arms crossed, unwilling to show interest though their eyes never left the proceedings.
"So," said Musashi, cross-legged and testing the edge of her blade with her thumb, "you're not a Servant."
"No," Vegito replied, stirring the pot with focused attention. The motion was efficient, practiced—a warrior's precision applied to cooking.
"And you're not human," Arcueid observed, her crimson eyes studying him with predatory fascination. She leaned forward, sniffing delicately. "Not vampire either. Not anything I've encountered before."
"Not exactly," Vegito agreed, sampling the curry with a small wooden spoon. He frowned slightly and reached for more spices.
"Then what are you?" demanded Female Solomon, her royal presence commanding even as she sat comfortably near the fire. Her rings glinted in the firelight, each one containing power that could reshape reality. "What manner of being touches a summoning gate and accidentally calls forth sixteen divine spirits?"
Vegito tasted the curry again, nodded in satisfaction, and answered without looking up.
"I am Vegito."
The simplicity of the answer irritated Gilgamesh visibly. She stepped forward, golden armor catching the dying sunlight.
"That tells us nothing, mongrel! I demand a proper explanation! Do you have any idea who you are addressing? I am Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, ruler of Uruk, collector of all the world's treasures! My very word is—"
"Dinner's ready," Vegito interrupted, beginning to ladle curry into bowls he'd purchased from a street vendor. He handed the first one to Raikou, who had been hovering closest to the fire, her maternal instincts apparently extending even to meal preparation.
Their fingers brushed as she accepted the bowl, and Raikou's eyes widened slightly. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
"T-thank you," she stammered, surprising herself with her own reaction. She, who had faced countless demons and monsters without flinching, felt suddenly flustered by a simple touch.
"You're welcome," Vegito replied, his tone neither warm nor cold. Simply polite.
One by one, Vegito served each Servant, his movements efficient and unhurried. When he handed a bowl to Artoria, the King of Knights accepted it with regal grace, though her eyes showed calculated assessment.
"Your technique is excellent," she observed. "You've clearly prepared meals under difficult conditions before."
"Battle and cooking aren't so different," Vegito replied. "Both require focus and proper timing."
Artoria's eyes narrowed slightly at the casual comparison, but she didn't dispute it. Instead, she sampled the curry and couldn't quite suppress a look of surprise. "This is... remarkably good."
"I know," Vegito responded, without pride or false modesty. Simple acknowledgment of fact.
When Vegito reached BB, the digital entity smiled mischievously. "Oh my, serving a superior AI entity yourself? How charmingly primitive." Despite her words, she accepted the bowl with surprising eagerness.
"Digital or flesh, hunger feels the same," Vegito observed without rancor.
BB's smile faltered slightly, unsettled by his lack of reaction to her provocation. "You're an interesting one, aren't you? Not easily baited or manipulated." Her eyes gleamed with new interest. "I'll enjoy figuring you out."
"Good luck," Vegito replied, already moving on to serve the next Servant.
When he handed a bowl to Kiara, she deliberately let her fingers trail over his—a gesture loaded with sensual promise. Her eyes, depths of temptation that had consumed countless souls, locked with his.
"I could feed you in return," she murmured, her voice like silk over steel. "There are many... hungers... I could satisfy."
Vegito met her gaze steadily. "I can feed myself." No anger, no discomfort, just simple statement of fact.
For the first time in her existence, Kiara felt herself blush—not with embarrassment, but with the novel sensation of being genuinely rebuffed. Not rejected with moral outrage or succumbing to temptation, but simply... declined. As if her legendary seduction was no more compelling than an offer of napkins.
"You misunderstand," she tried again, leaning closer. "I'm offering—"
"I understand perfectly," Vegito cut her off. "The answer is still no."
He moved on, leaving Kiara staring after him with an unfamiliar emotion flickering across her face—something between frustration and fascination.
When he reached Morgan, she refused to take the bowl.
"I do not accept charity from unknown entities," she declared, staff held defensively across her body. "Particularly those who trigger ancient summoning magic without understanding it."
Vegito shrugged. "More for everyone else, then." He moved to continue serving.
Morgan's hand shot out, snatching the bowl with surprising speed. "I did not say I refused. I merely..." She trailed off, disturbed by her own reaction. Morgan le Fay, who had outmaneuvered kings and gods, felt suddenly wrong-footed.
