Two weeks had passed since Kenpachi began his solitary training.
Two weeks of pushing himself to the brink of madness and pulling back just before the fall. Two weeks of activating his Bankai, losing himself to the bloodlust, and clawing his way back to sanity through sheer force of will.
Progress had been made. He could maintain awareness for nearly two minutes now—long enough to recognize friend from foe, long enough to direct his attacks with something approaching intention. But it wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
The problem, he had come to realize, wasn't his body or his reiatsu. It was his connection to Nozarashi herself. In Bankai, their bond became so complete, so absolute, that the line between wielder and weapon blurred into nonexistence. Her hunger became his hunger. Her rage became his rage.
And Nozarashi was always hungry.
There has to be another way, he thought, sitting cross-legged in the center of his self-made wasteland. Some method of maintaining myself while still accessing that power.
The answer, when it came to him, was so obvious he felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.
He needed to talk to her.
Not through battle, not through the instinctive connection they shared during combat. An actual conversation, soul to soul, in the inner world where zanpakuto spirits resided.
Kenpachi had never been good at this kind of thing. Meditation, introspection, spiritual communion—these were the domains of captains like Byakuya or Ukitake, refined warriors who treated their zanpakuto as partners rather than weapons.
He had always just... fought.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
"All right, Nozarashi," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Let's have a chat."
He turned his attention inward.
The transition was jarring.
One moment he was sitting in a physical wasteland, surrounded by the evidence of his own destructive training. The next, he was standing in a place that existed only within his soul.
His inner world.
It was... not what he expected.
The landscape stretched endlessly in every direction—a vast, war-torn battlefield that seemed to exist in a state of perpetual twilight. The sky above was a deep, bloody red, clouds churning with barely contained violence. The ground beneath his feet was scarred earth, littered with broken weapons, shattered armor, and the remnants of battles that had never actually occurred.
Or perhaps they had. Perhaps this was a reflection of every fight he had ever experienced, every opponent he had ever cut down, every drop of blood he had ever spilled.
Cozy, he thought dryly.
"Took you long enough."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, feminine and fierce, carrying an edge that promised violence.
Kenpachi turned toward its source and found himself facing a woman.
She was tall—not as tall as him, but impressive by any standard. Her body was muscular, scarred, built for combat in the same way his own was. Her hair was wild and dark, falling past her shoulders in untamed waves. Her eyes were gold, gleaming with a hunger that he recognized intimately.
Because it was his own hunger, reflected back at him.
"Nozarashi," he said.
The woman—his zanpakuto's spirit—grinned, and it was the same grin he wore in battle. "In the flesh. Well, in the spirit, anyway. Close enough."
She was dressed in torn, bloodstained clothing that might once have been similar to a shihakusho. In her hand, she held a blade—not her released form, but something simpler, more personal. A weapon that existed only here, in this place between souls.
"You came looking for answers," she continued, beginning to circle him like a predator evaluating prey. "Took you centuries to bother, but here you are."
"I need to control the Bankai," Kenpachi said bluntly. "Right now, I lose myself every time I use it. That's not acceptable."
"Not acceptable?" Nozarashi laughed, the sound echoing across the endless battlefield. "Who are you to decide what's acceptable? You're the one who ignored me for years, who refused to learn my name, who treated me as nothing more than a tool for cutting."
"And?"
"And NOW you want to have a conversation? NOW you want to work together?" Her grin turned sharp. "That's rich, coming from you."
Kenpachi met her gaze without flinching. "You're right. I ignored you. Treated you like a piece of metal instead of a partner. That was stupid."
Nozarashi's circling stopped. "What?"
"I said it was stupid." He crossed his arms, expression unchanging. "I should have talked to you sooner. Should have learned your name properly, instead of stumbling into it during a death match. But I didn't, and I can't change that now."
"So what? You're apologizing?"
"No." His grin returned. "I'm saying I understand the problem now. And I'm here to fix it."
The zanpakuto spirit stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
Then she started laughing.
It wasn't mockery this time—it was genuine, delighted laughter, the kind that came from unexpected joy. She laughed until tears pricked at the corners of her golden eyes, until her scarred body shook with mirth.
"You absolute bastard," she managed between laughs. "You come here after centuries of silence, admit you were wrong without actually apologizing, and expect me to just... help you?"
"Pretty much."
"And if I refuse?"
Kenpachi shrugged. "Then I'll keep trying on my own until I figure it out. Might take longer, might be messier, but I'll get there eventually."
Nozarashi's laughter died down, replaced by something more contemplative. She studied him with those golden eyes, seeing things that perhaps even he didn't fully understand about himself.
