When the blast-smoke thinned, ruin was all that remained.
Cole walked over to Love and poked his cheek with the Ruyi Jingu Bang. "Love, you still alive?"
Love's mouth twitched. He sat up. "Thanks for the heartfelt concern. Yeah, I'm alive."
He glanced at his charred self, face literally black. "But I've only got half a life left."
When the red sun above Bull-Head Ichigo's head detonated, he'd seen his great-grandma—no, the sun itself. The unimaginable shockwave hit. That horrifying red cero, completely unlike any he'd seen, felt like it could unmake the world in a single shot.
"My proud Tengumaru almost got blasted into 'Dead Dog-maru,'" he muttered.
Cole couldn't help it. "First you hacked down 'Susanoo,' then you swung a kanabō into a cero. Jokes aside, the guts alone deserve respect."
Love scowled. "I can hear you mocking me."
Meanwhile, inside the barrier, everything was wrecked. In Bull-Head form, Ichigo was a rabid hound—biting whoever he caught and beating the Visoreds until they were wailing.
Hachigen stared at a shattered wall, on the verge of tears. "That barrier took me half a month!"
Shinji's mouth twitched, but he couldn't spare a thought for the room. He hefted his zanpakuto and shouted, "Everyone, together! Subdue Ichigo!"
No questions asked—the Visoreds swarmed. Swords, ceros, kidō—burned like there was no tomorrow.
In an instant, the warehouse-within-the-barrier turned livelier than any battlefield: blades flashed, high-level kidō roared, and red ceros screamed from every angle. The lightshow was blinding; the noise rattled teeth.
But Bull-Head Ichigo only fought fiercer—chasing them with Zangetsu, tossing out the occasional Gran Rey Cero (Royal Hollow Flash).
Uryū and Chad sucked in a cold breath and backed away on instinct. It was their first time seeing Ichigo this terrifying.
One person brawling four captains, three vice-captains, and a vice chief of kidō—that wasn't much worse than Cole's stunt in Soul Society.
"Bakudō 62: Hyapporankan (Hundred Steps Fence)!!!"
Shinji hurled a blue spear of kidō. Midair it split into a storm of spears—blue meteors raining down. They struck like drills, skewering Bull-Head Ichigo and pinning him to the floor.
He just roared. One claw crushed the bindings, and he lunged after the now-ragged Shinji.
Cole sat with Retsu, watching. He waved lazily. "Shinji, you still not going bankai (Final Release)?"
Bull-Head Ichigo was nearly at Retsu's eighty-percent output; with eight Shinigami on the field, taking him without bankai was a tall order.
Shinji's nose bent with anger. "You bastard, why are you spectating? Get over here and help!"
Their heads were about to become dog heads—and Cole was still enjoying Retsu's lap pillow.
Cole blinked. "If you can't beat Ichigo, how are you going to help him control his Hollow?"
Control what, exactly...
Shinji wanted to murder someone. He wanted Cole and Ichigo—the two calamities—gone.
Two Hollows in two bodies. Each more terrifying than the last. Cole's, he didn't even want to imagine—god-stops-god, Buddha-stops-Buddha.
He'd thought Ichigo would be easier.
Great. The blind box spat out a Vasto Lorde. A frothing hound. They nearly had their souls beaten out.
Cole finally stood with a sigh. "I overestimated you. If you can't even bag Ichigo, what are you using to fight Aizen?"
That did it.
Kensei wiped blood from his lip, forced himself upright, and rumbled, "You're right. If we can't handle this kid, how can we take revenge on Aizen? From here on—without your help—"
BOOM!
Bull-Head Ichigo drop-kicked him through the barrier.
Kensei smashed through and vanished like a shooting star.
Shinji swallowed his words, then flung an arm. "Everyone—push harder!!!"
Cole blinked, then quietly reclined back onto Retsu's soft, fragrant lap. The generous view blocked the ceiling. "Okaa-san, I want cherries..."
A zanpakuto was shoved into Cole's mouth.
Two hours later—
In a field of ruins, Ichigo blinked awake and looked around, dazed. "Where is this? Is this still even Japan?"
Rubble, craters, choking dust—and long black cracks like someone carved the earth.
He spotted the Visoreds and jogged over. "Shinji, Kensei, Hiyori-san... why are you all sleeping here—and injured? Don't tell me..."
He tensed, gripping Zangetsu. "Did Aizen come to the World of the Living?"
Veins popped on Shinji's forehead. The others sat up, eyes dark.
Crack crack crack—
A moment later, lumps swelled across Ichigo's scalp. He kneeled like a scolded schoolgirl, eyes watery. "You mean... I turned into a Vasto Lorde-level Hollow and beat you all up?"
Soot-black Shinji glowered. "Yeah. Didn't think you were hiding that deep. You nearly team-wiped us."
The others nodded, faces black.
Without bankai, Bull-Head Ichigo had hunted them like a wolf. He'd beaten them crying for their dads and moms. Only at the end did they pile on and pin him long enough for Hachigen to fire off a Number 99 reset.
Ichigo scratched his head, embarrassed. He hadn't expected the Hollow inside him to be that scary.
"By the way—where's Cole?"
"Over there—about to choke—"
Shinji looked off, dark lines on his temple. Retsu was kneeling, gently spooning food into Cole's mouth. "Cole-kun, is it tasty? There's more."
