Chapter 209: Are we really going to kill him?
Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni, the strongest Shinigami in the world.
Ryujin Jakka, the strongest fire type Zanpakuto in existence.
When the strongest man held the strongest blade, it became an absolute force, something no one would choose to face head on unless they had already accepted death.
And yet, what truly shocked Yamamoto was not the fire, nor the killing intent in the air.
It was Aizen.
Aizen Sōsuke, refined and serene to the point of feeling unreal, actually smiled, stepped forward, and met Ryujin Jakka head on.
Their blades collided.
The sword in Aizen's hands turned savage, chaotic, almost beastlike, as if he were no longer a calm scholar standing beneath the sky, but a wounded animal finally allowed to bare its fangs. All the anger and pain he had sealed away, the rage that seemed capable of evaporating the world itself, poured into his strikes and became a violent sword intent.
With every clash, Yamamoto felt it through the steel.
Boundless fury.
Then something even stranger.
Joy, and respect, the exhilaration of meeting a worthy opponent, the sincerity of being able to die under such a blade.
For a fleeting moment, that sensation reminded Yamamoto of someone else, a child who had been mad, bright, and full of terrifying promise.
So this is what lies beneath that gentle face.
Perhaps Aizen had never been relaxed at all. A man capable of wielding a sword like this, a man who could wipe out Central Forty Six with such ruthless precision, could not possibly be indifferent.
Rather, it was because he could wield such strength that he had been able to commit such terrifying acts.
Still, Yamamoto's confidence did not waver.
Among Shinigami, the contest that mattered most was always spiritual pressure. Even if Aizen wanted to influence others, even if his words were poison, spiritual pressure was the final authority.
Could Aizen's spiritual pressure truly exceed his?
It was unthinkable.
Not far away, Komamura felt his own unease growing.
In his memory, Kaname had always been imposing, sharp, and merciless, a swordsman who could suffocate enemies in endless darkness with Enma Kōrogi, practically unbeatable once his Bankai sealed the world away.
But now Kaname's swordsmanship carried an unexpected grandeur.
Every strike was straight, dignified, almost noble, like a leader standing before a hundred clans, cutting down corruption with upright certainty. It forced Komamura to straighten unconsciously, as if his body recognized that formal, orthodox path and responded with instinctive respect.
Komamura did not understand why the other captains were willing to let them clash one on one, but he felt grateful for that mercy.
Only like this could he speak to Kaname, sword to sword, and try to reach the pain buried in his friend's heart.
"Kaname," he said, voice tight. "Do you remember what you once told me? You swore you would uphold justice, even if no one understood you…"
Kaname gave no answer.
His expression remained unreadable. His blade remained precise, majestic, unbending, like it belonged to someone who had never doubted his own righteousness for even a second.
What kind of suffering did it take to make a sword path this orthodox?
Unease flickered through Komamura's mind, then vanished as Kaname's blade forced him back into reality. He focused, let his own sword answer, and kept trying to speak through steel.
Around them, the atmosphere grew hazy, ethereal, as if everyone involved had obtained exactly what they desired from this battle.
The other captains stood fixed in the air, waiting for outcomes with conflicted eyes. Some shouted ideals. Some tried to persuade the enemies in front of them, speaking words that only made sense inside their own minds.
Even the vice captains moved with strange hesitation, acting like people trapped in a dream that insisted it was waking life.
None of them noticed the world itself had begun to ripple, like crystal disturbed by a hidden hand.
"Old man," a hoarse voice shouted from beyond the haze. "Hey, old man, listen to me"
Kyōraku's voice tore through the air, strained and urgent. His captain level spiritual pressure surged outward, flooding Seireitei and spilling beyond its walls.
It was useless.
Dozens of Shinigami, including Yamamoto, Komamura, Hitsugaya, Jūshirō Ukitake, Retsu Unohana, Kenpachi, Soi Fon, and the vice captains behind them, all stared into empty space as if the air itself had become their enemy.
They shouted at nothing.