"You really have changed," she said finally. "I felt it when you arrived in this new world, but I wasn't sure. The old you would never have come here willingly."
"The old me didn't have opponents worth mastering Bankai for," Kenpachi replied. "Now I do."
"Ah." Understanding flickered across her features. "So that's it. You've finally found what you were looking for—real challenges, real opponents, people who can push you beyond your limits."
"Something like that."
Nozarashi was silent for a moment, her gaze distant.
"The Bankai's problem isn't power," she said at last. "It's unity. When you activate it, we become one—your will and mine, your strength and mine, everything merged into a single being of pure combat. But you've always kept part of yourself separate, held back. And that separation creates conflict."
"Conflict?"
"Your conscious mind fighting against our merged state." She met his eyes directly. "You can't control the Bankai because you're trying to remain yourself while also being us. It doesn't work that way."
Kenpachi frowned. "So what, I need to surrender completely? Let go of myself?"
"No." Nozarashi shook her head. "The opposite. You need to accept me completely. Not just as a weapon, not just as a source of power, but as part of who you are. When you can do that—when there's no difference between Kenpachi Zaraki and Nozarashi—the Bankai becomes as natural as breathing."
"Easier said than done."
"Obviously. But you're not as stupid as you pretend to be." Her grin returned. "You came here, didn't you? You admitted you were wrong, didn't you? That's more growth than you've shown in centuries."
Kenpachi considered her words.
Accepting Nozarashi completely. Not just wielding her, not just fighting with her, but integrating her into his very identity. It was a strange concept for someone who had always prided himself on his individual strength.
But it also made a certain kind of sense.
"How do I do it?" he asked.
"Fight me."
"What?"
Nozarashi raised her blade, that hungry grin spreading across her scarred face. "Fight me. Here, in this place, where there's no one else to cut. Show me that you're worthy of my full power, and I'll show you how to use it."
Kenpachi felt his own grin matching hers. "Now you're speaking my language."
He drew his sword—a reflection of Nozarashi that existed within his inner world—and dropped into something that might generously be called a stance.
"Come at me, then. Let's see what you've got."
Nozarashi attacked.
Meanwhile, on Earth...
The spaceship descended through the atmosphere with practiced stealth, its advanced cloaking technology rendering it invisible to the planet's primitive detection systems.
Inside, a crew of soldiers moved with military precision, their movements betraying years of training under the most brutal regime in the universe.
The Frieza Force.
Or what remained of it, anyway.
"Commander Sorbet, we're approaching the designated landing zone."
Sorbet—a short, stocky alien with blue-green skin and an expression of perpetual anxiety—nodded sharply. "Good. Remember the mission parameters. We're not here to fight. We're here to collect."
"The Dragon Balls, sir?"
"Exactly. According to our intelligence, this backwater planet possesses mystical artifacts capable of granting any wish. And we're going to use them to bring Lord Frieza back."
The soldiers exchanged glances. The name still carried weight, even years after Frieza's defeat at the hands of the Saiyans. The tyrant had been their emperor, their god, the absolute ruler of an interstellar empire.
And now he was dead.
But perhaps not for long.
"Landing in thirty seconds," the pilot announced. "All personnel, prepare for disembarkation."
The ship touched down in a remote, mountainous region far from any population centers. Almost immediately, the crew began deploying—scouts fanning out to search for the Dragon Balls, technicians setting up sensor equipment, soldiers establishing a defensive perimeter.
And in the shadows, watching it all with calculating eyes, Sorbet allowed himself a small smile.
Soon, Lord Frieza. Soon you will return.
Inside Kenpachi's inner world, the battle raged.
Fighting Nozarashi was unlike fighting anyone else. She knew his moves before he made them, anticipated his attacks, countered his techniques with perfect precision. Of course she did—she was part of his soul, had been with him for centuries, knew him better than he knew himself.
But that familiarity cut both ways.
"You're holding back!" Nozarashi roared, her blade clashing against his with enough force to send shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. "You think I can't tell?!"
"Not holding back," Kenpachi grunted, pushing through her guard. "Just testing."
"LIAR!"
She came at him with renewed fury, her attacks wild and savage and absolutely beautiful. This was what she was—the embodiment of his love for combat, the physical manifestation of his will to fight. And she demanded everything he had.
So he gave it to her.
His spiritual pressure exploded outward, the inner world shuddering under the weight of his unleashed power. His attacks came faster, harder, driven by the same bloodlust that defined every battle he had ever fought.
And something changed.