"Merely what?" Vegito asked, his tone genuinely curious rather than mocking.
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Merely establishing boundaries."
"Fair enough." Vegito nodded and continued his rounds.
Only Gilgamesh remained, watching this exchange with narrowed eyes. She had positioned herself last deliberately, expecting to be served first out of respect for her royal status. This blatant disregard for protocol both infuriated and intrigued her.
"And what of me, stranger? Do you presume to serve the King of Heroes as if she were a common—"
Vegito extended the final bowl. "The curry will get cold."
Something in his absolute lack of deference—not hostile, not challenging, simply absent—made Gilgamesh's words die in her throat. It wasn't insolence, which she could have understood and punished. It was something far more unsettling: genuine indifference to her status.
She took the bowl, fingers tightening around it until her knuckles whitened. "You... you have no idea who I am, do you?"
"You've mentioned it several times," Vegito replied mildly, serving himself last and sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Gilgamesh. King of Heroes. Ruler of Uruk."
"Yet you show no proper deference!"
"Should I?" Vegito asked, sounding genuinely curious. He took a bite of curry, savoring it thoughtfully.
Gilgamesh stared at him, momentarily speechless. In all her existence, across all her summonings, no one had ever simply... questioned the concept of respecting her. Her divinity, her royalty, her supremacy were always taken as givens.
"I am the first hero," she finally managed. "The original king. All treasures in
CHAPTER 2: DINNER WITH DIVINITY (Continued)
"I am the first hero," she finally managed. "The original king. All treasures in existence belong to me. All who stand before me are my subjects."
Vegito considered this while chewing thoughtfully. After swallowing, he responded, "Where I'm from, titles are earned through actions, not declarations."
"My actions are legend!" Gilgamesh's voice rose, drawing attention from the other Servants. "I slew the Bull of Heaven, I journeyed to the underworld, I sought immortality!"
"Impressive," Vegito acknowledged with a nod. "But that was then. What have you done lately?"
A chorus of barely suppressed gasps and chuckles rippled through the assembled Servants. Ishtar didn't even try to hide her laughter, nearly spilling her curry.
"Oh, I like him," she declared, wiping a tear from her eye. "He's either the bravest or most foolish being I've encountered in millennia."
Gilgamesh's face flushed with anger. Her hand twitched, golden ripples appearing in the air behind her as the Gate of Babylon prepared to open.
"You dare mock me? I will show you—"
"The curry really is excellent," Artoria interrupted, her voice carrying the quiet authority of a true king. "It would be a shame to ruin dinner with unnecessary violence."
"I agree," Female Solomon added, her rings glinting in warning. "Besides, Gilgamesh, he has a point. Past glories are well and good, but what matters is what we do now, in this moment, in this world."
Gilgamesh's fury remained evident, but the golden ripples behind her gradually faded. She sat down stiffly, as far from Vegito as possible while still remaining in the circle, and began eating in silent, dignified anger.
As they ate in silence, Vegito finally spoke, addressing the group collectively.
"You've been summoned here by accident. I touched a seal on that gate, and now you're bound to me somehow." He took a bite of curry. "I can feel the connection."
"It's impossible," Female Solomon said, setting her bowl down with a controlled motion that betrayed her agitation. "Servants require a formal summoning ritual, Command Seals, proper catalysts—"
"Yet here we are," Ishtar interrupted, floating cross-legged above the ground. Her divine beauty was accentuated by the setting sun, veiling her in golden light. "Bound to him. I can feel it too—like a golden thread connecting us."
"The seal on the gate," Scathach said thoughtfully, her ancient eyes studying Vegito with new interest. "Ancient magic. It must have recognized something in you." Her eyes narrowed. "Something... worthy."
"Or something dangerous," Morgan added darkly.
"Both, perhaps," Medea suggested quietly, speaking for the first time. The Witch of Betrayal had been observing silently, her keen magical senses probing the strange connection. "The seal may have activated as protection for this realm, sensing both great power and... something else."
"What do you mean, 'something else'?" Durga asked, her multiple arms gracefully bringing food to her mouth while others remained poised for potential combat.
Medea hesitated. "A quality. A resonance. Like divine essence, but not quite." Her eyes met Vegito's. "What are you, really?"
"I already told you," he replied calmly. "I am Vegito."
