Chapter 260: The War to End All Wars (Part 2)
"!"
It felt like waking from a nightmare with your heart still trapped inside it.
Yhwach's eyes snapped open.
Above him was a sky that was both strange and familiar.
Strange, because he had never seen this sky with his own eyes. It was a pure, empty blue, ringed by invisible barriers that rose like walls around the horizon, as if the very atmosphere was being regulated and arranged.
Familiar, because the moment he saw it, something inside him flinched.
Not recognition.
Memory.
As if he had been here before. Or rather, as if his mind insisted he had been here before, even if he could not immediately explain why.
His thoughts, chaotic and tangled, began to stitch themselves together.
What had been disconnected fragments linked in less than a thousandth of a second, as if the break had never existed. Memories surged. Souls. Spiritual cries. Countless remnants he had absorbed over the years poured through his limbs and bones like a flood returning to its riverbed.
As the progenitor of the Quincy, as the king who had consumed countless souls, Yhwach's inherent authority over himself forced the turbulence to settle.
He remembered.
He had tested the path to the Soul King Palace.
In his plan, the Quincy who were meant to be removed had already been eliminated or absorbed through Auswählen. Those outside the plan remained behind in Seireitei, delaying time. Aizen Sōsuke, the one who could truly interfere with him, was severely injured. Kurosaki Ichigo, Aizen's proxy, had been trapped in the Wandenreich with honeyed words.
It had not been the most perfect ending.
But it was still a good ending.
Yhwach had been confident. He had been burning with certainty. Victory had been within reach, just a few steps ahead. The final battle would belong to him, and afterward, he would bring the world into true peace, a world without suffering or despair.
Then why?
Why had his consciousness vanished for an instant?
His mind spun, ruthless and fast, dragging his body into readiness as he searched for the missing piece.
"Right," he murmured. "I absorbed those I marked among the Sternritter, and then I reached the Soul King Palace. The one who blocked me there was…"
A black Shinigami uniform.
A face burned into history.
A rage that looked like it could scorch the world itself.
A man Yhwach claimed not to care about, yet watched more closely than anyone else.
Uninjured. Untouched. At his peak. Unmatched.
The strongest Shinigami of this world.
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.
"…So you've finally crawled out of your stupor, Yhwach?" Yamamoto's voice was rough and cold. "This old man has only just begun."
He stood bare handed, Zanpakuto still sheathed. His contempt was obvious, almost mocking, as he stared at the Quincy king who had just regained his senses.
Unlike Yhwach, who had lost a moment of memory, Yamamoto had remained fully conscious the entire time.
When the initial battle with the Zero Division erupted, their spiritual pressure shook the Soul King Palace itself. At first, it had been hard to distinguish anything else beneath that reverberation. By the time Yamamoto received the news and realized what it meant, the Quincy had already clashed with his disciples.
Too late.
He understood, with bitter clarity, what his long standing carelessness and overconfidence had led to.
He had watched his disciple, that young man he trusted, grow exhausted under Quincy assault. He had watched him fall, smiling with relief as if simply grateful the burden was finally over.
He had watched him vanish into the abyss.
Perhaps not even bones remained.
And all of it had happened because Yamamoto had hesitated for an instant, because he had been slow for a heartbeat.
That anger, that pain, stripped away dignity and restraint.
He knew something was wrong. He knew Aizen Sōsuke had likely moved behind the scenes. He knew there were unseen threads.
It no longer mattered.
Some things did not require understanding to be erased.
This man before him, the Quincy king with bewilderment still clinging to his eyes, had plunged the Three Realms into chaos simply by existing.
What should have been an internal affair of the Shinigami became Shinigami against Quincy because of Yhwach's birth. Then it expanded again, into Shinigami, Quincy, Wandering Souls, and Hollows.
If not for Yhwach, this mad being who hunted the Soul King, none of this terror would have unfolded.
To move forward, to protect the world he had bled for, Yamamoto had to crush him completely. Otherwise, Yhwach would return from some corner of history and commit the same sins again.
Shinigami were the foundation of this world's order. The Gotei 13 were Seireitei's guardians. Seireitei and the Soul King Palace were sacred ground.
Yamamoto would not forgive anyone who harmed them.
Not even slightly.
"This old man knows you haven't fully recovered," Yamamoto said, stepping forward. His expression was carved from stone. "That brat Aizen Sōsuke must've pulled something. But it no longer matters."
His fists clenched.
His beard and hair lifted as if heat were breathing through them.
Yamamoto could feel something wrong inside his own mind too, a blankness, an obstruction. He assumed it was Aizen's trick. Yet Aizen had once been a Shinigami. Compared to Yhwach, Aizen was a later problem.