The separation he had always felt—the thin barrier between himself and his weapon—began to dissolve. He could feel Nozarashi's hunger as if it were his own, could sense her joy in battle merging with his until they were indistinguishable.
"THERE!" she shouted, triumph in her voice. "THAT'S what I'm talking about!"
Their blades met one final time, and the impact was like nothing Kenpachi had ever experienced. Power and purpose and identity all colliding, merging, becoming something greater than the sum of their parts.
When the light faded, they stood facing each other—not as warrior and weapon, but as two halves of a single whole.
"You felt it," Nozarashi said, breathing hard but grinning. "The connection."
"Yeah." Kenpachi flexed his hand, marveling at the new sensation. "It's different now. Stronger."
"That's because you finally stopped fighting against yourself." She sheathed her blade, her expression softening slightly. "When you use Bankai now, you won't lose control. Not completely. The bloodlust will still be there—it's part of who we are—but you'll be able to direct it."
"How sure are you?"
"Sure enough." Her grin returned. "There's only one way to find out, though."
Kenpachi nodded slowly. "Back in the real world."
"Try it. See what happens." Nozarashi began to fade, the inner world growing distant as his consciousness prepared to return to his body. "And Kenpachi?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ignore me for another few centuries, all right? This whole 'talking to each other' thing is actually kind of nice."
Despite himself, Kenpachi laughed. "No promises."
"Asshole."
"That's me."
And then he was back, sitting in the physical wasteland, the weight of his body suddenly very real around him.
Time to test the theory.
In the mountains of Earth, far from prying eyes...
"Commander Sorbet, we've located the first Dragon Ball."
Sorbet's eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement as the soldier presented the glowing orange sphere. The four-star ball, its stars glinting in the alien sensors' light.
"Excellent. And the others?"
"Our scouts have detected six more signatures spread across the planet. We estimate full collection within forty-eight hours."
"Make it twenty-four. I want Lord Frieza resurrected before anyone notices our presence."
"Yes, Commander."
The Frieza Force worked with ruthless efficiency. They had no knowledge of the Dragon Ball's current guardian, no awareness of the Z Fighters who had defeated their emperor years ago, and no idea that an even greater threat had recently arrived on this planet.
All they knew was their mission: collect the balls, make the wish, bring back their lord.
And so far, everything was going according to plan.
Kenpachi stood in the center of his wasteland, Nozarashi drawn and ready.
The conversation with his zanpakuto had changed something fundamental within him. He could feel the connection now—not just during battle, but constantly, a warm pulse of presence that assured him she was there.
Ready? he thought, not speaking aloud but directing the question inward.
Always, came the response, Nozarashi's voice resonating in his mind. Let's see what we can do together.
Kenpachi grinned. "Drink, Nozarashi."
The Shikai activated smoothly, the battered blade transforming into the massive cleaver-axe that had become familiar over the past weeks. Power flooded through him, multiplied by their bond, ready to be directed.
But he didn't stop there.
"Bankai."
The transformation was instantaneous.
His skin reddened, the war-paint markings appearing across his face. His hair became wild and savage. Nozarashi's form changed to that broken, brutal blade that embodied their ultimate fusion.
And the power...
The power was immense.
But this time, something was different.
This time, he didn't lose himself.
The bloodlust was still there—he could feel it pressing against his consciousness, demanding release, hungry for combat. But it no longer overwhelmed him. Instead, it flowed alongside his thoughts, a companion rather than a conqueror.
It's working, he thought, genuinely surprised.
Told you so, Nozarashi's voice replied, smug but warm. When we're truly one, there's no conflict. The power serves us, not the other way around.
Kenpachi raised his transformed blade, watching reality bend around its edges. The weight of his presence was crushing the ground beneath him, but his mind remained clear. Focused. Controlled.
He held the Bankai for a full minute.
Then two.
Then three.
When he finally released it, reverting to his normal state, he was breathing hard but his grin was incandescent.
"Hell yes," he muttered. "That's more like it."
He had work to do—more training, more refinement, more mastery of this new level of power. But the foundation was laid. The path forward was clear.
And the battles to come?
They were going to be glorious.
Forty hours later...
"We have all seven Dragon Balls, Commander."
Sorbet could barely contain his trembling as the final sphere was placed alongside its companions. Seven orange orbs, each glowing with mystical energy, arranged in a perfect circle on the barren mountain plateau.
"Excellent. Now we simply need to speak the summoning phrase." He turned to his lieutenant—a large, imposing warrior named Tagoma. "You remember the incantation?"
"It was in the intelligence briefing, sir. 'Eternal dragon, by your name I summon you forth—Shenron.'"
