Bleach: Kishou Arima

Aizen, his usual calm strained under Arima's oppressive presence, finally parted his lips to answer the simple question.

"Frustration."

The word hung in the air, simple yet heavy, as if it carried all the weight of the man's ambitions and grievances.

Gin's eyes widened ever so slightly, Tōsen's stoic face flickered with surprise, but Arima remained unmoved.

His expression did not shift, nor did he give any verbal acknowledgment.

Yet, in his mind, he laughed softly—a quiet, fleeting amusement at the answer.

So that's it…

It wasn't the kind of grand revelation others might expect, nor did it strike him as particularly profound.

But it was honest enough that Arima understood.

He turned away without a word, his form fading into the night as though he had never been there.

From above, high in the dark sky, he observed them one last time—Aizen standing tense yet resolute, his two subordinates still kneeling in his wake.

Arima's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, thoughts forming as he floated silently in the void.

I'll watch him for now.

Aizen's research and the direction of his experiments intrigued him—not for the ambitions behind them but for their potential outcomes.

In a way, Aizen had stumbled upon something… hopeful.

Dangerous, but hopeful.

And hope, Arima mused, was something that would be needed.

Troubling times lay ahead of us…

---

At the break of dawn, the skies over Seireitei were bathed in a soft orange hue, yet the air was anything but calm.

A quiet storm had erupted within the noble ranks as the fallout from Aizen's machinations began to ripple across Soul Society.

An order for Kisuke Urahara's execution had been issued—framed as the mastermind behind the Hollowfication experiments that left several Shinigami tainted and incapacitated.

The Central 46 courts were in an uproar during the hearing when a sudden, audacious assault occurred.

An assailant had infiltrated the heart of Seireitei and successfully rescued both Urahara and the afflicted Shinigami.

It didn't take long for the infiltrator to be identified: Yoruichi Shihōin.

The Shihōin clan, despite its proud history, was thrown into disarray.

With no effective leader to shield them, and Yoruichi's rebellion now public knowledge, the other three great noble clans wasted no time exploiting the chaos.

Like vultures, they pounced on the opportunity to strengthen their influence by demanding retribution.

And retribution had a name: Arima.

In a private meeting, the clans had come to a consensus—the White Reaper would be sent to eliminate Yoruichi Shihōin, Kisuke Urahara, and their rogue faction.

No one else was trusted to execute such a delicate mission without failure.

---

Arima stood in his private quarters his expression impassive.

His white hair fell loosely around his face as he strapped Narukami onto his back and took IXA, the black lance, in hand.

A small sigh escaped his lips, barely audible in the silent room.

"Yare yare…" he muttered to himself, a faint trace of exasperation bleeding through.

Nobles truly never miss a chance to strike when one is down.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped forward.

Despite his detached demeanor, he knew this was not simply a matter of chasing down rogue individuals.

It was a sign of weakness among the Shihōin, an exploitation of fractured trust, and—above all—a means for the clans to horde their precarious power more and more.

Politics always finds a way to corrupt even the clearest waters…

The Shihōin clan's resistance would not hold against him.

Their prestige had crumbled by a lot, and Yoruichi, for all her skill, had practically forsaken her position.

That left the entire clan vulnerable to the vultures circling above.

Arima emerged into the light of dawn, his weapons gleaming ominously.

There was no room for hesitation, no room for sentiment.

If the other clans wanted him to carry out their judgment, he would comply.

For now.

But as he stepped out of his estate and into the shifting winds of Soul Society, one thought lingered quietly in his mind:

Yoruichi Shihōin... what kind of future do you see worth risking everything for?

And so, the White Reaper set out, leaving behind only the quiet rustle of the lilies in his garden.

---

The soft hum of the living world was disrupted when the air itself seemed to tremble.

Meanwhile

Yoruichi, Urahara, and Tessai sat in their makeshift base—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Hours had passed since Urahara began tirelessly working to stabilize the Hollowfied Shinigami.

Tessai, too, had lent his expertise, reinforcing barriers to isolate the unstable reiatsu emanating from their afflicted allies.

