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Long ago, Yamamoto Genryūsai had placed high expectations upon another member of the Kuchiki family, but that soul was later reclassified as a spirit son and dissipated into the flow of Soul Society. Now, once again, a Kuchiki heir in whom he had invested his trust had turned against the order. And this betrayal was far graver than the last. In Soul Society, sabotage of an execution was no mere offense—it was the highest crime. Such acts could never be forgiven.
As the weight of silence bore down on Sōkyoku Hill, Jūshirō Ukitake finally broke it, his gentle voice carrying with effort. "Captain-Commander, Moyu is just—"
"Silence, Jūshirō!" Yamamoto's interruption cracked like thunder. His gaze did not waver, his cane striking the stone in a sharp warning. "The matter between you and Shunsui will be addressed later. This moment belongs only to Kuchiki Moyu. He alone must answer." His eyes narrowed, fire blazing within the ancient depths. "Kuchiki Moyu, give me one reason to believe you. Otherwise, this old man will take you down with his own hand."
The atmosphere thickened, suffocating in its severity. Every captain felt the weight of impending judgment. Yet at that very moment, a figure stepped from among the ranks and came to stand at Moyu's side. Gasps rippled through the gathered soldiers.
"Captain Unohana…? Impossible."
"She would never…"
Even Yamamoto's expression shifted, the stern lines of his face tightening with faint unease. "Captain Unohana. Do you intend to stand with the sinner?"
Unohana Retsu lowered her gaze, her gentle voice soft yet unshakable. "I am sorry, Captain-Commander. But I have stood with Moyu from the beginning. I have seen his actions, his resolve, and I have never once doubted him."
Kotetsu Isane's eyes widened. Memories flickered—she recalled countless times when Moyu and her captain had disappeared into the kendo hall together, their exchanges private and intense. But this—this open declaration—was beyond anything she had imagined. "In just a few years… how did it come to this?" She stared at Moyu, trying in vain to grasp what made him so different, so dangerous, so impossible to ignore.
Even Yamamoto faltered, if only for a heartbeat. Why? Why did those who once shared his trust now stand opposite him? What force could Moyu wield that swayed even Unohana, the woman who embodied Soul Society's deepest discipline?
Before the question could settle, new presences erupted overhead. Several figures appeared above the hill, their Reiatsu cutting through the storm. A bald head gleamed in the sun, its owner's grin impossible to mistake.
"I could feel this guy's pressure from far off." Madarame Ikkaku landed, his voice sharp with excitement. "Didn't think he'd really destroy the execution itself. Heh—just what I'd expect from someone my old man acknowledged."
A burst of blue Reiatsu cleaved the sky in the form of a crescent. It struck the execution platform, scattering sparks. In the chaos, Renji suddenly felt his collar yanked up, his bound body hauled like a cub between a lion's teeth.
"Brother Renji!" Ichigo's confident grin flashed in front of him. "I'm here to save you!"
Before Renji could even respond, dread curled in his gut. A heartbeat later, his entire body was hurled downward like a cannonball. His eyes bulged in disbelief. Am I seriously going to die here after being rescued?
Pain exploded through his chest as a scabbard slammed against him, holding him upright at the last instant. His breath caught, his vision nearly blacking out. And there she was—Kusajishi Yachiru, scabbard hooked across his body as if he weighed nothing, her tiny frame shouldering him with impossible strength.
"Goodbye, everyone!" she chimed, her silver-bell laughter echoing as she vanished from the hill, Renji clutched like luggage.
In only a few breaths, the eleventh division's wild trio had broken the condemned free and allied with Ichigo, spiriting Abarai Renji directly from the heart of the execution ground. The insult was a spark cast into dry tinder. Yamamoto's fury deepened to the point of stillness, his eyes narrowing as if in mourning for what he must now do.
"The old man understands," he murmured, though the heat in his voice trembled with rage. "Since you have chosen betrayal, I alone must cleanse Soul Society of this stain."
Flame erupted from his cane, burning away the wood to reveal the naked steel within. His scarred torso emerged as he shed the upper folds of his uniform, a body that bore the centuries of battle etched into it. Arrogance and authority radiated from him in equal measure, pressing down upon Moyu until the air itself quivered.
"All things return to ash. Ryūjin Jakka."
The release was immediate, a flood of searing heat washing across the hill, the oldest and strongest fire-type Zanpakutō in existence unveiling its wrath. The temperature soared until even captains struggled to breathe, and Seireitei itself felt the blaze. Across the city, soldiers stopped in their tracks, their eyes snapping toward Sōkyoku Hill in shock and terror.
"That pressure… it's the Captain-Commander!"
"What's happening up there?"
"Something catastrophic…"
Whispers carried through the ranks. If Yamamoto fought in earnest, the Soul Society itself might not survive the flames.
Moyu stood unmoving, his expression calm in the face of the inferno. He had expected this. Against Ryūjin Jakka's shikai, few could even stand—but he had prepared for this confrontation. His voice was steady, unflinching. "Captain-Commander, I thought you were different from Central 46. But it seems I was wrong. You never asked me why. Rage and punishment are not answers, and in that blindness, how are you any different from the corruption of Central 46 itself?"
The words struck like steel, reverberating through the gathered captains. Shunsui tilted his hat, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Heh. That's Captain Moyu for you. Saying what the rest of us only think."
Ukitake, however, was grim, his gaze heavy as he prepared for the inevitable clash.
Yamamoto's silence stretched. Then his voice came, low and absolute. "Rotten or not, the old man cares little. What must endure are the laws of Soul Society. For those laws, I will burn even my own students to ash."
He raised Ryūjin Jakka high. The sky blazed, clouds dissolving under its heat. The sword's fire bared its fangs, the embodiment of destruction itself, poised to strike.
Wind rose to meet flame. Black Reiatsu surged from Moyu's frame, the storm within him refusing to yield. The two powers collided, fire and gale tearing into each other. The shockwave carved cracks through the hill, rubble flung skyward, the air itself turned into vacuum as their clash devoured sound.
Vice-captains stumbled back, retreating beyond the battle's reach. None dared remain. The pressure was beyond them.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed, the flames in his beard whipping with heat. "Impressive Reiatsu," he rumbled. "You became captain faster than any before you. But let this old man test whether your strength can endure my flames."
Moyu's blade moved. His voice was cold, his strike tearing through the storm. "Kazan Arashi." The arc of wind split the heavens, space itself trembling under the pressure.
Ryūjin Jakka answered, flames roaring, the ground fracturing beneath them. Sparks and embers cascaded as their clash thundered like the bell of judgment.
The hill shook. The sky itself seemed to hold its breath.
And then, above the battlefield, an invisible net of spiritual pressure spread wide, enveloping all of Seireitei. A voice rang out, urgent and trembling.
"This is Vice-Captain Rangiku Matsumoto of the Tenth Division," she called across the Kidō network, her voice broadcast to every corner of Soul Society. "Hear me. The situation is urgent. Everything I say now is truth." She drew a breath, forcing her voice steady. "All members of Central 46 are dead. Every last one. And the murderer is none other than Aizen Sōsuke."
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