Right now, the priority was simple.
Kill the enemy in front of him, then return to dealing with the rest.
Even standing here another second felt like blasphemy against the Soul King Palace.
Monsters like Yhwach should not exist.
"Ryūjin Jakka," Yamamoto said, voice low. "Join me. We end this."
Flames bled from his palm.
A massive hilt formed, wrapped in luminous fire that looked almost solid. The pressure rolled outward like a mountain sliding into the world.
Even Yhwach, swollen with the souls he had consumed, narrowed his eyes instinctively.
And yet, the wrongness remained.
Something had been cut away.
Why was he suddenly fighting Yamamoto here?
Why had he arrived without contingencies?
Where were the others?
Where were the Sternritter he had marked?
If Shinigami had truly crushed his Quincy army, that was impossible, the clashes would have drawn his attention through the resonance of souls.
And yet there was nothing.
No confirmation. No result.
Only this hateful old man and a battle he could not place inside a proper sequence.
"Wait," Yhwach said sharply. "Something isn't right, Yamamoto Shigekuni."
"Begging already?" Yamamoto sneered. "That's not like you, not like the beast from a thousand years ago."
The flames swung.
A single rotation of Yamamoto's wrist sent Ryūjin Jakka carving through the air. Yhwach barely slipped past it.
Then the world exploded.
Heat swallowed everything. The sky turned crimson black in a breath. A violent bloom of fire devoured the space behind him, and Yhwach had to force his body into Hirenkyaku, escaping the center of the blast.
He landed, shoulders tight, and stared at his own hand.
His palm, coated in Blut Vene, was blackened at the edge, nearly charred.
Confusion sharpened into alarm.
This made no sense.
There was no reason he should be suppressed to this extent from the first exchange. Even a fully recovered Yamamoto should not be able to injure him like this while still in Shikai.
"…You're not the same as before, Yamamoto Genryūsai."
"Heh." Yamamoto's voice carried like embers. "And you're exactly the same as a thousand years ago, Yhwach."
The flames in the sky became tangible, roaring as they erupted into sparks. Another wave swept over the spot where Yhwach had just stood.
Yhwach vanished again with Hirenkyaku.
When he reappeared, he looked back and saw the ground transformed into pools of lava.
A strategy formed quickly, cold and practical.
If Yamamoto's raw combat power exceeded expectations, then power alone would not decide the battle.
Battles were not always won by who had more spiritual pressure. That mattered in straight duels, yes, but external factors changed everything.
And Yhwach knew one truth.
The Zanpakuto system was not a natural phenomenon.
Which meant it could be dismantled.
To defeat the strongest Shinigami, the cleanest method was to take his Bankai away.
Let Yamamoto reach his peak. Let him unleash his wrath.
And at the moment he believed himself invincible, steal it.
"You've grown old, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni," Yhwach said, straightening, brushing off ash as if the flames meant nothing.
Yamamoto raised an eyebrow, Ryūjin Jakka burning in his grip.
He had never underestimated Yhwach. A king who survived a millennium did not stand before him without reason. If Yhwach looked confident while clearly pressured, then something else was supporting him.
Unlike Aizen, whose changes were impossible to predict, Yamamoto and Yhwach had fought before. They knew each other.
Yhwach's power felt similar to a thousand years ago.
Which meant his failure should repeat.
Unless he had gained something new.
Something strange.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed as he advanced through the heat.
"It doesn't matter," he said, voice like grinding stone. "You still can't overcome this old man."
Yhwach's gaze cooled.
"You truly haven't changed," he said. "A thousand years ago or now, you're the same."
"And you're the same," Yamamoto replied. "A parasite crawling back to the light."
Yhwach's resentment surfaced, sharp as a blade.
"Just like before, no matter what happens, no matter what sacrifices are made, you remain that cruel Shinigami Captain Commander. Even if familiar faces stand in your way, you cut them down without hesitation."
His eyes flicked, not at Yamamoto, but at the space beyond.
"Even now, with everything you created collapsing, you still want to grind me down here. Slowly. Methodically. As if nothing else matters."
Yamamoto's steps faltered, just a fraction.
"What did you say?"
"The Soul King Palace isn't sealing the reishi below," Yhwach said. "You should be able to feel it."
Yamamoto's pupils widened slightly.
Yhwach's smile grew, mocking and arrogant.
He knew Yamamoto's weakness, a weakness that barely counted as one. In battle, Yamamoto focused on killing the enemy. He ignored the surroundings. He ignored interference. He ignored consequences.