They raged at nothing.
Then, as if following unseen stage directions, they paired off and began fighting each other.
Kyōraku's stomach sank.
If everyone truly went all out, Seireitei would be torn apart. Half the city could vanish in a single night of captains unleashed.
Yet, for reasons he could not grasp, they did not immediately aim to kill.
They fought with conflicted faces, speaking to their opponents as if trying to persuade them, as if the enemy before them mattered more than victory, as if the battle itself was a conversation.
It was a silent play, performed in the sky.
Below, Kyōraku, the only one not caught, could only grit his teeth and watch his comrades clash. Even his spiritual pressure could not snap them out of it.
He considered firing Kido, forcing a shock strong enough to break the illusion, but fear froze his hand.
If he misjudged, he could make it worse. He could push them into true slaughter.
Maybe only a stronger stimulus would wake them.
As he watched bodies fall from the air, Kyōraku pressed his hands to his twin swords.
Before he could act, Kaname appeared beside him and stopped him with one calm hand.
"Captain Kyōraku," Kaname said, voice flat. "Calm yourself. Otherwise, Enma Kōrogi will make you taste your own medicine."
Kyōraku forced a bitter smile. "Oh dear, Captain Kaname, those are your own words."
"In truth," Kaname said, unfazed, "the overlap between Kyōka Suigetsu and chakra Genjutsu is spontaneous. It can be maintained by the spiritual energy in the air. I do not need to do anything."
Aizen stood a short distance away, watching the conflict with the same gentle smile he always wore, as if this were all a lesson he had planned for Kyōraku's benefit.
To make it even more convincing, a tiny sun bloomed again above Aizen's palm.
Pure heat, not Kido, not spirit particles, something else entirely.
Then, at the perfect moment, Ryujin Jakka's heat surged within the illusion.
Aizen took advantage of it and extinguished the little sun with a casual backhand strike, as if brushing dust from a sleeve.
He looked at Kyōraku kindly, like a teacher who already knew the student had no more moves to play.
And Kyōraku did not.
He was resourceful, shameless when he needed to be, capable in politics. In some respects, he truly could be called a reformist.
But none of that mattered now.
This was no longer about ideals.
It was simply the difference in power.
"…Hateful," Kyōraku muttered, the word scraped raw.
Aizen's smile remained warm. "As I told you, I am sincere. I want peace."
He took a step forward, then another, walking toward Yamamoto, who stood rigid for some reason, still glaring and berating the empty air in front of him as if Aizen were standing there.
Kyōraku's face went pale.
Aizen raised Kyōka Suigetsu, slow and deliberate, and aimed it at Yamamoto's throat.
Then he made a small gesture toward Yamamoto's hands.
Throughout it all, Yamamoto showed no awareness, no reaction, no ability to retaliate. He continued to glare at nothing, condemning delusions, fighting an enemy that did not exist.
Aizen could have ended the thousand year old Shinigami in a single breath.
Aizen's voice was calm, almost conversational.
"If I truly wanted to destroy everything, what do you think I could do?"
"No matter how much a Shinigami trains, the basics remain the same. The throat and hands are vital points."
He glanced at Kyōraku.
"Under the layered hypnosis of Kyōka Suigetsu and chakra Genjutsu, what do you think you can do? I have always been patient. You only made your judgments because you never understood me."
Kyōraku's voice was thin. "Do not do that, Aizen."
"Of course not," Aizen replied, smiling. "Captain Kyōraku would not want anything to happen to the Captain Commander."
His gaze swept the captains above, still trapped in their battles.
"Nobody wants that, correct?"
Kyōraku could not answer.
Aizen lifted his hand, the gesture casual, like a man about to conclude a lecture.
"Then, to show my sincerity…"
Snap.
A soft clap rang out.
The world shuddered.
All at once, everyone froze, eyes widening as they snapped out of their daze. They stared at the weapons entangled in their own hands, at the opponents they had been striking, and horror spread across their faces as realization landed.
They had been fighting each other.
Not Aizen.