"That's your name, not what you are," Arcueid pointed out, leaning forward with predatory interest. "I'm a True Ancestor. Gilgamesh is a demigod. Ishtar is a goddess. What are you?"
Vegito set his empty bowl aside and considered the question with unexpected seriousness. "In my world, I would be called a Saiyan. Or perhaps more accurately, the perfect Saiyan. Born complete, not made or fused."
"And what is a 'Saiyan'?" Nero asked, her imperial curiosity piqued.
"A warrior race," Vegito explained. "Born for battle, continuously evolving, growing stronger with each fight."
"Like Berserkers?" Raikou suggested.
"No," Vegito shook his head. "Saiyans don't lose themselves to rage. Our strength comes from clarity, from pushing beyond limits while maintaining perfect control."
"Fascinating," Solomon murmured. "A species designed for combat evolution. I've never encountered anything similar in our records."
"You said 'born complete, not made or fused,'" Scathach observed, her perceptive gaze missing nothing. "What did you mean by that?"
A brief shadow passed over Vegito's face—so quick that only the most perceptive of the Servants noticed it.
"In other timelines, other realities... versions of me exist as fusions. Two warriors combined into one." He looked down at his gloved hands. "But I was not created that way. I simply... am."
"And your power?" BB interjected, her analytical mind calculating possibilities. "These energy signatures you emit are unlike any magical circuits or divine essence I've encountered."
"Ki," Vegito replied. "Life energy focused through will and training."
"Show us," Musashi said suddenly, her swordsman's curiosity evident. "Show us this 'ki.'"
Vegito glanced around at the park, considering. Then he extended one hand, palm up. A small sphere of blue-white energy coalesced above it, illuminating the gathering with ethereal light. It spun gently, perfectly controlled, neither expanding nor contracting.
"This is ki in its basic form," he explained. "The energy that flows through all living things in my universe, harnessed and directed."
The Servants stared in fascination. Even Gilgamesh leaned forward despite herself.
"It's... beautiful," Nightingale observed, her clinical eye noting how the energy pulsed in rhythm. "Like a heartbeat made visible."
"And through this energy, you derive your strength?" Artoria asked.
Vegito nodded. "Ki can be shaped for different purposes." The sphere in his hand transformed—first into a blade of light, then a shield, then back to a sphere. "Attack, defense, flight, sensing other energies. The applications are limited only by skill and imagination."
"And how strong are you, exactly?" Gilgamesh asked, her voice carefully neutral, though the intensity of her gaze betrayed her interest.
Vegito closed his hand, the energy dissipating without trace. "Strong enough."
Before anyone could press further, he rose smoothly to his feet. "You all seem strong. That's good."
"Good for what?" Nero demanded, her imperial bearing somehow maintained despite sitting cross-legged on grass, eating curry from a simple bowl.
"For whatever's happening in this town," Vegito replied. "I can feel the conflict building. Someone strong is approaching godhood." He glanced up at the sky. "And they're doing it the wrong way."
Sixteen Servants followed his gaze upward, toward where the barriers between worlds thinned, toward Hueco Mundo, where Aizen continued his preparations.
"And what," Gilgamesh demanded, setting her empty bowl aside, "is the right way to approach godhood?"
Vegito looked at her directly for the first time. The full focus of his attention made even the King of Heroes momentarily still.
"You don't approach it," he said simply. "You either are, or you aren't."
Even Gilgamesh had no immediate response to that.
The silence that followed was broken by Nightingale, who had been quietly observing the interactions while mentally cataloging Vegito's physical attributes.
"Your energy patterns are unlike anything I've encountered," she stated matter-of-factly. "Would you permit me to examine you? For medical purposes only, of course."
"Later, perhaps," Vegito replied. He stood smoothly, gathering the empty bowls. "For now, we should find better shelter. Night is coming, and this town has seen enough battle to leave the dimensional barriers thin. Creatures will be drawn to your energy signatures."
As if summoned by his words, a low howl echoed from nearby—the unmistakable cry of a Hollow.
"Too late," Arcueid commented with a predatory smile, rising to her feet in a fluid motion. "Company's already arriving."
The shadows between buildings darkened as multiple Hollows emerged—drawn by the tantalizing spiritual pressure of sixteen divine beings. These weren't the minor Hollows that typically haunted Karakura Town. The presence of the Servants had attracted far more dangerous quarry—Adjuchas-class at minimum, their masks more developed, their spiritual pressure dense and malevolent.
