A deep explosion thundered through the distance, followed by the rise of two enormous mushroom clouds. The shockwaves rolled outward, twisting the air itself, as those clouds swelled and spread, towering high enough to veil the sun. For a moment, it was as if the sky itself had cracked.
"Gulu…"
The gathered Shinigami swallowed hard, their faces drained of color as they stared at the twin pillars of destruction clawing into the heavens. Those sword pressures—so immense that even a trace of their power brushing one's skin would be enough to melt flesh and bone—seemed to distort reality itself. Yet it was not merely the force of the blows that made their hearts tremble, but something even more terrifying.
That explosion was supposed to be one sword pressure. And yet it had been divided—into two.
All across the battlefield, members of the Shinigami alliance turned their heads toward the lone figure standing against the roaring wind. The sight filled their eyes with a mixture of horror, awe, and deep, inescapable confusion.
The young man had merely snapped his fingers.
And the Heaven-shaking Sword had split in two.
Su Li's strength had already gone beyond imagination, eclipsing every boundary the Gotei 13 had ever known. Even Yamamoto Genryūsai, watching from afar, found his six eyes filled with layered complexity. He silently measured the magnitude of that feat and, with bitter clarity, admitted to himself that such a thing… he could never have done.
A long sigh escaped his lips, carrying the weight of centuries. There was loneliness in it, a trace of sadness, and something softer beneath—the resignation of an old man who had finally seen the next era dawn. His gaze lifted, settling on the young man who stood alone beneath the collapsing sky. The emotions in Yamamoto's eyes shifted again and again until, at last, they melted into quiet pride and unspoken affection.
He truly saw it—the boy who had once emerged from nowhere had now become the strongest Shinigami in existence.
Yamamoto's weathered heart trembled with emotion. To yield that title no longer filled him with reluctance or regret; instead, there was relief, even joy. For that boy was his disciple—his finest, his most beloved disciple.
"A finger becomes a blade…" murmured Unohana Retsu, her eyes hazy as she unconsciously mimicked the gesture before her face, tracing an invisible line through the air.
"Captain Su Li… God Su!" cried someone nearby.
"Like a demon descending from the heavens—he's truly the god of Tai Sui himself!"
Omaeda's voice cracked as his face flushed red with excitement, his words tumbling out in broken awe.
"Awesome!" shouted Sui-Feng, her whole body trembling as she raised her voice to the storm. She could find no eloquent phrase for what she witnessed, only the crude, fervent words Su Li himself had once taught her. "So wet! So wet!!"
Kyoraku Shunsui and Urahara Kisuke both burst into applause, their laughter bright with disbelief. Neither had ever imagined that Omaeda, of all people, could express such poetic reverence, vulgar or not.
But on the other side of the battlefield, Aizen's expression twisted into something grim and hollow. His usually serene confidence had cracked. If that earlier display of overwhelming power had been merely a show of dominance, it would have been one thing. But now, as the two of them clashed directly, Aizen's own full-strength sword pressure—unleashed with divine precision—had been undone with nothing but a single raised finger.
This was not a question of strategy or skill. It was domination—pure, absolute, and inescapable.
Aizen's composure faltered. The bottom of his heart sank into a void.
He had already evolved to the fourth stage, transcending both Shinigami and Hollow, his soul reforged by the Hōgyoku into something far beyond mortality. And yet, standing before this youth, he felt himself being crushed utterly.
This was a level of power that defied comprehension. Could Su Li have already surpassed the realm of Shinigami entirely and stepped into a plane higher still?
Impossible.
Aizen clenched his teeth. He had spent a lifetime in pursuit of transcendence—studied, plotted, sacrificed everything—to find the path that would lift him above all beings. And yet Su Li had simply done it.
A storm of emotions crashed through Aizen's mind. Doubt. Rage. Panic. His once-unshakable beliefs began to fracture. The foundation of his world trembled.
He was the Lord of the Hōgyoku—the only perfect existence in all creation. The god-king of this era. Anyone who dared to stand before him should have been reduced to dust.
His voice broke the silence. "Go to hell!"
Light flared.
In an instant, his body dissolved into radiance, his movement approaching the speed of light. Thousands of glimmering motes gathered, condensing into a blinding beam that lunged straight for Su Li.
To the ordinary eye, it was incomprehensible—no one among the Shinigami could even track his motion. The allied forces saw only a blur, a line of brilliance slicing across the ruined horizon.
But Su Li did not move. His gaze remained calm, his expression composed, his eyes as still as the surface of an autumn lake.
With a sharp shing, Aizen's saber cut down toward Su Li's head, the concentrated pressure behind it enough to rupture the atmosphere.
"Die!" Aizen snarled. His eyes burned with fury and desperation.
Su Li raised his hand—slowly, almost lazily—and extended a single finger. The movement seemed to unfold in another rhythm altogether, as if time itself bent around him.
When the blade reached him, his fingertip met it with a soft tap.
The sword's motion faltered. Its furious descent turned sluggish, caught in the young man's rhythm. The light of the blade reflected along Su Li's pale finger as he drew a slow circle in the air. His fingertip glided upward, tracing the curve of the blade, brushing past Aizen's hand, then along his wrist, his forearm, and up toward his shoulder.
It was a gesture so delicate, so slow, and yet utterly unstoppable.
Aizen's eyes widened as a sharp hiss cut through the silence.
The places where Su Li's fingertip had passed began to split. Fingers cracked. Wrists tore open. The flesh along Aizen's arm parted neatly, and in the next heartbeat, his entire limb fell away in two perfect halves.
Shock froze him where he stood. But the sound came again.
Hiss.
Another line opened, this time across his shoulders, his arms, his chest. Su Li's finger continued its relentless path from one palm to the other, and everywhere it touched, Aizen's body divided, cleanly and precisely.
His form—once divine, once invincible—was now being carved apart as easily as paper.
The last time something had been split in two was his own sword pressure. This time, it was his body.
Aizen stared down at the widening gap across his chest, disbelief clouding his gaze. His mind reeled.
How could this be happening?
Su Li's motions were slow, deliberate, unhurried. And yet, no matter how Aizen tried to move, he could not escape. His body instinctively twisted, his Reiatsu surged, but the boy's finger followed him—unyielding, attached to him like a shadow, clinging like a maggot to bone.
Aizen was moving. He had been moving since the first cut. But the youth followed every motion perfectly. His pace, his timing, his precision—flawless. Wherever Aizen went, those fingers were there, tracing the line of his ruin.
At last, Aizen's body split completely apart. His eyes dimmed, reflecting the cold calm of Su Li's expression and the shattered world around them.
"Ah—there! There they are!" Omaeda's voice pierced the silence.
The coalition turned toward the sound. For a long time, both figures had vanished from sight, their battle too fast and too fierce to follow. Only now did they reappear—Aizen's body floating apart in two pieces, Su Li standing unscathed before him.
No one could comprehend what had happened in the moments they'd vanished, not even Yamamoto Genryūsai.
When the dust finally settled, Su Li's gaze dropped to the faint light glowing at Aizen's chest—the Hōgyoku, pulsing weakly. He reached out and closed his hand around it, plucking it free from the broken body of the man who had called himself a god.
The faint radiance flickered once more and went still.
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