Boom—!
A blinding explosion ripped the sky apart, and the violent air wave engulfed everything in an instant. Flying sand and shattered stone whirled through the air like a storm tearing at the world.
Sui-Feng slowly raised her head, breathing weakly, her voice faint.
"You people... finally decided to move, huh..."
Kyoraku Shunsui leaned against the broken wall, hat askew, his eyes flickering under half-lidded lids.
"Sorry," he said, voice low, "I had to confirm something first."
Urahara Kisuke stood amid the dust storm, face uncharacteristically serious. Until now, the three had held back from battle—because Kisuke needed to confirm how far Aizen and the Hōgyoku had fused.
And now, he had the answer.
The fusion was complete. Aizen had fully merged with the Hōgyoku. Killing him was now almost impossible. The conclusion was cruel but inescapable, a fact written into the flow of reality itself.
Kisuke's gaze darkened. If killing him is impossible... then only the seal will do.
As the dust thinned, the figure of Aizen stepped out.
All eyes turned at once. A few clear wounds marked his body—but not a drop of blood flowed from them. Instead, from the gashes shimmered a faint glow like a fragment of a starry night. The wounds knit themselves closed in seconds, vanishing without trace.
At that same moment, Aizen's appearance began to shift. A plain white hood formed over his face, concealing his features completely, leaving only those calm eyes, indifferent and detached.
Seeing him unscathed, every heart trembled. Kisuke's expression grew heavier. As he suspected, Aizen had transcended—his body and soul had been completely rewritten by the Hōgyoku. He was no longer a Shinigami evolving toward power. He had become the evolution itself.
When Aizen first descended upon Karakura Town, he had still been in the Hōgyoku's awakening phase. But now—this robed form marked the second stage: the Hōgyoku Cradle. The energy pulsing through him was vaster, purer, ungraspable.
Kisuke's mind raced for a way out.
Beside him, Shihouin Yoruichi and Kurosaki Isshin had no such hesitation.
With a sharp clang, Yoruichi flexed her arms, the steel gauntlets forged by Kisuke flashing faintly in the light—special weapons designed to shatter "gentle scum." Her eyes blazed with killing intent.
At her side, the massive Zanpakutō in Isshin's hand carved sparks into the ground as he leveled its edge toward Aizen. The weight of his Reiatsu made the air itself vibrate.
The former captain of the Tenth Division had lived in hiding for decades, forced into exile by the schemes of the man before him. Even if that same scheme had led him to the woman he loved—how could he forgive the hand that destroyed everything before that love was found?
Today, that debt would be repaid.
Boom!
Twin surges of spiritual pressure erupted skyward. No words, no signals, no coordination—they simply moved.
Yoruichi and Isshin shot forward, their silhouettes like arrows through the air.
Aizen's gaze followed them lazily, calm amusement in his eyes.
Boom—!
Steel, air, and flesh collided. Fist winds and sword pressure tore the atmosphere apart, the ground cracking under the sheer force.
Kisuke vanished in Shunpo, circling the battlefield, waiting for his moment.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Each strike was a violent crash of Reiatsu—red flashes bursting within the storm. Though not as earth-shaking as Yamamoto's flames, the ferocity of this battle was unmatched. Their teamwork was seamless, three blades of intent weaving in perfect sync, strikes endless as the tide.
Yet Aizen's expression never wavered. Calm. Leisurely. Effortless. His eyes, detached and still, saw through every motion.
As the battle raged, the three could feel the truth closing in.
Kisuke's seal Kidō—useless.
Yoruichi's gauntlets—crumbling.
Isshin's sword—unable to even graze him.
The weight in their hearts grew heavier with each failed strike.
"Careful!!" Kisuke's warning came too late.
Swish—
A streak of light cut through the air.
Blood sprayed across the battlefield.
Isshin was hurled backward, body twisting through the sky, leaving behind a crimson arc that burned against the clouds. The man who swore vengeance fell first.
"Die!" Yoruichi's roar split the air as her Reiatsu surged violently. She vanished, reappearing before Aizen, both fists glowing with thunderous force as she struck down at his head.
Aizen did not move. The blade flickered once.
Boom!
The gauntlets shattered instantly, fragments scattering through the air.
Yoruichi's pupils widened in disbelief, but Aizen gave her no chance to think. His knee drove upward, slamming into her chest with brutal precision.
Boom—!
Her ribs caved in with a sickening crack. Blood spilled from her lips as she was flung like a ragdoll into the air, another streak of red tracing the sky.
The proud goddess of flash, once head of the Onmitsukidō, fell second.
"Yoruichi!!" Kisuke's face twisted, eyes wide. Sui-Feng gritted her teeth in despair.
Before anyone could move, the third defeat came.
Puff—
Blood mist burst before Kisuke's eyes. His vision went red. The shock froze his mind blank.
From the haze came that voice—soft, cold, merciless.
"Urahara... you disappoint me."
Aizen's calm tone echoed through the battlefield.
"A man of your intellect... falling for such a simple trap." His gaze lifted slowly, empty of emotion. "When fighting, you should not be distracted."
His words were a verdict.
Kisuke's knees hit the ground, his eyes dull, his spirit sinking into silence.
Defeat.
The world went still.
No sound. No motion.
Between heaven and earth, even the air seemed to stop.
The Gotei 13.
The Visored Corps.
The crowd gathered at Urahara's shop.
All had fallen.
The expedition born of unity—obliterated.
The decisive war meant to end everything—had ended only in annihilation.
No one could accept it.
Unwillingness. Regret. Sorrow. Despair.
Each emotion burst like a dam, flooding hearts that could no longer bear it.
The sky remained painfully blue, yet every heart was drowning in darkness.
"Hiss..."
A faint tearing sound whispered through the air as Aizen's white hood split open, revealing his face—handsome, proud, godlike. But his eyes had turned black-violet, swirling with collapsing stars.
Kisuke stared at him, despair settling like lead. Aizen had evolved again—the third stage, the Hōgyoku Completion.
In his first stage, Aizen annihilated the Gotei 13.
In the second, he crushed the three of them.
And now, at the peak of the third, there was no one left to stand against him.
The Shinigami coalition was gone.
Urahara lowered his head, shadow swallowing his face.
Aizen raised his, scanning the field of fallen Shinigami.
A faint smile curved his lips as his presence spread outward—an aura of disdain for all creation.
No one could stop him now.
"Let's go, Gin. No one here is worth our time."
"...Yes," Ichimaru Gin replied softly, his usual grin in place—but deep in his eyes, a flicker of light passed.
Every surviving Shinigami understood where Aizen was heading.
The real Karakura Town—hidden within the Soul Society.
And with the Gotei 13's forces decimated, Seireitei stood empty. No one remained to protect it.
"Why..."
"Why haven't you come yet..."
The girl's whisper drifted into the wind—fragile, desperate, and unbearably lonely.
The silence that followed swallowed the world whole.
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