Yoruichi, sitting cross-legged on a crate, let out a sigh. "Kisuke, how long?"

"Almost there," Urahara replied, voice strained as he fine-tuned his instruments.

Sweat dotted his brow, but his focus remained unbroken. "They're stable enough. We just—"

Before he could finish, an ominous rip resonated through the air.

The familiar hum of a Garganta opening sent chills through the room.

Tessai stiffened. "Someone's coming."

The space above the building tore open as if the world itself were being split apart.

Out stepped Arima, his presence an overwhelming force that weighed down the surroundings like an invisible storm.

The ground beneath his feet hissed and warped, melting under the sheer pressure of his reiatsu.

The air crackled, the environment unable to withstand his existence.

Arima immediately regulated his spiritual energy with a slight exhale.

He had no intention of destroying the living world by accident.

"The world is far too fragile," he muttered softly to himself, white eyes narrowing as he locked onto the faint spiritual signatures below.

Then, in a burst of motion—a seamless hybrid of Sonido and Shunpo—Arima disappeared.

The force of his movement cracked the earth, sending shockwaves rippling outward.

In the next instant, he reappeared high above the building where the trio hid.

His cold gaze swept over the area.

Narukami's blade began to hum ominously as its form shifted.

The blade glowed brighter, arcs of lightning dancing across its surface like living serpents.

A circular disc of raw thunder formed, crackling violently with concentrated power.

The sword itself unfurled like a blooming flower—a cannon of destruction now aimed downward.

There was no sound, no warning.

Only light.

Boom.

A blinding torrent of thunder erupted from Narukami, descending like judgment from the heavens.

The sheer force obliterated the air, the ground shaking violently as the warehouse was swallowed in a storm of lightning.

Yoruichi's instincts kicked in at the last possible moment.

She grabbed Urahara by the collar and vanished with Shunpo, narrowly escaping the blast as the building crumbled in on itself.

Tessai, caught off-guard, could only react in time to summon a half-formed Kido barrier. "Bakudō 81: Dankū!"

The shield held for a heartbeat before shattering, unable to fully withstand the concentrated assault.

The residual force of the attack smashed into Tessai, sending him sprawling back, his body scorched and covered in burns.

Smoke rose from his form as he groaned, barely conscious.

The aftermath was chaos.

The ground where the warehouse once stood was scorched black, the earth turned to molten slag at the epicenter.

Arima hovered above the devastation, his expression as cold and unfeeling as ever.

Narukami's blade dimmed, folding back into its usual state.

Far in the distance, Yoruichi landed atop a rooftop with Urahara slumped over her shoulder.

Her sharp golden eyes darted back toward the smoking ruin, a rare grimace on her face.

"Kisuke, we're in trouble," she muttered.

Urahara, coughing weakly, lifted his head just enough to peer back at the figure in the distance.

His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat.

"That's... no ordinary pursuit," he murmured. "That's him."

Arima stood still above the destruction, his gaze sweeping the area with silent precision.

He had not come to destroy indiscriminately.

The world blurred into streaks of motion as Arima drew IXA, his speed beyond comprehension.

The blade hummed with cold intent as he shot forward like a bolt of light, cutting through space and reappearing in an instant before Yoruichi and Urahara.

Even Yoruichi, the one famed as the Flash Goddess, was caught off guard.

Her instincts flared, but it was far too late.

The shimmering blade of IXA halted mere millimeters from her face, the tip trembling slightly in the tension of the moment.

Yoruichi froze, her sharp eyes locked onto the weapon that so effortlessly bypassed her defenses.

For the first time, silence reigned.

Arima's voice broke through, calm and cold yet strangely reflective.

"Miss Yoruichi."

She didn't dare move.

Urahara, still half-slung over her shoulder, could only glance toward Arima, sweat pooling down his brow as he processed what had just happened.

Arima continued, his tone measured yet imbued with an undercurrent of meaning. "Your father was a great man. Even if he wasn't particularly strong, he helped me greatly in my life."

The blade remained perfectly still, unmoving.

Arima's eyes softened—not in warmth, but in recollection—as he finished speaking.