"How tedious," Morgan sighed, raising her staff. "Must we really waste our time with these lesser creatures?"
"I'll handle it," Vegito said calmly, setting the dishes aside.
"No need," Durga replied, her six arms already reaching for various weapons. "Allow me to demonstrate my worthiness as a warrior goddess."
"I believe I should take this opportunity to establish my superior combat prowess," Gilgamesh countered, golden portals already opening behind her.
"Ladies, please," Nero interrupted with dramatic flair. "Clearly the Emperor should lead this glorious first battle in our new alliance!"
Vegito observed this escalating competition with a raised eyebrow. "Or you could work together."
The suggestion was met with varying degrees of skepticism and outright dismissal.
"Work... together?" Gilgamesh repeated as if the concept was foreign to her.
"Why would we need to combine our strength against such insignificant enemies?" Arcueid asked, fangs already extending in anticipation.
"Not for need," Vegito clarified. "For efficiency. And to learn each other's styles."
Before the discussion could continue, the Hollows attacked. At least twenty of them, ranging from humanoid to monstrous, descended upon the gathered Servants with ravenous intent.
What followed wasn't so much a battle as a demonstration of divine power—each Servant engaging with their preferred style, turning the park into a showcase of legendary combat techniques.
Artoria moved with perfect economy, Excalibur cleaving through three Hollows in a single arc of golden light. Beside her, Morgan's staff channeled dark energies that transmuted a Hollow into a twisted sculpture of ash before it could even scream.
Musashi's dual blades danced in perfect harmony, achieving what she called "Zero"—a state where her strikes existed in multiple dimensions simultaneously, cutting not just the Hollow's physical form but the very concept of its existence.
Gilgamesh, refusing to be outdone, opened the Gate of Babylon wider, unleashing a barrage of legendary weapons that transformed the air into a corridor of lethal projectiles. "Witness true power, mongrel creatures!" she crowed.
Ishtar floated above the battlefield, raining divine judgment from her celestial boat, while Durga engaged in close combat, each of her six arms wielding a different divine weapon with perfect coordination.
Female Solomon stood calmly in the center, rings glowing as she commanded demons to counter the Hollows. Beside her, BB manipulated digital space, trapping several enemies in a pocket dimension of her own creation.
Arcueid moved like liquid darkness, her vampiric nature fully embraced as she tore through Hollows with primal efficiency. Nearby, Tiamat's mere presence caused reality to warp, Hollows dissolving as they entered her field of influence.
Raikou's maternal battle fury was terrifying to behold, her blade moving faster than the eye could track as she protected the "family" she had already decided the group represented. Kiara turned combat into a disturbingly sensual display, while Kama's arrows struck with unerring precision, each shot targeting what passed for a Hollow's heart.
Nightingale, surprisingly, proved just as lethal—her concept of "healing the world" extending to eliminating threats with surgical precision.
Scathach perhaps demonstrated the most elegant technique, her crimson spear Gáe Bolg moving through impossible angles to pierce Hollows from directions that defied physics. "Amateur," she muttered as she dispatched three with a single thrust.
Medea hung back, preferring to support with ancient magic that strengthened allies and weakened enemies, while Nero turned combat into performance art, striking poses between lethal blows.
Through it all, Vegito simply watched, arms crossed, observing each technique with careful attention.
As the last Hollow dissolved into spirit particles, the Servants turned to him expectantly, many clearly anticipating praise for their display of power.
"Interesting," he said simply. "But uncoordinated. You fought as individuals, not as a unit."
"Why would gods need to coordinate?" Ishtar asked, floating back down to earth. "Our divine power is sufficient individually."
"Because gods can fall," Vegito replied quietly. "I've seen it happen."
The sobering statement hung in the air for a moment.
"You speak from experience," Scathach observed, her ancient eyes studying him with new interest.
"Yes." No elaboration, just simple acknowledgment.
"Well, I for one am curious about these coordination techniques you might teach us," Musashi said, sheathing her blades. "I've mastered individual combat, but fighting as part of a unit... that's a different art form entirely."
"One beneath my dignity," Gilgamesh declared, though her eyes betrayed her interest.
"Is it?" Vegito questioned mildly. "I thought the King of Heroes would master all forms of combat, not just the convenient ones."