For the strongest Shinigami, that had once been correct. Kill the enemy leader, then crush everything else with fire.
But now, it became a crack.
Because Yamamoto of the past would not have cared who died while his flames swept the field.
Yamamoto of the present had softened.
And that softness could be exploited.
"Your Gotei 13 is burning," Yhwach said, voice low and delighted. "Your Seireitei is collapsing, and yet you stand here trying to humiliate me."
"Do you plan to wait until Seireitei is destroyed, then rebuild the Gotei 13 and recruit new talent from Rukongai? How unfortunate. That's impossible now."
His smile widened.
"Aizen Sōsuke is using everyone's strength to tear your world apart."
Yamamoto's grip tightened.
Reishi. Disappearances. The faint extinguishing of familiar presences. The reality he had forced aside in order to focus on killing Yhwach crashed back into him.
"Truly, it is you," Yhwach continued. "Even your name speaks of cherishing comrades, yet you still choose the same path as a thousand years ago."
He tilted his head.
"Back then, an annoying brat ambushed me."
His eyes sharpened.
"But there is no one now, Yamamoto Shigekuni."
"…Quincy," Yamamoto growled. "Wandering Souls. Hollows."
"I despise Hollows," Yhwach said, almost casually. "But revenge accepts any tool that works."
Yamamoto's anger made his spiritual pressure tremble, the flames around Ryūjin Jakka flaring like a living storm.
Yhwach watched it, satisfied.
Then Yamamoto's voice dropped, deadly calm.
"You can absorb Bankai power, can't you? But there's a limit."
For the first time in countless years, Yamamoto shifted into a two handed kendo stance.
Under normal circumstances, he would have chosen restraints, barriers, measures to protect the environment.
Not now.
His home was burning.
Seireitei was screaming.
The reishi of his disciples was disappearing one after another, and each disappearance was a knife grinding deeper.
If his Bankai incinerated the Soul Society, then it would be a necessary sacrifice.
At the very least, a monster like Yhwach could not be allowed to live in a world that still held hope.
"You want my Bankai?" Yamamoto said, eyes cold. "Then take it. Let's see if you can."
He aimed Ryūjin Jakka at Yhwach.
And in that instant, all the roaring illusions of fire vanished.
Not only within the Soul King Palace, but across the battlefield below, Quincy and Wandering Souls who had been screaming moments earlier stared at their bodies in shock.
The flames that should have destroyed them seemed to have never existed.
Blisters and phantom pain remained like a curse, then faded as if the world had rewritten itself.
Yet the sunlight above grew brighter.
The air began to dry.
Water evaporated.
Across the entire Soul Society, bodies of water steamed into vapor, and the temperature climbed so fast that even hardened Shinigami swallowed instinctively.
Morale that had surged only seconds ago faltered.
Because everyone could feel it.
This power did not distinguish between ally and enemy.
It was too vast. Too absolute.
It could not be precise.
It would burn everything equally.
"Yhwach," Yamamoto said, voice steady, "after all these years, you're still arrogant, still ignorant. My calm is not blindness. I know what's happening."
His gaze hardened.
"I simply believed I could finish you quickly, before the world suffered from me."
Then his expression turned colder.
"But you cling to life like a sewer insect."
"So be it."
"I will use Bankai."
He drew in a breath.
An immense pressure sealed the surroundings.
The sky turned pure white.
All heat and flame compressed into stillness so extreme it twisted perception. Motion collapsed into silence, and even Yhwach felt disoriented, like reality had been squeezed.
Then he saw it.
The Zanpakuto in Yamamoto's hand looked like a withered piece of charcoal. A crude, decaying blade, as if all the fire in the universe had been drained into its core.
Yhwach's eyes narrowed.
He recognized it.
"If you can take it," Yamamoto said calmly, extending the blade as if offering a casual conversation. "Then take it."
His voice did not rise.
"Bankai, Zanka no Tachi."
There was no dramatic explosion.
No roaring inferno.
Just a simple swing.
And the world warped.
The closer the blade moved, the hotter existence became. The air bent. Space twisted. Temperatures beyond measure incinerated everything they touched, turning reality into something unstable.
This Bankai could destroy the world if it remained unleashed long enough.
It was greater than even Yhwach had expected.
But it was too late.
The moment the blade moved, Yhwach's vision dissolved into a twisted sea of fire.
Above the sky, even distant observers saw it.
A warped cloud of flame erupted, like a second sun tearing open the firmament. The heavens split like a wound, staring down upon everything beneath it.
Against an enemy unchanged for a millennium, the strongest Shinigami did not need elaborate techniques.