"Mmph—mmph—mmph—"
Cole flailed.
"What are those two even doing..." Ichigo wore the same exasperated lines, but quickly turned back, eyes bright. "Shinji, does this mean I can control my Hollow power like you?"
Shinji's mouth twitched; so did the others'.
They wanted to say: training hasn't even started. We only tried to peek at the Hollow inside you—and then got half-killed.
Cole finally wriggled free of maternal love, belly round, and waddled over. "Shinji, after you help Ichigo complete Hollowfication, don't forget me. You've gotta help me rein in mine, too."
Shinji shoved the two disasters toward the door. "Get lost. Helping either of you control your Hollow is worse than fighting Aizen."
...
At the same time—Soul Society, the Great Spirit Book Gallery.
Crack. Crack. Space split open into a black, bottomless fissure like the path to Muken.
A foot stepped through.
The materialized zanpakuto—demon blade Muramasa.
Behind him floated the shape of Kyōka Suigetsu, wearing Aizen's gentle glasses, and Suzumushi in killer-black.
Kyōka Suigetsu pushed his frames up, voice warm. "Muramasa-san, what's your plan? Whose zanpakuto will you free first?"
Muramasa cast him a cold glance, then turned toward the 1st Division. His tone sank. "The Head Captain—Genryūsai Shigekuni."
Whatever he sought to accomplish, the "thousand-year strongest" was a mountain in his way. If he didn't deal with the old man, even if he rescued his master Koga, he'd be cut down in a stroke.
So the old man had to go.
"Head Captain, hm." Kyōka Suigetsu smiled, then looked toward the 5th Division, voice oily. "In that case, I won't tag along. I'll stop by the 5th—see if my cute vice-captain is still around."
He turned to Suzumushi. "You coming with me?"
Suzumushi's gaze was icy. "You're not Aizen. Don't call me by that name. It's disgusting."
He fell in beside Muramasa. "I am a zanpakuto—independent of any Shinigami. From now on, I live as a blade alone. No one will ever betray me again."
A glint lit Kyōka Suigetsu's eyes; he strolled off toward the 5th.
...
"Muramasa-san, how will you do it?" In the 1st, Suzumushi watched the night, cold.
Zanpakuto were a Shinigami's most important comrades—and as a manifest spirit, he carried all of Kaname's memories. He knew exactly what terror lurked in this unassuming division.
Muramasa's figure thinned into mist. "I'm going into Ryūjin Jakka's inner world. It won't take long. Then we'll have a new comrade—and we blades will rule Soul Society."
1st Division. A plain old bedroom.
Genryūsai lay resting.
A pulse of spiritual power seeped in. The room's temperature crept up—50°, 100°, 200°, 300°, 600°...
In seconds it rose beyond tolerance. Wooden furniture spontaneously burned. Heat waves rolled—and Genryūsai remained still.
By his bed, the wooden cane that was Ryūjin Jakka trembled, shedding its wooden disguise. The blade slid free, silver bright.
At 900°, Genryūsai's eyes snapped open. Cold light flashed. His hand closed around the shaking sword. "Ryūjin Jakka. What is it?"
In an instant, his expression hardened.
His companion of a thousand years was pushing back—rejecting him. It even muddied his spiritual perception. Flame climbed from blade to hilt and scorched his palm.
"Ryūjin Jakka!"
He growled and clenched down—but the more he forced it, the harder it trembled, the fiercer it burned. Reiatsu bled from the steel itself.
The sight rocked him.
His mind leapt centuries back—to the sealing of Koga.
"Koga!?"
He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the smell of his own seared flesh as he felt for any foreign reiatsu. Nothing.
"Koga... no."
He looked down at the blaze in his hand. "You're Muramasa, aren't you."
Centuries ago, when he and Ginrei sealed Koga, they'd expected a bitter fight—only for something unforeseen. Koga spoke Muramasa's name, yet that troublesome blade never once showed its power. So the two of them subdued Koga with ease and buried him in a hidden place.
All smooth. But Muramasa's absence left a shadow.
Where had that strange blade gone? As far as he knew, it could manifest freely.
And now, Ryūjin Jakka's rebellion mirrored those blades Muramasa had once twisted.
The temperature hit 3,000°.
Even with Genryūsai's overwhelming reiatsu, the right hand on the hilt began to smell of burnt meat.
A calm voice slid through the room. Muramasa. "Head Captain. I'll ask first—where did you seal my master? Why is he nowhere in Soul Society?"
Genryūsai's eyes flashed. His sword fell—and the room exploded in flame.
BOOOOM!!!
A horizon-wide blade of fire tore through the 1st Division, a sun-hot arc that lit the night over Seireitei as if the world were about to burn.
Alarms screamed. Shinigami poured into the streets.
"What's happening? Why is the Head Captain fighting again?"
"Crap—don't tell me that starving ghost is back. I just fixed the 8th's wall!"
"Notify all captains!"
"Full alert! Prepare for invasion!"
Within the 1st, amid the roaring inferno, Muramasa's voice floated, unruffled. "You don't know my ability? They call me the demon blade. Did you really think you could strike me in the inner world?"
Ryūjin Jakka's reiatsu surged higher. A silhouette of flame rippled along the steel.
(End of Chapter)
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