Bleach: Kishou Arima

Disclaimer

I have changed some abilties of people that have been effected majorly by Arima.

Please do not be too angry at me..

Also the Test went okay i only manged to score 85.3% Though it was the first test so I'm not too discouraged to have my above 90 % streak destroyed.

---

Arima walked back into the house quietly, careful not to disturb the layers of protective Kido he had cast earlier.

The house was calm, the faint light of the moon filtering through the windows as he made his way to their bedroom.

Inside, Unohana was sound asleep, her expression soft and peaceful in a way that warmed his soul.

He moved carefully, his footsteps barely making a sound as he approached the bed.

As he slipped under the covers, her body instinctively shifted toward him.

She snuggled close, her head resting against his chest, a small, content smile gracing her lips even in sleep.

Arima looked down at her, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a smile.

He wrapped his arms around her gently, pulling her closer.

Her warmth against him, the sound of her steady breathing—it was enough to quiet his restless mind.

For a long moment, he simply lay there, holding her close, feeling the rage fade away.

---

High in the Soul King Palace, Senjumaru Shutara sat silently in her chambers.

Her delicate fingers rested lightly on the intricate threads she had been weaving, but she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly.

She had felt it.

The death of Ichibei Hyōsube.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she rose from her seat, her ornate attire flowing like liquid silk as she moved.

Her voice, soft yet commanding, echoed through the chamber.

"Ichibei Hyōsube."

The name itself carried power, and as she spoke it, life surged back into the monk's broken form.

In the distant reaches of the spiritual plane, his body reformed, his severed head rejoining his torso as though death had merely been a passing inconvenience.

When Ichibei opened his eyes again, they gleamed with the same mischievous mirth they always held, as if he had simply been interrupted mid-thought.

A wide grin spread across his face as he stood, brushing himself off.

"Ah, Senjumaru," he said, his voice full of amusement. "You always know how to bring a man back at just the right moment."

His gaze shifted upward, past the ornate halls and toward the sealed Soul King.

His expression, for a fleeting moment, held something almost reverent, but it quickly gave way to curiosity as his attention was drawn downward—to the slumbering form of a massive beast.

The creature lay just beneath the resting place of the Soul King's seal.

Its colossal body radiated an overwhelming pressure, its deep crimson eyes faintly glowing even in its slumber.

The hollow hole in its chest was a stark reminder of its nature, a fusion of a Zanpakutō spirit and Hollow.

Ichibei's grin widened further, almost unnervingly so.

"Arima," he murmured, his tone tinged with fascination. "I wonder…what height will you reach? What will you become when the scales finally tip in your favour all the way?"

His laughter echoed softly as he turned, already contemplating something.

Senjumaru watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before turning her gaze back to her threads.

The game was far from over, and the players were only just beginning to show their hands.

---

The next day arrived with soft sunlight filtering through the windows.

Unohana stirred awake, her nose twitching as the rich aroma of food wafted into the room.

A faint frown creased her face when she realized the warmth beside her—the steady presence of Arima—was gone.

Reluctantly, she pushed herself out of bed, wrapping a light robe around her shoulders before stepping out into the house.

The scent grew stronger as she neared the kitchen, her curiosity piqued.

As she entered, her gaze landed on Arima, standing at the counter with an apron tied loosely around his waist.

He was moving with a dedicated precision, placing various dishes onto the table.

Her eyes widened slightly at the spread before her.

It wasn't traditional fare she knew about.

Arima turned to her with a faint smile. "Good morning."

Unohana tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. "You're cooking?"

"Yeah.." Arima replied simply, gesturing toward the table. "I thought you might enjoy something different today. This is a German breakfast I picked up during my time in the World of the Living."

Unohana raised an eyebrow. "German? I wasn't aware you indulged in ....different cuisine."

Arima chuckled softly, his tone holding a wry edge. "Not by choice. It was during a campaign to eliminate the Quincy frontline. I spent enough time in their territory to learn a few things… including their breakfast preferences."

She approached the table, taking in the spread of freshly baked bread rolls, various cheeses, cured meats, and soft-boiled eggs.

There were also small bowls of jam and butter, alongside a steaming pot of coffee.

Unohana's eyes flicked back to him, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Eliminating the Quincy while sampling their cuisine. Efficient as always."

He merely shrugged, taking a seat and motioning for her to begin. "Eat.."

She smiled, sitting across from him. As she took her first bite, she glanced at him, warmth in her gaze.

"Thank you."

"So, what do you want to do today?" Unohana asked, her voice soft but curious as she relaxed at the breakfast table.

She was free from her duties as a captain, and the day stretched before her without obligations.

She didn't want to sit still and be bored..

Arima looked at the clock, his sharp eyes flickering with thought. "I do have some business later in the day," he began, his tone measured.

"But I thought we could spar—like the old times."

Unohana blinked in mild surprise, raising an eyebrow.

He continued, "Obviously, this time without sharp objects or blunt force. More of a skill battle with swords. You always loved those."