Not Kaname.
They had been carving wounds into their own comrades the entire time.
"Aizen Sōsuke," Yamamoto thundered, voice rising with rage. "What have you done?"
Aizen stood in the air, spotless, calm, smiling as if nothing had happened. He even displayed his battered body as if to prove a point.
"I have done nothing."
His tone remained mild.
"I am still seriously injured. I cannot do much, even if I wanted to."
He lifted Kyōka Suigetsu slightly.
"My Zanpakuto's ability is complete hypnosis. Anyone whose spiritual pressure is inferior to mine will have their five senses controlled once they witness my Shikai."
"Unless I pierce their body directly and they sense the spiritual pressure within me, they cannot detect my presence."
He looked at them, gaze almost gentle.
"I do not dislike any of you. On the contrary, you are all outstanding."
"But sometimes, strength must be displayed."
"Nonsense," Yamamoto snarled. "Traitor. Your actions have gone beyond mere malice."
Yamamoto's hand tightened on Ryujin Jakka.
He had grown kinder over the centuries, yes, but that did not mean he accepted being toyed with.
If Shikai could not completely suppress Aizen, then he would end it with Bankai.
Even if Soul Society suffered damage, it would be worth it. An enemy like Aizen demanded such methods.
"Be proud," Yamamoto said, flames beginning to surge. "This is the first time in many years I have unleashed my Bankai against an enemy. Even if you die beneath this blade, you will have reason to be proud."
"Bankai…"
"Captain Commander Yamamoto."
Aizen's sigh was quiet, and his eyes carried pity, almost helplessness, like an adult watching an elder insist on a mistake.
"When did you start believing that everything you are doing now is real?"
Crack.
A crisp sound rang out.
The world shattered, as if a painting had been struck and broken into countless fragments.
Through those fragments, the intact Central Forty Six appeared.
Clean.
Unbroken.
As if none of the carnage had ever happened.
Even Kyōraku, who had been certain he had already broken through illusion once, stared with despair and confusion. He could not tell where reality began or ended anymore.
Moments ago, Central Forty Six had been ruin.
Now it stood whole.
Kyōraku's throat went dry.
He could no longer understand what Aizen was doing, or how far his reach extended.
Aizen had spiritual power and chakra.
He could use his Zanpakuto to interfere with perception and spiritual pressure, and use chakra to build illusions so real they rewrote the senses themselves. Every theory, every derivative, every possibility became a weapon in his hands.
He was injured, yes.
But his weakness did not mean Soul Society had become stronger.
Aizen looked down at them, smiling like sunlight.
"I only intended to use illusion to grant you a little confidence, a little pride."
"But since the Captain Commander does not need it, then I will show you the truth."
"You cannot touch me, no matter what you do."
"My fellow Shinigami."
He raised a hand slightly, as if emphasizing a lecture point.
"And let me repeat this."
"We are equals, Captain Commander. You created Seireitei and the Gotei Thirteen."
"I brought chakra to this world."
"So do not speak of treason and betrayal."
His gaze sharpened for a heartbeat.
"The Zero Division has not fallen."
"Whether that is because my abilities are too strong, or because there is someone else who has betrayed you, interpret it as you wish."
Aizen's smile returned, calm and polite.
"I will implement my plan in Rukongai."
"If you wish to stop me, then attack Rukongai directly."
He let the words hang, heavy as judgment.
"But does the Shinigami who maintains the balance of the Three Realms truly intend to strike the wandering spirits and shatter that balance?"
"I look forward to your choice."
In front of everyone, Aizen drew Kyōka Suigetsu from his waist. With a clean motion, he tore open a black cross shaped rift in space.
Yamamoto stood rigid, silent, cane cracking as his grip tightened with every inch of restraint.
Aizen nodded slightly, respectful as ever, then stepped into the darkness.
Kaname followed.
They became a thin black line, then vanished, leaving only the rippling void behind.
And Seireitei, for the first time in a very long time, was forced to stare at its own helplessness.
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