Seiya Arima's ability allowed him to survive a single fatal blow. In turn, once he endured and "adapted," he could then analyze and utilize the opponent's power.
But there was one fatal flaw:
He couldn't react quickly or appropriately enough during the process of revival.
Thankfully, that flaw was currently being patched by none other than Aizen Sōsuke.
Their teamwork, though simple and unflashy, yielded a synergy that defied logic—1 + 1 became greater than 2.
Even facing off against the Gotei 13, this master and disciple stood at the peak.
The flames unleashed by Yamamoto Genryūsai now began surging toward Seiya, to everyone's horror.
Control was slipping away.
Yet even in the face of such despair, Yamamoto remained composed. His face showed no change as he calmly observed the runaway flames before him.
In a steady voice, he spoke once more:
"Bankai."
Zanka no Tachi.
The explosion was soundless—an inward collapse of heat and reiatsu as the runaway fire began violently pulling back toward the blade.
Seiya, who had just been grinning in triumph, raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Still struggling? Even now?
He had to admire it.
Zanka no Tachi's ability was to seal its flames into the blade, concentrating its power for a final, singular strike. Yamamoto now sought to rein it in—just long enough to unleash it one final time.
"It must be that technique…"
As Seiya watched Yamamoto raise his sword in both hands, shifting into a stance—
Killing intent focused, sharp as a hawk's gaze descending from the heavens.
Every controllable flame condensed into the blade.
Another use of All Becomes Ash—Yamamoto's final strike.
His decision was swift, decisive, absolute.
It was his last hope to reverse the course before total loss of control.
Seiya couldn't help but respect it.
This man had once terrified even Yhwach. As an opponent, Yamamoto was nothing short of fearsome.
"Going to strike, Seiya-kun?" came Aizen's voice beside him.
Seiya didn't turn—he already knew what Aizen meant.
Kyōka Suigetsu could disrupt Yamamoto's perception. If Aizen so chose, he could steer the attack astray—possibly onto Yamamoto's own allies.
But Seiya didn't agree with that approach.
This was a duel—teacher and student. Not the bloody war of a millennium past.
Dragging others in would go against everything both Seiya and Yamamoto believed in.
This was a personal battle—a parting salute to his mentor.
So, what better way to end it?
"No. I'll handle it."
He took a breath, mirroring Yamamoto's posture.
Both hands on the blade. Knees slightly bent. A perfect iaido stance—like Yamamoto's, but subtly different.
It wasn't just mimicry. It was reverence. Reflection.
Yamamoto's final strike—his proudest technique.
And Seiya would meet it head-on.
Was he crazy?!
That was what everyone watching thought. A direct clash with Yamamoto?
Even Yamamoto's own calm expression shifted ever so slightly—an almost imperceptible tremor in the corners of his mouth.
But it was there. A glimmer of respect. Of understanding.
So this was Seiya's choice.
Not tricks. Not delays. Not evasion.
But a full-frontal, sword-to-sword showdown.
"Very well… come, Seiya Arima!"
"Let's go, Yama-jii."
Their voices rang with clarity and determination.
Both warriors lowered their stances.
Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, Kidō—
Seiya had learned it all. Mastered it all.
Now, he poured every ounce of energy into his core—ready to unleash a single, absolute thrust.
BOOM!
Their swords flashed.
Two searing suns ignited mid-air.
A storm of light and fire erupted skyward, as if trying to burn holes in the heavens.
It was awe-inspiring.
But it wasn't good news.
Zanka no Tachi's flames should be perfectly controlled by Yamamoto—so why did it feel like it was spiraling out?
There could only be one reason.
Unohana Retsu, holding her Zanpakutō, looked up in dread.
"…The Captain-Commander is losing control of his flames."
Seiya's influence had spread—not just to Ryūjin Jakka, but even to Zanka no Tachi itself.
Still, neither man backed down.
Their fires clashed. Pulled. Warped.
"An even match…" Aizen murmured.
Yamamoto's flames split in half—half wrapped around him, half around Seiya.
They were like two shinigami from the underworld, bringing with them the stillness of death.
Everyone below could only watch.
Only those of lieutenant-rank and above could even process what was happening.
Ukitake swallowed hard.
Was this really happening?
Was Seiya… now Yamamoto's equal?
No words were needed.
Their reiatsu had locked completely—tracking every breath, every heartbeat, every thought.
When would they move?
Crack…
A faint, nearly imperceptible sound.
The barrier—strained to its limit—began to break.
That soft sound, like a pebble falling from a dam… was all the signal they needed.
They moved.
Draw—strike!
Two crimson blurs shot through the sky.
Space itself cracked and peeled in their wake.
And then—the barrier shattered.
Their swords collided in a blaze of pure annihilation.
For a moment, the world went silent.
And then—
Light collapsed inward. A black hole of pressure.
Everything went dark.
Urahara Kisuke, observing from outside, immediately panicked.
"DEFENSIVE FORMATIONS! Use all your reiatsu—STOP THE AFTERSHOCK!"
If they didn't—
"THE HUMAN WORLD WILL BE DESTROYED!!"
Shinigami scrambled to cast barriers.
It wasn't enough.
Kyoraku Shunsui handed command of his spell to Nanao and stood up.
"Where are you going?!"
"Where else? I'm the captain of Squad 8… Someone's gotta throw their life in."
But before he could move, a flood of cerulean energy surged into the sky.
Like an army of ants, reiryoku crawled across the heavens.
All eyes turned.
Aizen Sōsuke stood calmly, right hand raised.
He didn't even glance at them.
"I'm only honoring Seiya-kun's request."
Aizen had no sympathy for the weak.
But if it was Seiya's will—he would bend.
"Please… don't let anyone else get caught in this. I beg you, Aizen-sensei."
That had been Seiya's request.
So Aizen complied.
But make no mistake—he still cared deeply about the outcome.
If Seiya lost…
Even he might lose composure.
The explosion came.
A galaxy of destruction inside Aizen's translucent dome.
Even his barrier—usually indestructible—began to twist and groan.
If that had leaked out… the real world would be gone.
"Wait—did this guy just… save us?" Ōmaeda muttered.
Even Sui-Feng had no comeback.
And then—
The chaos settled.
Dust faded.
And a figure emerged from the wreckage, staggering.
Was it—?
Yamamoto Genryūsai.
He held his reverted Zanpakutō.
His beard was scorched, his chest torn open.
A gaping wound from shoulder to waist.
A mortal wound by most standards.
But for Gotei 13—
They cheered.
Victory!
Even Aizen raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled softly.
Because he saw—
Another figure stumble out of the smoke.
It was him.
Seiya Arima.
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Powerstones?
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