As if responding to the name alone, the Dragon Balls began to glow brighter. The sky overhead darkened rapidly, clouds swirling into an unnatural vortex centered directly above their position.
And then, with a roar that shook the mountains, the dragon appeared.
Shenron was massive—a serpentine creature of glowing green scales and blazing red eyes, his body stretching impossibly into the darkened sky. He coiled above the Frieza Force soldiers, and his voice was like thunder.
"I AM SHENRON, THE ETERNAL DRAGON. SPEAK YOUR WISH, AND IT SHALL BE GRANTED."
Several soldiers fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the dragon's presence. Even Sorbet felt his legs trembling, but he forced himself to remain standing.
This was the moment. The culmination of months of planning, of tracking down legends and rumors, of journeying across the galaxy to this primitive planet.
"Great dragon!" he called out, his voice cracking only slightly. "I wish for the resurrection of Lord Frieza! Bring him back to life!"
Shenron's eyes flashed.
"YOUR WISH... IS GRANTED."
Light exploded across the plateau—blinding, divine light that forced every observer to shield their eyes. Reality itself seemed to bend and twist, the fabric of existence parting to allow something through from the other side.
And when the light faded...
He was there.
Frieza.
Or what remained of him.
The tyrant was in pieces—literally. His body had been dismembered, chunks of purple and white flesh scattered across the ground in a grotesque puzzle. But his eyes... his eyes were alive, blazing with unmistakable fury and intelligence.
"Well, well," came that familiar voice, smooth and cold and dripping with malevolence. "It seems someone has finally remembered me."
"Lord Frieza!" Sorbet prostrated himself immediately. "We have brought you back! The Frieza Force has been working to resurrect you ever since your defeat!"
"Defeat." The word came out as a hiss. "Yes. I remember. The Super Saiyan. That wretched monkey who dared to challenge ME."
"Goku is still alive, my lord. He and the other Saiyans remain on this planet."
Frieza was silent for a long moment.
Then he began to laugh.
It started as a chuckle—that soft, cultured sound that had preceded countless atrocities. But it grew, becoming something manic, something unhinged, until the entire plateau echoed with the tyrant's mirth.
"Still alive? Oh, that's PERFECT. That's absolutely PERFECT." His scattered pieces began to glow, his soldiers quickly gathering them together. "I will need a new body. Regeneration. And then... then I will have my REVENGE."
"We have regeneration tanks on the ship, Lord Frieza. We can restore you to your full glory within hours."
"Do it." Frieza's eyes—the only part of him still fully intact—fixed on the sky above. "And then we train. I underestimated my enemy once. I will not make that mistake again."
"Train, my lord?" Tagoma asked hesitantly. "You've never needed to train before."
"No, I haven't. My power has always been natural, innate—a gift of birth that placed me above all other beings." Frieza's voice dropped to something almost thoughtful. "But if a mere Saiyan could surpass me through training, imagine what I could achieve if I applied myself."
The implications hung in the air like a death sentence.
"Gather the soldiers. Prepare the ship. We're leaving this wretched planet... for now." Frieza's scattered pieces were being loaded onto a medical transport, his consciousness somehow maintaining awareness through all of them. "But I will return. And when I do, this world will BURN."
The Frieza Force scrambled to obey.
And in the distance, invisible to all their sensors, a presence stirred.
Kenpachi's eyes snapped open.
He had been meditating—or his version of meditation, which mostly involved sitting still and thinking about fighting—when something prickled at the edge of his awareness.
Power.
Not the familiar signatures of Goku or Vegeta, not the subtle presences of the other Z Fighters. This was something different. Something cold, calculating, and utterly malevolent.
Did you feel that? he thought toward Nozarashi.
Yes, she replied, her mental voice sharp with interest. Something just arrived on this planet. Something strong.
How strong?
Hard to say from here. But the signature is... unusual. Like compressed potential, waiting to be unleashed.
Kenpachi rose to his feet, his hand falling naturally to his zanpakuto's hilt.
The power was fading now, moving away rapidly—probably leaving the planet, based on the trajectory. But the impression remained, burned into his senses like an afterimage.
Something was coming.
Something that promised to be interesting.
"Well then," he murmured, a grin spreading across his scarred face. "Looks like the universe isn't done surprising me yet."
He began the journey back to Capsule Corporation. Whatever had just happened, the others needed to know about it.
And if it led to a good fight?
All the better.
The journey back took about an hour, Kenpachi moving at a pace that would have seemed impossible to most beings. When he arrived at Capsule Corporation, he found a familiar scene—Goku and Vegeta sparring in the training grounds, their auras blazing as they pushed each other to greater heights.