"Are you implying I cannot adapt?" Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I'm implying nothing. I'm stating that teamwork is a skill like any other. Some master it, some don't." Vegito shrugged. "Your choice."
"You're manipulating her," BB observed with delighted amusement. "And rather effectively, I might add."
"No manipulation," Vegito denied. "Just truth."
Gilgamesh's face flushed with indignation. "Very well! I shall demonstrate my superior adaptability! When do we begin this... 'team training'?"
"Tomorrow," Vegito replied. "After we establish proper shelter. There's an abandoned temple complex on the outskirts of town. It should provide adequate protection and privacy."
"You seem very familiar with this town for someone who just arrived," Morgan observed suspiciously.
"I observe carefully," Vegito responded. "And move quickly."
As they gathered their belongings and prepared to depart, Tiamat—who had remained largely silent—approached Vegito. The primordial goddess towered over him, her form constantly shifting between humanoid and something far more ancient and terrible.
"You," she said, her voice resonating on multiple frequencies simultaneously. "You are not of this creation."
"No," Vegito agreed.
"Yet you belong," she continued, head tilting in confusion. "How can both be true?"
Vegito met her gaze steadily. "The universe makes room for what needs to exist."
Tiamat studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes... I understand now. You are... correction."
Before Vegito could respond, she drifted away, leaving him with a thoughtful expression.
"What was that about?" Arcueid asked, appearing at his side with vampiric silence.
"I'm not entirely sure," Vegito admitted. "But I think she sees something the rest of you don't yet."
"Oh?" The vampire's crimson eyes glittered with curiosity. "And what might that be?"
Vegito looked up at the night sky, where stars were beginning to appear. "Purpose."
From the shadows of a nearby building, Ichigo Kurosaki watched with his mouth slightly open.
"What the hell..." he whispered.
Rukia, beside him, shook her head slowly. "I have no idea. Captain Ukitake just said to observe, not engage."
"That guy... his spiritual pressure is insane. And those women with him—"
"They're not Shinigami," Rukia confirmed. "Not Arrancar either. Something else entirely. Their spiritual composition is unlike anything I've encountered."
"Should we—"
Before Ichigo could finish, a voice behind them said, "Would you like some curry? There's plenty left."
Both spun to find Vegito standing there, holding two bowls. Neither had sensed him move.
"H-how did you—" Ichigo began, instinctively reaching for Zangetsu.
"I noticed you watching." Vegito extended the bowls. "Food's better than spying."
Rukia recovered first, her training as a Kuchiki noble allowing her to mask her surprise beneath formal composure. She bowed slightly.
"Thank you, but we were sent to—"
"Assess if I'm a threat," Vegito finished for her. "Easier to do over dinner."
After a moment's hesitation, Ichigo took one of the bowls. His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, reminding him he hadn't eaten since before his patrol began.
"Thanks." He took a bite and his eyes widened. "This is really good!"
"I know," Vegito replied without arrogance. Just simple acknowledgment of fact.
Rukia reluctantly accepted the second bowl, her violet eyes never leaving Vegito's face. "May I ask who—or what—you are? And why sixteen incredibly powerful beings suddenly appeared in Karakura Town?"
"I'm Vegito," he replied simply. "The rest was an accident. I touched a seal, they appeared."
"An accident," Rukia repeated flatly. "You accidentally summoned sixteen beings with captain-class spiritual pressure."
"Yes."
"And you're... what, exactly?" Ichigo asked between bites. "Your spiritual pressure is different from anything I've felt before."
"I'm from another universe," Vegito said, as casually as one might mention being from another country. "I was training and... appeared here. The mechanics of the transition are still unclear."
"Another universe," Ichigo repeated, then shrugged. "Sure, why not? At this point, nothing surprises me anymore."
Rukia was less accepting. "What are your intentions toward Karakura Town and Soul Society?"
Vegito considered the question seriously. "I have no hostile intent. But I sense conflict approaching. Something or someone in this world is attempting to breach the divine threshold incorrectly."
"Aizen," Ichigo growled, his expression darkening.
"If that's the one reaching for godhood, then yes," Vegito agreed.
"You speak of godhood as if you understand it," Rukia observed carefully.
Vegito's expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes—a depth, a stillness—made Rukia suddenly certain she was speaking to something far beyond her comprehension.
"I do," he said simply.
