A New Era of Chaos
"Ha… ha…"
Oda Nobunaga leaned against the cold wall of the white tower, his body shrouded in shadow. Sweat soaked through the bandages wrapped around him, and half-healed burns began to itch once more.
He had believed that, with his Bankai and possession of Ryūjin Jakka, defeating Yamamoto Genryūsai would be easy.
He was wrong.
The old man was a monster.
Even after the battle so far, Nobunaga had gained no advantage. Yoshitsune's spiritual pressure had vanished, Sōji's as well. His earlier bold words now seemed hollow. What he once thought within reach was nothing more than a reflection of the moon upon the water—beautiful, but untouchable.
A foolish monkey, reaching for the moon.
Should I flee?
It was a bitter, realistic question. If he stayed, defeat was certain. If he fled, there might still be hope. But what then?
Cultivation? Impossible. Nobunaga knew he had reached his limit; he could climb no higher. Seclusion with Guidie, living in obscurity? No. That life of quiet mediocrity was intolerable.
Better to gamble everything and plunge the world into a new era of chaos.
His dream had awakened, and Yamamoto's vision of peace stood in its way.
Nobunaga clenched his teeth and resolved himself.
Snap.
His straw sandals fell away, revealing an aged face, a gray beard trailing to his waist, eyes burning with intensity. In the next instant, he vanished.
Yamamoto's fist tore through the white pagoda, toppling it like a child's toy. Nobunaga countered by flipping the shattered upper half downward, its tip plummeting like a spear.
"Hadō #33: Sōkatsui."
Without even chanting, Yamamoto raised his left hand. A massive wave of blue fire engulfed the tower, disintegrating it into ash.
Nobunaga landed, lightning coursing down his arm.
"Bakudō #81: Dankū!"
A transparent wall of energy bloomed before Yamamoto, blocking Nobunaga's strike. Lightning exploded in all directions, tearing apart what remained of the tower. Yamamoto's expression did not change, but in his heart, he winced. Destruction is easy. Rebuilding will cost dearly.
His face darkened, and his voice thundered:
"Child, do you truly think you can escape my grasp? Surrender, speak of who is behind you, and I may plead for mercy before the Central 46."
"Hah…" Nobunaga laughed bitterly, conviction hardening. "Yamamoto Genryūsai, you are stronger than I ever imagined."
The praise rang false in Yamamoto's ears. Something was wrong. His eyes narrowed.
Nobunaga vanished again—this time, his spiritual pressure surged toward the Central 46 Chamber.
Yamamoto's expression sharpened. Not for the chamber itself—members of the Central 46 could be replaced. No, what concerned him was what lay below.
The Mugen Prison.
Its lowest depths housed those whose existence threatened the balance of Soul Society itself. Even Yamamoto avoided that place when possible. And now… Nobunaga was heading there.
In a blur of shunpo, Yamamoto arrived to a grotesque scene. The Central 46 chamber was chaos—severed heads that screamed, arms that writhed across the tables, bodies bisected yet still moving.
Not alive. Not dead.
"Brat… what have you done?!" Yamamoto roared.
Nobunaga grinned. "My Bankai, Fuseigenmeng, allows me to project my dreams into reality. Teleportation, manipulation, lightning, even this scene—they are all my dreams made flesh. But it has limits. Against those with spiritual pressure vastly greater than mine, I cannot reshape them."
Yamamoto's frown deepened. Nobunaga's sudden eagerness to explain betrayed desperation. Something was terribly wrong.
"But nothing is absolute. If I am willing to sacrifice my life, miracles can be born."
His eyes blazed with madness. "Yamamoto Genryūsai! I cannot claim this world, but neither will you!"
"Enough!"
Yamamoto surged forward, striking with both fists. But Nobunaga had already disappeared, leaving only the falling Ryūjin Jakka. Yamamoto snatched it midair and instantly appeared at the gates of Mugen's lowest level.
Nobunaga was already there, waiting.
Too late.
"Reduce all creation to ash—Ryūjin Jakka!"
Flames split the ground and roared into the air, the heat warping stone. Yamamoto's face was obscured behind the blaze, his countless scars shadowed.
"No one can stop it," Nobunaga murmured, his frenzy fading into calm resignation. At the end of his life, one regret surfaced—he had not said goodbye to Guidie.
"Yamamoto… in this age about to unravel, let us see how long your dream of peace endures."
The dream of breaking Mugen's eternal seals projected into reality. The backlash reduced Nobunaga's body to blood and ruin, but the deed was done.
Yamamoto slammed his palm outward, a wall of fire sealing the passage. He stepped inside.
Six figures stood across from him, illuminated by the inferno.
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