Between heaven and earth, silence reigned. Only the rustling of branches stirred faintly in the night breeze as yellow leaves drifted down like fragments of time.
Sui-Feng watched one flutter past her face, eyes blank, lost in a daze. She kept expecting that once the leaf fell, his face would appear before her—like every time before. She had been waiting. Waiting then, waiting now, waiting still.
The leaves passed. The boy did not appear.
A quiet sadness welled from deep within her heart. Hadn't he always come in the most dangerous moments, smiling with that infuriating warmth, standing before everyone to save the world? But this time, the captains had fallen, the Gotei 13 lay defeated, all forces had collapsed—and still, he did not come.
Where are you?
No one answered. The stillness swallowed her plea.
Inside a golden barrier glowing faintly, Hiyori forced her trembling eyelids open and stared weakly at the large man before her. Her gaze pleaded, the words barely audible.
"Don't... go."
Hachigen lowered his head deeply, saying nothing.
"It's useless if you go," Hirako Shinji murmured hoarsely beside her, voice faint but still carrying that stubborn edge of sarcasm. "Keep your life... maybe there'll be a chance later."
They were both trying to stop him—for they knew, once this man left, he would never come back.
"I'm sorry," Hachigen said softly, struggling to stand. Every movement seemed to cost him pain. "But I want to try."
His gentle tone silenced them.
They had always thought of him as the polite, scholarly fat man. They hadn't expected him to be the type to gamble his life.
"Fatty's got guts," Shinji muttered with a crooked grin, still trying to joke.
"Thank you... for everything," Hachigen bowed deeply to them both. "This is where we part."
He turned, walking away with slow, heavy steps—each one steady, resolute, final. Hiyori and Shinji said nothing more. Their eyes followed him, soft and sorrowful, as if seeing off the dead.
Between heaven and earth, Aizen Sōsuke stood alone. Serene. Untouchable.
He looked over the fallen Shinigami and savored the stillness—the quiet triumph that followed utter victory. He could feel another presence approaching and waited calmly. Aizen preferred his opponents to come to him willingly, to lose completely, without excuses.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence. Heavy, deliberate, echoing through the broken plain.
All eyes turned toward the approaching figure—a large man with sorrow shadowing his determined face. A lonely charge.
Then another set of steps joined his.
A towering man, iron-built and solemn, walked beside him.
Two figures—one tall, one round, one solid as a wall, one calm as stone—moved together.
Ling Tieli, the former Chief of Kidō.
Hachigen Ushōda, the former Vice Chief of Kidō.
Outcasts of the old world. The final gatekeepers of Soul Society.
The sight of them made countless eyes blur with tears. Two forgotten guardians, walking toward certain death, choosing to defend the final gate with their lives.
Aizen turned slowly, his expression untouched by emotion.
"Bakudō Ninety-Nine, Part One: Kin."
"Bakudō Ninety-Nine, Part Two: Bankin."
Their voices rose together, resolute, fused in intent.
Boom!
Golden bands erupted from the ground, binding Aizen from every direction. Layers of seals, chains, and buckles snapped into place, locking him within an intricate prison of Kidō.
Then came their chant—solemn, echoing, overlapping perfectly.
"The muddy coat of arms faintly shines; arrogance and defiance are quelled, tides negate, paralysis, stillness—block the eternal sleep!"
"The crawling iron princess, the clay doll that mutilates itself—unite, rebound, expand upon the earth, and learn your powerlessness!"
"Hadō Number Ninety: Kurohitsugi!"
Their twin voices rang across the battlefield.
Boom—!
Two vast Black Coffins erupted, overlapping and merging, blotting out the sun. It was as though two wills had become one, sealing the heavens together in final defiance.
Every gaze fixed upon that colossal dark monument. Hearts trembled in hope.
Could this be the miracle?
Then came a calm, indifferent murmur—Aizen's voice.
"Hadō Number Ninety: Kurohitsugi."
Boom—!
The twin coffins shattered instantly.
Blood sprayed in twin arcs.
Aizen stepped out unscathed, not a mark upon him. The two Kidō masters fell to the ground, bleeding heavily, their spells broken like paper before a storm.
The complete incantation of the chief and vice-chief—overpowered by Aizen's abandoned chant.
Fear rippled through the survivors.
In that instant, everyone understood—nothing could stop him.
Aside from Aizen and Ichimaru Gin, no one remained standing. The Shinigami coalition was utterly annihilated.
The wind carried faint weeping, though no one knew from whom. Perhaps it came from all of them.
They wanted to cry, but none dared.
To be defeated by Aizen was bearable. To weep before him was unforgivable.
Yet one among them could not stop the trembling in his chest.
He was a man who feared death more than anyone—yet now, he had chosen to walk toward it.
Because everyone else had fallen. Because someone had to stand.
He had once read a line in a book:
"When the night of the empire descends, when every torch has gone dark, the candle in the boy's hand becomes the final defense."
He had no torch, only a crude weapon gripped in shaking hands.
But tonight, he would be that candle.
The last light of Soul Society.
The final line of defense.
The middle-aged man brushed the tears from his cheeks, rose from the rubble, and began walking—past the shattered stones, past his fallen comrades, straight toward that invincible god.
A man is born into this world. Why not die for it?
"Omaeda..."
Tears filled Sui-Feng's eyes as she watched him go.
"This guy... turned out to be a real man."
Kyoraku Shunsui felt his throat tighten, forcing a crooked smile. "Guess I'll have to update his record if I make it back alive."
Yamamoto Genryūsai's vision blurred. In that lone silhouette, he saw echoes of an old subordinate—a father walking the same road, straight toward the impossible, without fear, without hesitation.
Between sky and earth, the air stilled. The sun dimmed.
At this moment, Omaeda Marechiyo stood alone—
the only protagonist left in the world.
He faced Aizen.
Aizen regarded him, voice calm yet tinged with a faint respect.
"Your courage exceeds my expectations."
Omaeda didn't answer. He only gripped the iron club tighter—the rough, misshapen weapon that had become his candle. The empire's final flame.
He raised it high, ready to challenge the endless night with the smallest spark.
Aizen's eyes cooled again, returning to indifference. Slowly, he raised his hand, intending to show this naïve man the truth—
The fire of a firefly's candle could never defeat the night.
The fingertip of death moved toward Omaeda's chest.
And then—light.
A single, piercing radiance split through the gloom.
It was the light that crossed realms, cutting through darkness, illuminating the child before it.
Warm. Vast. Unmistakable.
That light brushed against his back, and every darkened heart, every fading soul, seemed to awaken.
"...Coming?"
Omaeda's voice trembled in disbelief.
"Coming."
The reply was gentle as a spring breeze.
Omaeda smiled through his tears and turned toward the radiance, his candle's fire merging into the dawn.
From within the light, a lone figure stepped forward.
Clap.
A crisp, clear sound echoed between heaven and earth.
"Leave it to me."
"Yeah," Omaeda said softly, "it's all yours now."
And thus, the final torch of the empire completed its handover.
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