As Seiya Arima whispered the name of his Bankai—
His zanpakutō shattered in his hand, scattering into a flurry of fragments dancing across the air.
Those fragments kept breaking apart, smaller and smaller, until they became invisible particles—dust finer than the eye could perceive.
And yet, they didn't vanish.
On the contrary—
Within that microscopic world, countless Seiyas stood tall, each gazing upward.
They were as small as molecules.
But within each one, a world began. A memory could unfold.
Bankai is a form of sublimation.
At this moment, Seiya's senses expanded without limit. He transcended space itself.
He felt the pulse of time—and touched the form of the force before him.
His life extended beyond its confines.
He stepped forward—and his figure stretched infinitely—
Past, present, future—
All of it flooded his mind. He had glimpsed something profound.
And then he closed his eyes.
The moment his ability completed its conditions, a glow shimmered before him, rendering his face serene, almost divine.
Bankai: Eight Aspects of the Heavenly Dragon – Tenbu.
It inherited the core of Sāgara Ryū, and embodied the greatest divine aspect among the Eight.
Seiya had entered a higher realm.
Yet all of this—remained entirely internal.
To Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, standing across from him, Seiya appeared unmoved.
But… something was different.
The man had become more restrained, barely exuding any reiryoku at all.
He had improved again.
Yet Yamamoto wasted no time. He knew the limits of his own power—he had to strike quickly, decisively.
No holding back.
Yamamoto leapt.
A flash of pure mastery—his steps refined, his reiryoku precise.
He closed the distance in an instant.
His right hand swung the blade—Zanka no Tachi—across Seiya.
Zanka no Tachi, East: Blade of the Rising Sun.
Hssssss…
The sword didn't blaze, didn't explode—
It simply erased whatever it touched.
Even Yhwach's Blut Vene couldn't defend against it.
Now, the air itself warped before it made contact with Seiya.
Aizen's reishi barrier snapped, like plastic melting in fire.
And now—this mountaintop clash—was laid bare before all.
It had begun.
—
Elsewhere, Isane Kotetsu wiped sweat from her brow. Her sword deflected another Arrancar's strike, teeth clenched, eyes unwavering.
She was fulfilling her duty as a Shinigami—without distraction.
Or… so she thought.
A gasp from nearby made her turn.
Hinamori Momo.
She'd been stationed behind Isane at Hitsugaya's instruction—this was the safest zone on the battlefield, where other lieutenants could offer aid.
Nothing dangerous should happen here.
So why…?
"Hinamori-fukutaichō?"
Hinamori didn't reply.
She just opened her mouth wide—and dropped her zanpakutō.
Flying Plum Blossom hit the ground with a crisp clatter.
Isane watched as Hinamori raised trembling hands to cover her mouth and nose, trying to stifle a growing sob.
She followed Hinamori's gaze upward.
And then—her own heart seemed to stop.
Above, against a sky bleached white by overwhelming heat—
Yamamoto's blade passed through Seiya's body.
From right arm, through the chest, out the left shoulder.
No blood spilled.
He simply… came apart like paper torn in two.
A broken body, falling in halves.
But Seiya's eyes opened—calm. No fear.
His expression remained composed. Serene.
And he smiled.
He had seen it.
In the infinite timelines—across parallel universes—he found the one where he had not been cut.
And in a warped moment of space—his body reassembled, as though filled by unseen matter.
Fully intact, standing in the air.
He took a breath.
And opened his eyes.
"Yama-jii," he said gently. "I saw it."
What I see, what I know, becomes what I own.
He had claimed the reality of not being hit.
"...!!"
Everyone was stunned.
What just happened?
Was it an illusion?
Only a handful of captains could comprehend what truly occurred.
"…Incredible…" Ukitake wheezed, pale and breathless.
He had once imagined such a thing—but now it was real.
Seiya's power had reached miracle-tier.
But it had one limit: reiryoku.
Unless he could match his opponent in spiritual pressure, none of it mattered.
Now—
He had matched Yamamoto.
He was on the board.
An equal at the table.
—
"So the question is…" Shunsui Kyoraku muttered, staring upward, "Who runs out first?"
"Seiya's reiryoku—
Or Yama-jii, for the sake of everyone, decides to end it."
No draws.
Only death or survival.
The two men knew this.
—
Without a word, Yamamoto was once again cloaked in searing fire.
Zanka no Tachi, West: Cloak of the Setting Sun.
Fifteen million degrees.
His body and blade became living suns.
Touch him, and you're dust.
Yamamoto flashed forward—
But before contact—Seiya's body began to dissolve.
Burned, charred, disintegrated.
His arm, leg, half his torso—
It was like rot—but then, it stopped.
His reiryoku flared.
And Seiya—smiled.
"I saw this one too."
He'd found a path through time.
A living thread.
"…Well done," Yamamoto murmured.
He glanced around.
Fake Karakura Town had been vaporized.
No buildings.
No ground.
Only ash.
The barrier—crafted by Urahara and Tessai in unity—was faltering.
The battlefield could not sustain their level of power for much longer.
Many vice-captains were down.
Others could barely move.
They were nearing the threshold of death.
It had to end.
Quickly.
Yamamoto exhaled, dismissing the Cloak of the Setting Sun.
"You've a mighty power," he said softly.
"If it had been used for the right cause, perhaps I could have retired in peace."
But…
"You've strayed.
I will clean house."
He raised his sword—
And made his decision.
He skipped the South technique.
No necromancy. No ashes of the dead.
He went straight to the final power.
His body became a reactor—
Reiryoku converted to flames.
Even his breath came out as glowing heat.
Seiya tensed.
His instinct screamed.
His heart raced.
This was it.
Three-quarters of his reiryoku remained.
It shouldn't be fatal—
But this danger was real.
What was coming?
Then—he saw it.
Yamamoto raised his right foot—
And stepped.
The distance vanished.
He stood before Seiya.
Calmly—
He swung down.
Zanka no Tachi, North: "All Becomes Ash."
A single, distant slash.
Silent.
Featureless.
But everything it touched—disintegrated.
Seiya's vision faded.
Color peeled away.
Only gray and white remained.
Yamamoto's merciful eyes loomed larger, clearer—
Seiya felt… nothing.
Like his soul had been torn from his flesh.
Nothing remained.
Was this the end?
His body split open, falling lifelessly.
He wanted to move—
But his eyes froze, like amber.
His spirit pressure vanished.
The weight of his soul—gone.
Everyone knew:
Seiya Arima—was dying.
Could it be?
That man?
Gone, just like that?
"Don't…"
A faint whisper echoed.
Isane's heart clenched.
Was it her voice?
Someone else's?
"Don't… die…"
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Powerstones?
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