Ichigo, less sensitive to spiritual nuance than Rukia, missed the implications. "So what's your plan? Are you and your... friends... going to help us fight Aizen?"
"That depends," Vegito replied.
"On what?" Rukia asked.
"On whether fighting is necessary." Vegito's gaze shifted to the distance, where the fabric between worlds grew thin. "Sometimes, the most effective battle strategy is to make fighting unnecessary."
Ichigo's brow furrowed. "I don't get it. Aizen's planning to sacrifice Karakura Town to create the Ōken. How do you make that 'unnecessary'?"
"By offering an alternative," Vegito suggested. "Or by showing him his goal is misguided."
Rukia couldn't suppress a skeptical laugh. "You think you can talk Aizen out of his plans? He's been plotting this for centuries."
"I didn't say talk," Vegito clarified. "I said show."
Before either Shinigami could inquire further, Ishtar floated back into view, her divine radiance casting everything in a golden glow.
"There you are!" she called to Vegito. "We've been waiting. Gilgamesh and Morgan are already arguing about room assignments at the temple, and Kiara's suggestions are... inappropriate, to say the least."
She paused, noticing Ichigo and Rukia. "Oh? More locals?" Her eyes narrowed as she assessed them. "A human with extraordinary spiritual power and... a death god? How fascinating." She floated closer to Ichigo, circling him with undisguised interest. "This one has potential. Raw, unrefined, but definitely interesting."
Ichigo backed up a step, unnerved by her scrutiny. "Uh, thanks?"
"Coming," Vegito replied to Ishtar. He turned back to Ichigo and Rukia. "You're welcome to join us. I suspect we'll all be fighting on the same side soon enough."
With that, he turned and walked away, his unhurried stride conveying absolute confidence.
Ishtar lingered a moment longer, studying Rukia with divine perception. "Your soul is old for one so young," she observed. "And bound to this boy in ways even you don't understand." She smiled, the expression both beautiful and slightly predatory. "How delightfully complicated."
Before Rukia could respond, Ishtar floated after Vegito, leaving both Shinigami staring after her.
"Should we follow?" Ichigo asked, finishing his curry.
Rukia hesitated, then nodded. "Captain Ukitake said to observe. We can't do that from here." She activated her soul pager. "I'll report what we've learned so far, though I'm not sure how to explain... any of this."
"Just tell them the truth," Ichigo suggested with a wry smile. "A guy from another universe accidentally summoned sixteen goddesses, and now they're having a slumber party in an abandoned temple while Aizen plots the end of the world."
"I'm sure that will go over well," Rukia replied dryly, but her fingers were already typing the report.
CHAPTER 3: GODS AMONG MORTALS
Three days after Vegito's arrival, life in Karakura Town had developed a strange new rhythm.
The abandoned temple complex on the outskirts of town had been transformed. Ancient barriers and wards that had lain dormant for centuries responded to the divine energies now residing within, strengthening and expanding until the entire complex existed in a space slightly adjacent to normal reality—not quite in the Living World, not quite in Spirit Society, but somewhere in between.
The temple grounds, once overgrown and neglected, now pulsed with sixteen distinct flavors of divine energy, each Servant having claimed a territory according to their temperament:
Scathach preferred the training yard, where she could often be found refining her already perfect spear technique against imaginary opponents—or occasionally, against Musashi, whose dual-blade style presented an interesting challenge to the ancient warrior.
Medea had taken over a small garden at the rear of the complex, cultivating plants with magical properties that shouldn't have been able to grow in modern Japan. Under her careful tending, flowers from the Age of Gods bloomed alongside herbs with healing properties long forgotten by modern medicine.
Tiamat gravitated to the small pond where koi still swam, unbothered by her primordial presence. She would often sit motionless for hours, communing with the water in ways only she understood.
Arcueid claimed the shadowy eastern wing, where the afternoon sun never quite reached. The True Ancestor required minimal rest but appreciated the privacy when she needed to withdraw from the constant bombardment of sensory information her heightened perception provided.
Raikou had immediately taken charge of the main living quarters, organizing cleaning rotations and meal preparations with maternal efficiency that brooked no argument, not even from Gilgamesh—though the King of Heroes insisted her assigned tasks were "voluntary royal contributions" rather than duties.
Female Solomon had established a workshop in what had once been the temple's library, carefully inscribing new protective wards that layered atop the ancient ones, creating a defense system that would have given even Aizen pause.
