They lost the war.
The world had fallen apart—its balance between life and death shattered by the Quincy King.
Now, only the void remained.
Ichigo Kurosaki drifted through that endless emptiness, a fragment of existence left behind after the collapse of all creation. He could neither die nor live; his body was nothing but spirit, yet chained to eternity. The old Zangetsu—his mentor, his shadow, his soul—was gone. Consumed by Yhwach. The Shinigami power that once blazed inside him had faded to an echo, leaving only silence where once roared purpose.
But something else had survived.
The Hollow.
It clung to his soul like fire clings to dry wood, refusing to yield to the Quincy's godhood. It had shielded a fragment of Ichigo's Shinigami essence, though most of that divine power was lost in the storm. What remained was primal—wild and unstable.
In the black void, Ichigo's eyes were dim, empty. His orange hair floated like dying embers in darkness.
He felt nothing.
Not rage. Not sorrow. Not life. Just… silence.
Then came a tremor.
One... two... three—
The void shook.
"What the hell—?!" Ichigo roared, his voice echoing through eternity. "What the fuck is happening?!"
(It's coming, King. It's coming. Prepare yourself...)
The Hollow's voice echoed inside his soul—distorted, feral, alive.
Ichigo's control slipped. Emotion surged. Power bled through his skin, tearing the fabric of the void itself.
A hole opened in his chest, his eyes burning gold and black. Two curved horns burst from his skull. His skin turned deathly white, and his aura—dark crimson and shadow—exploded outward, flooding the void with spiraling reiatsu.
Then—something emerged.
A dragon.
Vast and infinite.
Larger than anything Ichigo had ever seen—even the Soul King's palace seemed small compared to it.
"What the hell are you?" Ichigo demanded, his voice shaking between fury and fear.
The dragon's eyes glowed like suns behind storm clouds. Its voice was both ancient and young, wise and furious.
"I am a being from another universe," it said. "And I have brought with me... a piece of your world."
Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "Another world? Don't mess with me, Quincy bastard! You think I'll fall for your tricks again?!" He gathered power at his horns—a Cero of pure rage.
"Foolish child," the dragon laughed. "You believe you can harm me?"
The Cero screamed through the void like a newborn star. The explosion shook existence itself.
Ichigo panted, eyes wide, staring through the smoke. "That... that should've vaporized anything..."
But as the smoke cleared, the dragon stood unscathed.
"That tickled," it said, amused. "Now it's my turn."
Flames—ancient, divine—roared from its mouth, hotter than any fire Ichigo had ever felt.
He used Sonido to dodge, but the flames still caught him, searing through his Hierro. His scream echoed through eternity.
"It's hotter than... old man Yamamoto's fire..." he gasped, collapsing. His vision blurred. Pain faded. Darkness swallowed him.
Before consciousness fled, he heard the dragon murmur:
"The boy wounded me... strong as the god-kings themselves. It would be a shame for him to die here."
The dragon touched Ichigo's chest with a claw.
"A piece of his world has fused into his soul. If left unchecked, it will kill him—and birth another dimension. I'll... assist."
Light burst from Ichigo's body. The void cracked. The sands of Hueco Mundo were reborn—stretching into infinity.
Ichigo's body dissolved into light particles.
"The divinity of death lives within you," the dragon whispered. "But the monster's power outweighs it. Should you ever be reborn human again... that beast will devour you. Unless..."
---
Far away—in the cold halls of Helheim—
Hela, the sixth of the Ten Divine Powers, felt her heart tremble.
She was the embodiment of death itself—eternal, unchanging, the balance between life and afterlife. A being that should never know birth or creation. And yet...
She was pregnant.
It was impossible.
The concept of Death could not give life. The Creator Himself would forbid it.
And yet... she could feel it—life pulsing inside her.
Nine months passed in the silence of her kingdom.
When the child was born, she expected a god—cold, divine, pure concept.
But what she saw was a hybrid.
A half-god. Half-something else.
And then—memories flooded her mind.
Visions of a world destroyed by a mad god. Souls devoured, twisted into monsters called Hollows.
A man—a warrior with hair of fire—rising, fighting, falling.
Ichigo.
He was her son.
A child of Death, born from her essence and the remnants of a doomed soul from another realm.
She saw his history like an echo—his mother slain, his monstrous power awakening, his battles through divine worlds he never understood.
She watched his fall. His victory. His loneliness.
And she wept.
The child she held was not new—he was reborn.
The dragon, the Red Great One, had carried his dying soul into her realm.
"I'll have to adapt my kingdom," she whispered. "Thank you... Great Red... for giving me a son, even if he bears the memories of a broken man."
She looked down at the infant in her arms. He looked back with fear and instinct—eyes gold and black, like a Hollow's echo.
"You cannot stay here," she said, voice trembling. "If the pantheons discover you, they'll destroy you—and I'll be forced to destroy them in return. That would break the balance..."
She sighed, tearing a fragment of her horn and pressing it into the child's chest. It dissolved into him, vanishing beneath his skin.
Then she carried him to the mortal world—to Japan—and knocked on a door.
A tall, battle-worn man opened it—eyes widening in shock.
"It's time to pay your debt," Hela said coldly, grabbing his throat. "Baraqiel."
The fallen angel gasped, barely able to speak. "Who are you...? Please—don't hurt my family!"
