Seireitei's atrium stretched wide, sunlit yet heavy with silence as two figures—one tall, one slightly lower—walked side by side. Patrol squads halted mid-step, bowing with respect, their eyes following the two as if witnessing something solemn.
"There are regulations in Seireitei, Moyu. You should already know them." Yamamoto Genryūsai's voice carried weight, slow yet resolute. "Rebels like Aizen who have turned their blades against the Court must be handed to Central 46 for trial."
Moyu inclined his head. He had already understood this much, and his face betrayed no concern.
"Unless," he said flatly, "Aizen cannot be killed. In that case, all Central 46 can do is bind him in Muken and hope eternity grinds his will into dust."
Yamamoto's eyes flickered, his step faltered for half a breath. "Cannot kill? Aizen…" He stopped himself, letting the rest vanish in silence.
Past the guards, through layers of Kidō barriers, they entered the newly reforged underground chamber. Compared to the lifeless hall of before, this place now carried a restless edge. Murderous stones lined the walls, Kidō barriers crisscrossed before each judge's seat, a desperate fortress born of fear. After Aizen's earlier massacre, the new Central 46 wore their cowardice like armor.
Moyu glanced around once, shook his head. "So much defense, and yet so useless. Relying on crutches changes nothing. Kyōka Suigetsu already proved illusions are stronger than stone."
The hall was arranged as always—judges high above, sages surrounding, their eyes wary. From the dais, the head judge's gaze bore down on the black cross sealing Aizen.
"Everyone, long time no see." Moyu's tone was light, almost teasing, as though greeting old friends.
"Captain Moyu…" Several judges responded stiffly. Gone was the arrogance of their predecessors—fear had taught them the lesson of humility.
"This trial concerns Aizen," Moyu began, then stopped. It was not his place. A captain did not dictate to Central 46. "Handle it yourselves."
He raised a hand. Reiatsu surged. The black cross rattled, chains groaning as they unwound. Aizen's form appeared, calm as ever.
"The new Central 46?" he mused, his eyes sweeping the chamber. "I didn't expect to meet you again so soon. And you, Moyu…" His gaze lingered, voice laced with faint amusement.
"You will be sent to Muken," Moyu replied evenly. "Eighteen thousand years of silence. I hope you adapt."
Aizen tilted his head, smiled faintly. "I hope so."
Their conversation, as if no one else existed, stoked fury among the sages, but the head judge only sighed bitterly. Powerless, they passed the sentence. Eighteen thousand years. Muken.
—
The Royal Palace. A sanctum of crushing Reiatsu, thick enough to warp the air. Moyu walked its halls as if strolling through his garden.
Five figures appeared, their presence heavy enough to smother creation itself. The Zero Division gathered, eyes sharp, Reiatsu pressure grinding against Moyu's body.
[Ding. Because your Reiatsu has brushed the Spirit King's threshold, you have touched the essence of this world.]
The system's voice thundered within. A roar split his inner soul, shattering the spiritual seed and detonating a surge that shook even the Zero Division.
Ichibē Hyōsube's eyes widened. "The power of the true name… hidden? Impossible."
The others turned sharply. Ichibē, the one who saw all names, admitted there was something beyond his sight. An existence concealed from the brush that named the world.
Moyu's Reiatsu flared, streams of white spiritual air bursting outward. In an instant the Zero Division felt a crushing oppression unlike any they had faced.
"Continue your duties," Moyu said calmly. His voice echoed like iron. "We will meet again."
He vanished, leaving the halls trembling in silence. Ichibē wiped cold sweat from his brow. "Unfathomable… even the Spirit King's power cannot reach him."
—
Three days later. Taking advantage of the respite, Moyu entered the shadows of the Invisible Empire. The Quincy king Yhwach fell beneath his hand. Unlike Aizen, Yhwach inspired no hesitation—obliteration was his only end.
—
In Soul Society, preparations for Moyu and Unohana's wedding fell to the Kuchiki clan. By custom it should have been months away—grand, deliberate, worthy of two captains. But when Unohana Retsu laid her Zanpakutō across their throats, Ginrei and Byakuya Kuchiki found their planning miraculously swift. Today, not tomorrow, the wedding would be held.
Moyu's disdain for their submission was thinly veiled.
The wedding began. Unohana stood in white robes, light makeup softening her already serene beauty. Her hands folded gracefully, her smile demure, yet her eyes glowed with quiet victory.
"At last," she murmured, voice gentle, "I am one step ahead of them. Mr. Moyu…"
But above the ceremony, new presences flared. Shadows fell as four figures descended.
"Sorry, I don't agree with this wedding!"
"Moyu is not yours alone!"
"If Captain Unohana dares use her status to steal the lead, don't blame us for breaking rules!"
Sui-Feng, Yoruichi, Matsumoto Rangiku, and Rukia stood firm in midair, faces set with unshakable resolve.
Unohana's smile froze, then thinned into something dangerous. Her hand slipped to her Zanpakutō. "So that's how it is. Then we settle this with strength."
Steel sang. Her blade cleared its sheath in a flash.
Moyu froze. "You brought a sword to our wedding?!"
But the four women did not falter. Their eyes burned, defiance absolute.
Below, captains shifted in their seats, eyes bright with anticipation. The scent of blood and spectacle filled the air.
This time it was real.
Moyu pressed a hand to his face. Was this joy, or despair? He no longer knew. One thing was certain: the wedding had become a battlefield.
{🥳 The Fanfic is now fully completed! 🎉
You can access 250+ advance chapters right now on Patreon—available for subscription or purchase! ✨
👉 patreon.com/Oreski
🥰 Your support keeps me motivated and eager to create even more amazing stories! 💖}