BB flitted throughout the complex, her digital nature allowing her to be almost everywhere at once, observing, cataloging, occasionally causing minor mischief when boredom struck.
Even Gilgamesh, after much imperial grumbling, had established her "throne room" in the former meditation hall, decorating it with treasures pulled from the Gate of Babylon—silks and jewels and artifacts that transformed the simple space into something worthy of Uruk's greatest ruler.
Vegito himself had claimed no territory. He moved throughout the complex as needed, spending mornings on the temple roof, legs crossed, eyes closed—not meditating, but something else. Sensing. Feeling the currents of this strange world, mapping its spiritual topography with senses that operated on levels the others could barely comprehend.
On this particular morning, he sat watching the sunrise, its light catching on the barrier Field Solomon had erected—visible to his eyes as a faint iridescent shimmer enclosing the entire complex.
From below came the now-familiar sounds of the temple coming to life: Raikou directing morning preparations, Nero belting out what she claimed was an "imperial anthem" but sounded suspiciously like an opera aria, Gilgamesh demanding someone bring her morning tea "worthy of a king."
And, as predictable as the sunrise itself, the daily argument between Ishtar and Female Gilgamesh erupted in the courtyard below.
"...absolutely absurd! He should be living in a palace, not this crumbling shrine!" Gilgamesh's golden armor caught the morning light as she gestured emphatically toward where she presumed Vegito was meditating.
Ishtar rolled her eyes, floating a few inches above the ground. "He clearly doesn't care about luxury. Unlike some people."
"That's because he doesn't understand his own worth! As a king myself, I recognize—"
"Oh please, you just want to get him into your royal chambers."
Gilgamesh's face flushed with anger—and something else. "How dare you suggest I, the King of Heroes, would lower myself to—"
"To what?" came Vegito's voice as he dropped silently from the roof, landing between them without disturbing a single stone. "Lower yourself to what, exactly?"
Both goddesses froze, suddenly aware he had heard every word.
Gilgamesh recovered first, lifting her chin. "To... concern myself with your living arrangements. But as king, I naturally interest myself in the welfare of... notable individuals."
"I like it here," Vegito said simply. "The air flows well for training."
As if to demonstrate, he raised one hand and released a minute fraction of his ki. The air around them vibrated, creating a perfect sphere of pressure that made both goddesses' hair lift slightly. Then he contained it again, the energy vanishing as if it had never been.
Ishtar's eyes were wide with genuine interest. "What was that? Not magecraft, not divine authority..."
"Ki," Vegito replied. "Life energy focused through will."
"Teach me," Gilgamesh demanded immediately.
Vegito looked at her, head tilted slightly. "Why?"
The simple question caught the King of Heroes off guard. In all her existence, no one had ever asked her to justify her desires.
"Because... because I command it!"
"Not a good enough reason," Vegito said, already walking away toward the training yard where Scathach waited.
Gilgamesh stood speechless, a complex mixture of rage and fascination warring in her expression.
Ishtar couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Well, well. The King of Heroes, rejected so casually. This is delicious."
"Silence!" Gilgamesh hissed, but her eyes never left Vegito's retreating form. "He is... he is merely playing hard to get. Yes, that must be it."
"Keep telling yourself that," Ishtar sing-songed, floating away.
In the training yard, Scathach stood perfectly still, her crimson spear Gáe Bolg held vertical before her. As Vegito approached, she spoke without opening her eyes.
"You toy with dangerous forces, warrior."
"The goddesses?" Vegito asked, stretching his shoulders casually.
"Goddess, queen, divine hunter—labels matter little. What matters is that you have sparked something in beings who have not felt true challenge in millennia." Finally, she opened her eyes, their ancient depths studying him. "They orbit you like hungry wolves."
Vegito smiled slightly. "I'm not concerned about wolves."
"Perhaps you should be. Sixteen divine beings, each capable of reshaping reality in their own way, all focused on a single point." She gestured with her spear. "You."
"Are you warning me or threatening me?"
Scathach's lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "Observing. Now, shall we train? You promised to show me how you move between spaces without a gate."
Vegito nodded, moving to the center of the yard. "The technique is called Instant Transmission. It requires sensing energy signatures and using them as beacons."
"Similar to our Spirit Core recognition," Scathach noted. "Though we require established summoning circles."