"I'm not here to kill you, little raven," she said softly, though her grip didn't ease. "I have a son... one I cannot raise in my realm."
"Why tell me this?" Baraqiel wheezed, thinking perhaps he had killed her child in another life.
"Because your soul should have belonged to me when you died," Hela murmured. "And yet... you live. A walking paradox. Consider this your redemption."
His eyes widened in terror. "A... Perpetual..."
She smiled faintly. "Now you understand. Take him—Ichigo H. Kurosaki. Raise him as your own. But remember... he is the son of a Perpetual."
With that, she vanished.
Baraqiel stared at the child in his arms, trembling. His wife, Shuri, appeared at the door.
"Honey, what happened? Is that... a baby?"
"Yes," Baraqiel whispered. "A child of a Perpetual. His mother commanded me to raise him."
Shuri frowned, but saw the fear in her husband's eyes—and understood. They would care for him, no matter what.
---
Years passed.
Ichigo grew up alongside Akeno, the daughter of Baraqiel and Shuri.
Though he was just a child, fragments of his old memories haunted him—dreams of swords, masks, and endless sand.
He laughed and played with Akeno, yet deep down he knew he was different.
When Akeno's black wings first unfurled, he understood—this world was far from ordinary.
"Am I adopted?" Ichigo asked one night at dinner.
Shuri nearly choked. Baraqiel looked conflicted, then sighed.
"Yes," he said softly. "But you're still our son, Ichigo. Always."
Ichigo smiled faintly. "That's enough for me."
Baraqiel blinked, surprised by the calm acceptance. Shuri smiled through tears.
---
But peace never lasts.
One night, Ichigo and Akeno slept beside their mother when intruders burst into their home.
Shuri tried to protect her children but was struck down. The attackers shouted:
"Kill the fallen one!"
A blade swung toward Akeno. Ichigo moved without thinking—throwing himself between the sword and his sister.
The blade pierced his chest.
Akeno screamed as his blood splashed across her face.
"It's your fault!" the man snarled at her. "Because of you, your brother and mother are dead!"
He raised his weapon again. But before it struck, a hand caught the blade.
Ichigo stood there—alive. Unharmed. A mask of bone covering his face, horns curved forward, eyes glowing gold and black.
The man froze.
"What the hell are you...?"
A voice not his own echoed from Ichigo's mouth.
(You angered the King. You took his family. You do not deserve peace, even in death.)
The air tore open.
Hundreds of black portals spiraled into existence, from which countless masked monsters—Hollows—emerged, screaming.
They devoured the man's soul. His screams echoed as Ichigo collapsed, the mask fading.
---
Outside, Baraqiel arrived too late. He found the invaders and burned them alive with his sword.
When he entered the house, he froze.
His wife was dead.
His son's body gone.
His daughter soaked in blood, whispering through tears:
"It's your fault... If you weren't a fallen angel... this wouldn't have happened."
Her words broke him. She ran. He fell to his knees.
He never saw the black vortex swallowing Ichigo's body.
---
Darkness again.
Ichigo opened his eyes to the void.
"Wake, my son," a gentle voice called.
"Who... are you?" he whispered.
"I am your—"
(King, wake up.)
His eyes snapped open. White sand stretched endlessly before him. The Hueco Mundo.
His memories returned in a flood.
"No... I lost again!" he screamed, collapsing to his knees, tears carving paths through the dust.
Then—he heard a familiar voice.
"Ixigo!"
He turned, heart pounding, as a small figure crashed into him—her skull mask tapping his chest.
"Nel..." he whispered, trembling.
"Yup! When the Quincy King blew up the world, Hueco Mundo went boom! But now we're back!" she chirped, waving her tiny arms.
"'We'...?" Ichigo asked, hope trembling in his voice.
"Some Shinigami, Aizen-sama, a bunch of Hollows—we're rebuilding! He disappeared, though. Probably plotting something."
Ichigo's expression darkened. "Aizen... that bastard is still alive?"
"Yeah. Left ten years ago. No clue where."
Ichigo stared at the horizon, the eternal moon casting pale light over them.
He clenched his fists. "Then it begins again..."
---
Two months after Ichigo's supposed death, the supernatural world began to tremble.
Masked monsters appeared across dimensions, devouring souls and mortals alike. Weak beings couldn't see them, and most attacks failed to harm them. Only high-class entities could destroy them—and even then, barely.
To counter them, the Nordic Reapers were formed—fallen warriors trained personally by Hela, Goddess of Death herself.
The pantheons grew uneasy.
Odin, Zeus, even the angels sought answers. But Hela's realm remained sealed.
Thanatos alone understood—she was like him, a Perpetual of Death. Yet far stronger. He chose not to interfere.
Odin tried to reach her and was cast out of Helheim in humiliation.
He wept for the mistakes of his past.
Loki, Hela's father, urged her to use her newfound power to trigger Ragnarok—but she refused.
She had something far more important now.
A son.
---
Six years later.
In the halls of Kuon Academy, a shadow crossed the entrance.
Ichigo Kurosaki walked beside Nel, now grown, her power restored.
"So this... is where you ended up, little sister?" he asked with a faint smile.
Nel grinned, throwing her arm around him. "Welcome home, King."
And as the sunlight bathed their faces for the first time in centuries, Ichigo's eyes lifted to the sky—gold meeting blue.
For the first time since the fall of the worlds, the King of Death...
felt alive again.
---
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