He was the one who introduced Unohana to me after all.

It was a fleeting thought, buried beneath his otherwise steely composure.

The faintest flicker of memory—of quiet days spent in gardens, of conversations by moonlight—passed through his mind before it was extinguished.

"It would be a shame," Arima said finally, his gaze boring into Yoruichi, "to kill his offspring here."

The weight of his words settled on the air.

Then, in a voice of unwavering finality, he offered her a choice.

"Surrender and return to your position as clan head I shall willingly vouch for you."

Yoruichi's mind raced.

Despite the calmness of Arima's demeanor, his intent was as clear as daylight.

This wasn't a negotiation—it was a directive.

The pressure radiating from him was suffocating, an unspoken warning of the consequences should she refuse.

Urahara, still hanging onto consciousness, muttered faintly, "Yoruichi... you—"

But he didn't finish.

Yoruichi tightened her grip on him, golden eyes narrowing as her sharp wit worked behind her stoic facade.

Arima, for his part, stood still, IXA hovering unmoving in front of her face.

The blade itself seemed alive with restrained power, a constant reminder of just how close she was to death.

And yet, for all the weight of the moment, Yoruichi could see something else—something unreadable in Arima's expression.

A thread of conflict.

She swallowed lightly, but her defiance didn't waver. "…And if I don't surrender?" she asked, though her tone held no bravado.

It was a simple question, one that demanded the obvious.

Arima's response was immediate.

"Then I will fulfill my orders."

The words carried no malice, only inevitability.

For a moment, the world seemed to hang on a knife's edge, the wind carrying faint traces of ash and crackling remnants of Arima's earlier attack.

Yoruichi exhaled slowly, a small, bitter smirk playing at her lips despite the weight of the situation.

"Well," she muttered, "you're as straightforward as I've heard."

Her mind, however, was already spinning.

A chance… I just need a chance.

Arima waited, unmoving, his expression as unreadable as stone.

His grip on IXA remained steady, its tip poised, ready to finish what had been ordered.

The game was not yet over.

Tessai, still struggling to stand upright, gritted his teeth as he raised a trembling hand.

His injuries burned fiercely, but desperation pushed him forward.

He had only one chance—one kido that could create even a sliver of opportunity.

"Kurohitsugi..." His voice rang out with conviction despite the pain. The air vibrated violently, oppressive and heavy as the world around them darkened.

"Hado 90 : Kurohitsugi!"

The full incantation rolled off Tessai's tongue in a low voice with precise cadence, and in an instant, a massive black cube materialized around Arima, blotting out the light.

The overwhelming force of the Kido tore at the space itself, its inky walls brimming with malice and countless piercing blades.

Inside the void of the Kurohitsugi, Arima stood motionless, observing his surroundings as the darkness pressed inward.

The sharp, oppressive energy pricked at his skin like needles, a sensation both foreign and mildly annoying.

"Hmph." Arima's crimson eyes flickered slightly as he assessed the situation, his tone faintly disinterested. "Is this all?"

He extended his hand, fingers curling as the faint hum of power began to resonate from within him. "IXA…"

With a simple call, his blade vibrating in his grip, the black weapon glowing brilliantly.

In the next moment, a pulse of raw reiatsu exploded outward.

Arima channeled his overwhelming spiritual energy into IXA, and with a single swing, the air trembled.

BOOM

The Kurohitsugi shattered instantly, cracks spidering across the cube before it collapsed in on itself.

Dark shards scattered like glass into the wind, disintegrating under the sheer force of Arima's power.

The surrounding ground buckled and cracked, dust and debris thrown into the air.

Arima emerged, stepping forward with deliberate calm, his figure untouched. IXA gleamed faintly in his hand, its blade still shimmering from the residual energy.

He glanced toward Tessai, who was now slumped over, his injuries worsening from the effort and Yoruichi and Urahara who had backed away.

Arima said nothing, but his gaze lingered on the man, faintly acknowledging the effort before dismissing him entirely.

Turning back to Yoruichi and Urahara, he tilted his head slightly.

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Stones and Reviews please