A small, amused smile tugged at Unohana's lips. "With the way your demeanor has changed, I would've assumed you wouldn't even let me move a little."

Arima met her gaze, a faint flicker of humor in his otherwise stoic expression. "Well, I don't think you'd have to worry about that," he replied calmly.

"My mother extensively studied the pregnancy process of Shinigami. In the diary she left behind , She wrote that for the first eight months, the baby doesn't have a fully corporeal form—it phases in and out of physical nature. Physical activities are perfectly fine during the initial stages."

Unohana's smile widened, her eyes glinting with nostalgia and affection. "You've certainly done your research," she said, her tone teasing.

"I have to ensure your well-being," Arima replied firmly, his gaze softening. "And… sparring with you sounds more pleasant than anything else I could think of."

Unohana chuckled lightly, standing up with a graceful motion. "Very well then," she said. "Let's see if you've grown rusty, Dear~."

Arima smirked faintly as he followed her. "I could say the same to you."

---

Unohana made her way to the shed where they kept their wooden practice swords, only to find them withered and frail, forgotten by time.

She sighed softly, running her fingers over the brittle wood.

It had been far too long since they had last used them.

Returning to the garden, she found Arima waiting patiently. "The swords are unusable," she informed him with a serene smile. "But no matter. I'll make them myself."

She knelt down, picking up a single blade of grass, and spoke softly:

"Kiyomeru: Chikyuu no Ai."

("Purify, Love of the Earth")

The air around her shimmered as her lush black hair turned a vivid green, flowing like vibrant vines intertwined with delicate flowers.

The ground beneath her feet blossomed with beautiful fauna, a patch of life flourishing in mere moments.

The blade of grass in her hand began to glow, transforming into a wooden sword wrapped in an ethereal green flame.

Vines grew from the hilt, binding the weapon to her hand like a natural extension of herself.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned her gaze to the tree above Arima.

A branch twisted and bent, reshaping itself into a sword.

The new blade descended gracefully in front of him, seemingly alive with energy.

Arima caught the wooden sword with a steady hand, examining its elegant craftsmanship. He smiled, his voice soft but sincere. "Your Blade is incredibly beautiful as always."

Unohana chuckled lightly, standing tall with her sword in hand, the vines around her fingers tightening slightly. "Flattery will not save you in the sparring field, Dear~."

Arima smirked, gripping the wooden sword firmly. "Good. I wouldn't want it to."

The two warriors stood amidst the garden's blooming beauty, ready to test their skill in a battle as graceful as it was fierce.

---

Unohana and Arima stood facing each other, wooden swords in hand.

The air between them was thick with anticipation, yet their expressions were calm, serene.

Unohana's grip tightened on her vine-bound sword, her gaze unwavering.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly, her voice carrying both a challenge and a fondness.

Arima nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Always."

They moved simultaneously, their wooden blades colliding in a sharp crack that echoed through the garden.

Unohana's strikes were precise, calculated, each swing a reflection of her centuries of expertise.

She shifted her weight smoothly, stepping in with a feint to Arima's right before twisting her wrist to aim for his left.

But Arima was no less skilled.

He parried her strike effortlessly, his movements fluid yet unrelenting.

His footwork was deceptively simple, always placing him just out of reach while maintaining an imposing presence in the battle.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned her momentum against her, forcing her to retreat and reassess.

The exchange became a dance, their swords an extension of their wills.

Unohana struck low, then high, each movement seamless as she sought an opening.

Arima countered with grace, his blade a blur as it intercepted hers.

Their movements created a rhythm, a melody of wood against wood, their breath steady and controlled.

Minutes turned into a quarter of an hour. Unohana's green hair like lush vines, flowed as she moved, her footwork as precise as her strikes.

Yet she could feel it—Arima was planning something she couldn't quite sense.

He stepped in suddenly, a feint that drew her guard high before sweeping his blade low.

Unohana countered, successfully managing to deflect his strike, but the force behind it sent her a step back.

Her footing wavered for just a moment—a moment he capitalized on.

With a calculated shift, Arima turned his blade against hers, locking it in place as he twisted his body.

Using the momentum, he swept her feet from under her in one smooth motion, guiding her to the soft grass of the garden floor.

Unohana blinked, breathless but unshaken, as Arima loomed over her, his wooden blade pressed lightly against her throat.

His eyes glimmered with mischief, a rare softness dancing in their depths.

Before she could speak, he leaned down, his free hand bracing the ground beside her as his lips claimed hers in a sudden, playful kiss.

His smirk returned as he pulled back, his voice teasing but warm. "Not bad, but you can do better. Shall we go again?"

Unohana's cheeks flushed red a beautiful sight with her looking like a earth goddess, a mixture of amusement and challenge flashing in her eyes.

"You'll regret underestimating me~," she murmured, her tone sweet yet dangerous.

Arima chuckled, stepping back and extending a hand to help her up. "Then prove me wrong."

Taking his hand, she rose with renewed determination, her grip on her sword tightening.

The sparring match was far from over, and neither of them would have it any other way.

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Stones and Reviews please