"This requires no preparation," Vegito explained. "Only clarity of perception and precision of will."
He demonstrated, vanishing and reappearing at various points around the training yard—beside the cherry tree, atop the stone lantern, behind Scathach, then back to his starting position. Each transition was instant, without blur or intermediate movement.
"Fascinating," Scathach murmured. "You're not moving through space—you're bypassing it entirely."
"Correct. Space becomes... optional."
Their training session attracted observers. Musashi arrived first, drawn by the prospect of new combat techniques. Then came Durga, her multiple arms crossed as she assessed the demonstration with a warrior goddess's critical eye. Soon, most of the Servants had gathered around the perimeter of the training yard.
"Can anyone learn this technique?" Female Solomon asked, her analytical mind already considering applications.
"Anyone with sufficient ki control and sensory perception," Vegito replied. "Though it may be more difficult for those who rely on different energy systems."
"A challenge, then," Artoria observed with a smile. "Excellent. Mastery without challenge is hollow."
"I'll master it first," Gilgamesh declared, having apparently recovered from her earlier setback. "My divine nature makes me naturally superior at adapting to new techniques."
"Care to make it interesting?" Ishtar suggested with a mischievous grin. "A wager, perhaps? First to successfully perform this 'Instant Transmission' wins... oh, I don't know... a private dinner with our mysterious summoner?"
Several Servants perked up at this suggestion.
"That seems inappropriate," Nightingale objected, though a faint blush contradicted her professional tone.
"I think it sounds delightful," Kiara purred. "Though I suggest the stakes should be higher than mere dinner."
"No wagers," Vegito interrupted firmly. "This isn't a competition. It's knowledge sharing."
"Everything is a competition when excellence is at stake," Nero declared dramatically. "The Emperor accepts this challenge!"
Vegito sighed, recognizing a losing battle. "Fine. But I choose the prize."
"And what would that be?" Morgan asked, speaking for the first time that morning.
Vegito's smile held a hint of mischief that surprised them all. "The winner gets to choose tomorrow's training regimen for everyone."
A chorus of protests erupted, with Gilgamesh's voice rising above the others.
"That's not a proper prize! It should be something of value, something—"
"Power over others isn't valuable?" Vegito interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I thought kings understood that better than anyone."
Gilgamesh's mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the subtle challenge. "Very well. I accept these terms."
One by one, the others agreed, some eagerly, some grudgingly. The morning's planned training session evolved into something entirely different—a competition that revealed far more about each Servant than they perhaps intended.
Gilgamesh approached the task with imperial confidence that quickly gave way to frustrated rage when the technique proved resistant to her natural talents. Ishtar fared better, her divine essence allowing her to perceive the energy flows Vegito described, though actual transmission remained beyond her grasp. Scathach, with millennia of combat experience, came closest, managing a flickering half-step that covered mere inches but demonstrated conceptual understanding.
Through it all, Vegito observed and instructed with endless patience, never showing frustration or favoritism. By midday, though none had mastered the technique, all had gained new insights into their own capabilities and limitations.
"Enough for today," Vegito finally declared. "We'll continue tomorrow."
"But no one has won the wager," Nero protested. "The contest cannot end without a victor!"
"Consider it a long-term challenge," Vegito suggested. "The offer remains open."
As the group dispersed for the midday meal, Musashi lingered behind, her swordsman's eyes thoughtful.
"You knew none of us would master it today," she observed.
Vegito nodded. "The technique requires fundamental adjustments to how you perceive reality. That doesn't happen in a single morning."
"Yet you offered the challenge anyway." Musashi smiled knowingly. "Because the attempt itself would teach us something valuable."
"Learning often happens in unexpected ways," Vegito agreed.
"You're a teacher at heart," she realized. "Beneath all that power."
Vegito didn't confirm or deny, but the slight smile that touched his lips was answer enough.
"Well then, teacher," Musashi said, drawing one of her blades with fluid grace, "perhaps you'd honor this humble student with a sparring match? I promise to make it worth your while."
Vegito considered for a moment, then nodded. "After lunch."
As they walked together toward the main hall where Raikou was organizing the meal service, neither noticed the silent figure watching from the distant treeline.
Ulquiorra's green eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the strange gathering. Then, with a whisper of sonido, he vanished to report to Aizen.
In Las Noches, the fortress at the heart of