Yamamoto Genryūsai turned sharply, his gaze snapping to Wandawise. The Arrancar's body was swelling at an alarming rate, skin ballooning as spiritual energy surged from within. The surrounding Shinigami erupted into chaos, panic flashing in their eyes—they all understood what was about to happen.
He was going to explode.
Aizen's calm voice drifted through the charged air, carrying faint amusement. "Wandawise's ability is to return all the flames he devoured." His smile deepened. This was the final gift he had prepared for Yamamoto Genryūsai—a death wrapped in the flames of his own power. "A fitting tribute to the man who once ruled fire."
Yamamoto's face darkened, his ancient eyes tightening. He knew precisely what those flames meant. The ones devoured by Wandawise weren't mere remnants of Ryūjin Jakka—they contained the essence of its technique, Hot Hell. Those weren't ordinary flames but hellfire that could reduce entire realms to ash. If the explosion was unleashed, it would consume not only everyone present but perhaps the entire city itself.
The old man's Reiatsu swelled, his expression hard as stone. There was no time to hesitate. He clenched his fists, ready to move. But before he could, Aizen's voice echoed again—light, condescending, as if speaking to a child. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Even if you destroy Wandawise, his self-detonation will not stop." Ichimaru Gin's sly chuckle followed, "Oh dear, that does sound troublesome."
The words hit the Gotei like ice water. Injured and drained, none of them could flee; their legs were too weak, their bodies too broken. They could only watch death draw closer.
Sui-Feng bit her lip until it bled, her face white as paper. She had promised that boy she would wait for him to return—but now, death loomed before her, and he was nowhere to be found. Why hasn't he come yet…?
Beside her, Omaeda trembled, drenched in cold sweat, mumbling incoherently as tears streamed down his cheeks. "C-Captain… where are you…? You always run so fast, why so slow now? Please hurry up… or I'll have to carry my own coffin…" His sobs broke the silence like cracks in glass. For once, even his foolishness carried sorrow.
Yamamoto stood motionless, torn between duty and despair. His gaze fixed on Wandawise's monstrous, expanding form. The heat distorted the air, the pressure unbearable. He had seconds left—no more.
The swelling abruptly stopped. Yamamoto stepped forward without hesitation, his body flashing through the smoke as he pressed Wandawise down with his full weight.
"Captain!"
"Master Chief!"
Sui-Feng, Kyōraku, and Tōshirō screamed, but the sound vanished in the same instant the world went silent. For one breath, all sound, all wind, all time itself halted. Then—
Boom.
The heavens split. A deafening roar tore through the battlefield as flames erupted like the birth of a new sun. But the inferno didn't rise—it stopped, compressed by the immense spiritual power of one man. Yamamoto Genryūsai stood against the storm, forcing the explosion downward, suppressing the annihilating fire with his own body.
A massive mushroom cloud rose over the horizon, shaking earth and sky alike. The ground split, the air screamed, and then, silence again. When the smoke cleared, a vast crater lay where the battlefield once stood.
At its center lay the old man, bloodied, burnt, and motionless.
A soft step echoed. A figure descended into the crater, landing before him. Aizen's calm voice cut through the heat haze. "As expected of the most respected Commander-General. Even at the cost of your life, you protect your subordinates." He smiled faintly, drawing his Zanpakutō with a leisurely grace. "But ultimately, such devotion is meaningless. You can't protect anything." The blade lowered, its tip pressing gently against Yamamoto's brow. "Use your death to give this war its first offering."
But before he could strike, a charred hand snapped up, clamping tightly around his ankle.
"Even if this old man dies," Yamamoto growled, his voice thunder rolling through the crater, "I will drag you down with me!" His eyes blazed with the last of his fury. "Hadō number ninety-six—Ittō Kasō!"
The ancient chant tore through the heavens. Aizen's eyes widened slightly as the world exploded in fire once more.
Boom!
A pillar of flame erupted skyward, engulfing both men in a blinding storm. The explosion raged until the very air screamed.
"Captain!!"
"Master!!"
The cries of the Gotei echoed across the scorched battlefield as the inferno finally began to fade. When the flames cleared, Yamamoto's form lay at the bottom of the crater. His left arm was charred black, turned entirely to ash.
The air fell still. Even the wind dared not speak.
The Ittō Kasō—forbidden Hadō, sealed for centuries—was a technique that could only be cast by sacrificing one's own body. Yamamoto had burned himself to strike down his enemy.
Sui-Feng's lips trembled, Kyōraku lowered his hat, and Hitsugaya's knuckles went white. The old man's flames had finally gone out.
But then, Kyōraku's head lifted sharply. "Wait… where's Aizen?"
Everyone turned toward the crater. Their hearts stopped. There was no trace—no body, no fragments of clothing. Nothing.
Then—patter.
A shadow landed softly at the crater's rim. Aizen Sōsuke stood there, unscathed save for a few faint burns.
The color drained from every Shinigami's face. Yamamoto's dimming eyes flickered with disbelief. Under such a forbidden technique, no one should have survived. But none of them knew that within Aizen's body, the Hōgyoku pulsed quietly. It had fused with him completely, shielding him, rewriting the laws of death itself.
He had transcended mortality.
"Then, Commander," Aizen said smoothly, his tone almost kind, "it's time to say goodbye." He raised his blade again, aiming once more for the old man's heart.
"Getsuga… Tenshō!!"
The shout split the air—not the voice of the orange-haired boy, but a deeper, older tone. A streak of azure light cleaved through the sky, crashing toward Aizen. The newcomer stepped into view, black cloak flaring behind him, blade gleaming cold blue.
Shiba Isshin.
No—Kurosaki Isshin.
At the same time, a crimson light flashed from another direction, followed by a whip of spiritual pressure and a strike wrapped in roaring wind.
Urahara Kisuke.
Shihōin Yoruichi.
The three of them appeared together—old allies, reunited in fire.
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