As the words were spoken—
Yamamoto Genryūsai sensed something strange stirring in the sky.
He instinctively furrowed his brow and turned, scanning the surroundings.
It was as if something had slipped past his awareness. But such a thing should've been impossible.
As the Captain-Commander, with a millennium of battlefield experience, his perception and instincts far surpassed anyone present. Even Aizen could not confidently claim superiority in that regard.
And yet…
Aizen Sōsuke stood calm, composed—what was the source of his confidence? The fog of the unknown gnawed at Yamamoto. Though he couldn't detect the anomaly, he steeled himself—ready at any moment to enter a second Bankai.
"The flames stored in Ryūjin Jakka are still sufficient to fell several more foes…"
With no joy or sorrow in his heart, Yamamoto's reiatsu swept the field. But he detected nothing.
Then, Ichigo Kurosaki and the others, returning from Hueco Mundo to support the front line, burst onto the battlefield.
They forced open the Garganta and arrived in the false Karakura Town through Urahara Kisuke's well-laid preparations—landing with dramatic urgency.
What's the situation now?!
Ichigo looked around, confused, trying to piece it together.
Unohana Retsu remained composed. She spotted Yamamoto and Aizen in the sky, and the shattered, scorched land below.
But there was no sign of that young man.
It was clear what had happened.
"Captain-Commander… did you already win…?"
Whether those words carried regret or simple observation, they were certainly filled with quiet sorrow.
So much death, again. So pitiful, so lamentable.
"Oi! What's going on here?!"
Ichigo was visibly shaken, his voice trembling, unable to mask his anxiety.
He shouted desperately, as if to drown out his own thoughts.
"Someone—answer me already!!!"
Where did Mr. Arima go?!
In that crushing silence, someone finally replied.
"Calm down a little, Kurosaki-kun."
Aizen floated above, gazing down with his ever-calm eyes.
"No one owes you answers. Not even those who smile at you."
"Before asking, observe. Use your senses—discover the truth yourself. That's what it means to grow up, isn't it?"
The abrupt lecture stunned Ichigo.
He didn't know Aizen well—but compared to Seiya, this smiling villain filled him with dread.
Still… perhaps desperate men believe anything.
"You… you know where Mr. Arima is?!"
It was less a question than a cry for help.
Aizen sighed softly, not as a villain mocking a hero, but almost like a tired adult facing a panicked child.
He pointed.
"That man you speak of…"
"He's right over there."
At those words, even Yamamoto tensed.
It was unthinkable… but the strange sense of danger needed a source.
Even with purified air and honed senses, something still felt wrong.
Then—someone gasped.
And Yamamoto turned.
To where he'd clashed with Seiya.
Where Zanka no Tachi – North: All Becomes Ash had obliterated every possible timeline Seiya could observe.
He'd died.
Undeniably.
Or… so it should have been.
It might've seemed like dust. Debris from a ruined battlefield. Something smaller than a reishi particle. Barely the dust beneath the pyramid's stones.
But that dust… stirred.
Like a silent whirlpool deep in the sea.
Particles—countless—began to gather. They moved, merged, and formed a current, visible to the naked eye.
Color drained from the world as everything was violently absorbed.
The first thing to form…
A beating heart.
Bright, red, pulsing with raw life—it overwhelmed the senses.
Then came the bones. Then muscles. Tendons. Nerves. Blood.
As if following a blueprint, every cell reassembled, until—
Skin sealed.
Whole again.
Seiya Arima, eyes closed, floated in the air—fully restored.
Aizen appeared beside him, placing a robe over his shoulders with his usual tranquil smile.
Everything was still under control—at least, to him.
Even Yamamoto didn't understand what he was seeing.
Why was Seiya here? His reiatsu had vanished. He had died. There was no doubt.
People struggle to comprehend things outside their understanding.
Seiya should be gone. His body shattered. His soul faded.
But this—
This was beyond reason.
Yamamoto narrowed his eyes.
Another illusion? Another mockery of the dead?
As everyone stared, Aizen gently patted Seiya's shoulder and said softly—
"It's time to wake up, Seiya-kun."
The vibrations carried the words into Seiya's ears.
His eyelids fluttered.
And then—he opened his eyes.
At first, his gaze was hazy, like he had just clawed his way out of a bottomless swamp.
Confused. Disoriented.
But clarity returned—quickly.
Intellect reasserted itself.
Seiya stood straight and raised his hand.
No words.
But the change in his expression was clear.
He understood something.
"…So that's how it is," he murmured.
Turning to Aizen, he smiled wryly.
"I… died, didn't I?"
Aizen nodded.
"Unfortunately, yes. You couldn't avoid Yamamoto's final strike."
"Ha… I had a feeling I couldn't win, but I didn't think I'd get outright killed."
Seiya chuckled, more amused than bitter.
"I guess that's a blow to my pride."
Then Yamamoto took a step forward.
His body wreathed in fire.
"Aizen Sōsuke. Again, you mock the dead—disgusting."
He'd seen enough.
Aizen said nothing, stepping back.
Seiya raised a hand.
"I'll take it from here."
With that, the two original combatants were once again face-to-face.
But this Seiya was calm.
"Yama-jii, you really are formidable. Even at full power, I couldn't defeat you."
"Old men have no time for illusions. The dead should stay dead."
"Still refusing to believe reality? Well… that's just like you."
Old-fashioned, stubborn—he embodied the word "unyielding."
"But," Seiya smiled. "I'm afraid I'm very much real."
He raised his right hand, and in it—Sāgara Ryū appeared.
But something was different.
The blade was pitch black—as if dipped in ink.
Seiya gave it a light swing.
"Yes, I died. My body shattered. My reiatsu faded."
"Had I waited longer… my soul probably would've descended into Hell."
"If not for this ability…"
Bankai – Eight Aspects of the Heavenly Dragon: Mahoraga.
The final aspect of the Eight Aspects—seemingly the least important.
In Buddhist scripture, Mahoraga is the great serpent god—part human, part snake.
Often portrayed as foolish, sluggish, or cunning.
It was the lowest of the Eightfold Host. The Earth Dragon. The baseborn.
But even the lowliest have purpose.
For its ignorance, it gains liberation. Freed from the wheel. Reborn anew.
In the great cycle of karma, even the Earth Dragon transcends.
And that moment—was now.
Mahoraga's power allows Seiya to nullify a single fatal attack.
Because in ignorance, it feels no pain.
Though the body dies, the will survives. And the flame will one day rise again.
But it's not without cost.
When this Bankai is used, Seiya loses all memory of the fatal event.
To reincarnate is to forget.
A high cost—but one he had prepared for.
For even if reborn blind to the battle, Aizen was there to protect the window for return.
Yamamoto hesitated, wary of Kyōka Suigetsu's illusion.
And in that hesitation—Seiya breathed again.
Now standing reborn, he smiled.
"It's just a rematch, isn't it, Yama-jii?"
"You think it'll be the same, don't you?"
Understandable.
But—
"Please remember."
"For me… the same move never works twice."
…!!!
Yamamoto's eyes widened.
Seiya's blade began to glow—bright as a star.
"Your flames—are mine now."
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Powerstones?
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