"Hey!" Goku called out, pausing his assault to wave. "Kenpachi! How's the training going?"
"Good. Made progress." Kenpachi didn't bother with pleasantries. "But that's not why I'm here. Something happened about an hour ago. Something I think you should know about."
Both Saiyans immediately became serious. Vegeta's scowl deepened, and Goku's cheerful expression shifted to focused attention.
"What kind of something?" Vegeta demanded.
"Felt a power signature. Strong one. It appeared suddenly, stayed for a few minutes, then left the planet entirely."
Piccolo, who had been watching the spar from a nearby rock formation, descended to join them. "I felt it too. Faintly, but distinctly. It felt... familiar."
"Familiar how?" Goku asked.
The Namekian's expression was grim. "Like something I sensed years ago. Something I hoped never to sense again."
Vegeta's eyes widened with sudden recognition. "You can't mean—"
"The energy signature matched Frieza's army," Piccolo confirmed. "I'm certain of it. The Frieza Force was here, on Earth, and they came for a specific purpose."
"The Dragon Balls," Goku breathed. "They used the Dragon Balls!"
"To wish for what?" Kenpachi asked, his grin sharpening. "What would Frieza's soldiers want badly enough to come all the way here?"
The answer was obvious. Horrifyingly, terrifyingly obvious.
"Frieza," Vegeta said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They wished him back to life."
Silence fell over the group.
Then Kenpachi started laughing.
Not his battle-laugh, but something darker—anticipation, recognition, the joy of discovering that a new challenge was on the horizon.
"Frieza, huh?" He had Marcus's memories to draw on, knowledge of the tyrant who had destroyed Planet Vegeta, who had terrorized the universe for generations. "I've heard stories. Sounds like a strong one."
"You don't understand," Vegeta snapped, old fear flickering in his eyes before pride smothered it. "Frieza in his base form could destroy planets with a finger. In his final form, he nearly killed Kakarot despite being at a fraction of his full power. If he's been resurrected..."
"Then he'll be coming for revenge," Goku finished. "And knowing Frieza, he won't attack until he's sure he can win."
"So he'll get stronger," Kenpachi concluded. "Train, improve, push himself until he thinks he's unbeatable."
"Exactly."
Kenpachi's grin was wide enough to split his face.
"Good. Let him. Means he'll be worth fighting when he gets here."
The others stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief.
"You're looking forward to this," Piccolo observed. "You're actually LOOKING FORWARD to facing one of the most sadistic tyrants in galactic history."
"Why wouldn't I? Strong opponent, clear motivation, guaranteed battle." Kenpachi cracked his knuckles. "Sounds perfect to me."
Goku, despite the seriousness of the situation, found himself grinning too. "You know what? He's got a point. If Frieza's coming back, we should be training too. Getting stronger, so we're ready for him."
"For once, Kakarot, I agree with you." Vegeta's earlier fear had been replaced by determination. "I won't be caught off guard again. When Frieza returns, I'll be the one to destroy him."
"You'll have to get in line," Kenpachi replied. "I called dibs."
"Dibs?! This isn't a GAME!"
"Everything's a game if you're strong enough."
The argument that followed was loud, passionate, and ultimately pointless. All three warriors knew the truth—when Frieza came, they would all fight. And may the strongest emerge victorious.
In the depths of space, aboard a Frieza Force vessel...
The regeneration tank hummed with power as bio-organic fluid circulated around the partially-formed body within. Frieza floated in the restorative liquid, his cells knitting together with unnatural speed, his power already beginning to return.
Through the tank's transparent walls, he watched his soldiers scurry about their duties. Pathetic creatures, all of them. Useful, certainly, but ultimately disposable.
Like everyone else in the universe.
The Saiyans think they've defeated me, he mused, his consciousness crystal clear despite his body's incomplete state. They think I'm a threat they've already overcome. Fools. They have no idea what I'm capable of.
He had never trained before. Never needed to. His power had been a birthright, a natural superiority that placed him above all other beings in creation.
But that power had limits. Limits that a mere Saiyan had managed to surpass.
No more.
When he emerged from this tank, when his body was restored to its full glory, he would begin the first real training of his life. He would push himself beyond anything he had ever imagined, reach heights of power that would make his previous form look like a child's toy.
And then he would return to Earth.
And then he would have his revenge.
Wait for me, Goku, Frieza thought, a cold smile crossing his reforming features. Wait for me, and despair.
End of Chapter 4
Next Chapter: "The Emperor Returns—Frieza's Revenge Begins!"