He only needed to swing once.
And the enemy would become ash.
Yamamoto watched the burning figure kneel, expression unchanging.
Then laughter crawled out of the flames.
"Heh… heh…"
Yhwach's charred body trembled, and he laughed coldly.
"I've been waiting for this moment, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni."
A flicker of unease surfaced in Yamamoto's gut.
Before he could react, Yhwach pulled out a battered but functional medal and aimed it at Zanka no Tachi.
In an instant, the impossible heat shattered.
The world's burning pressure dissolved like a curtain ripped away. Flames, tongues of fire, the very authority of Yamamoto's Bankai, poured outward and streamed into the medal as if dragged by an unseen hand.
Yamamoto's eyes widened.
His sword's power vanished.
The Bankai he had honed for a thousand years was stolen into a Quincy tool.
When the last ember was absorbed, Yhwach stood, pale blue reishi longsword in hand, and looked down at Yamamoto with cold satisfaction.
"Believing a Zanpakuto is part of yourself," Yhwach said, "is the Shinigami's cognitive mistake."
As the temperature crashed, the sky darkened.
The air, displaced by extreme heat, slammed back into place. Cooling currents collided violently.
Rain began to pour.
A sudden storm crashed over the sacred approach to the Soul King Palace.
In the downpour, Yamamoto stared at the broken state of his Zanpakuto, then at the medal in Yhwach's hand, unable to fully process it.
How could a Bankai, trained for a thousand years, be sealed like this?
Had Shinigami misunderstood something fundamental?
He did not know.
He only knew Ryūjin Jakka could no longer answer his call.
Yhwach exhaled slowly, dusting ash from his body, eyes narrowing as he watched Yamamoto's face tighten.
"There were deviations," Yhwach admitted. "But it still succeeded. Your biggest flaw is arrogance."
He glanced at the medal, expression faintly irritated.
"Even I can't use your Bankai properly. I can only seal it like this."
Then he smiled again.
"But now, what can you do, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni? What can you do with only Ryūjin Jakka?"
He took a step forward, rain streaming off his hair and cloak.
"A Shinigami's battle is a battle of spiritual pressure. The Zanpakuto is a tool that amplifies it. And since it is a tool, it can be suppressed."
"A Zanpakuto is only a mirror. It is not you."
His reishi blade rose.
"Suppress Bankai, and your system collapses. Now you are useless, Yamamoto Shigekuni."
Yhwach's voice grew colder, almost amused.
"If I wished, I could wield your power against your disciples. Zanpakuto are not bound to you. The Sword God is outside, still being dragged into battle."
His eyes gleamed.
"You should never have trusted Bankai so blindly."
In the endless rain, Yhwach advanced with the slow confidence of a victor.
The old him would have laughed loudly.
Now, he felt nothing.
Yamamoto of the past had been ruthless enough to be terrifying. That Yamamoto would have made even Yhwach uneasy.
But this Yamamoto was an old man with things to protect.
Disciples. Family. A life's work.
Such a man could be baited. Such a man could be cornered.
"You deceived yourself," Yhwach said, lifting the pale blue blade toward Yamamoto's bowed head. "You thought Bankai was part of your soul, and therefore untouchable."
His smile sharpened.
"Who said a trained tool cannot be sealed?"
"You Shinigami have lived inside that illusion for too long."
He drew the blade back.
"I won't use your Bankai on other Shinigami. That comes later. First Aizen Sōsuke. Then Kurosaki Ichigo. After that, Seireitei and the Soul Society will be mine to protect."
"Rest assured."
"And go."
Yhwach swung.
Something moved faster than the sword.
A fist.
Yamamoto's massive hands slammed into Yhwach's lower abdomen, both fists driving forward at once.
For a single instant, motion snapped into stillness, and Yhwach's breath shattered. His eyes went wide, fixed on the fists pressed into him.
"…Sokotsu."
Bang.
The impact echoed throughout the Soul King Palace.
Yhwach looked down in disbelief.
His Blut Vene shattered layer by layer, collapsing under brute force. Yamamoto drew his fists back slowly, expression unmoved.
Muscles swelled beneath his robes like a monster waking.
His presence turned heavy again, terrifying in its simplicity.
"This old man," Yamamoto said, voice low and furious, "is the strongest Shinigami of the past thousand years."
His eyes burned.
"Can your Blut Vene endure the power of two fists unleashed in an instant?"
Even without Bankai, even without Ryūjin Jakka answering him, Yamamoto's aura did not bend.
"This old man's fists and feet can still smash every enemy of Seireitei."
His voice thundered through the rain.
"Yhwach!"