Bleach: Kishou Arima

Dang i was able to complete it...

Sweat glistened on Unohana's brows as their wooden swords clashed one last time, the sound reverberating through the surroundings.

Unohana's movements were still sharp, her strikes precise, but she could feel herself faltering.

Arima's relentless pressure was like a tide, ebbing and flowing with such fluidity that she could hardly find an opening.

Each parry, each counter, seemed to draw her further into his trap.

Finally, with a graceful flourish, Arima maneuvered her into a corner of the garden, his blade poised to deliver the finishing touch.

He had her—her back against a tree, her stance just slightly off balance.

But Unohana had a brilliant idea , smiled slyly. "Didn't I tell you," she said, lowering her sword slightly, "that underestimating me could be... dangerous?"

Before he could respond, she reached out with her free hand and cupped his face in a tender, loving gesture.

Her thumb brushed softly against his cheek, and her gaze locked onto his with an intensity that was both disarming and entrancing.

Arima hesitated. Just for a moment.

It was all she needed.

With a swift movement, she stepped into his space, using his momentary distraction to push him off balance.

Arima's footing gave way, and he found himself falling backward onto the soft grass, his sword slipping from his grasp.

Before he could react, Unohana straddled him, her hands resting on his chest as she leaned in close. Her long green hair framed her face as she smirked down at him, her voice sultry as she murmured, "I told you not to underestimate me~."

Arima stared up at her, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

He sighed, letting his head rest against the ground. "Fine," he said with a soft chuckle, "you win. This time."

Her smirk softened into a smile as she leaned down, capturing his lips in a lingering kiss that spoke of both triumph and affection.

When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with mischief. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Arima shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not at all. But don't think I'll fall for that trick again."

Unohana chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "We'll see."

---

In the otherworldly silence of the Soul King Palace, a massive one-eyed beast resting beneath the seal began to stir. Its hulking form shifted, and a low, guttural rumble echoed through the chamber.

The creature's lone eye, a deep crimson, snapped open, blazing with a fierce light.

Pulsing veins of bright blue suddenly streaked across the sclera, illuminating its grotesque and magnificent visage.

The air itself seemed to ripple as the beast raised a colossal claw, its jagged fingers glowing with raw, unrestrained energy.

With a casual motion, it raked the fabric of space apart, tearing open a portal.

From the rift, Arima stepped out, his figure calm.

The beast lowered its head slightly, its eye fixed on him with a mixture of reverence and longing.

As Arima approached, his hand reached out, and he patted the creature's massive head with a rare gentleness. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying an edge of warmth.

The beast closed its lone eye, the blazing light dimming momentarily as it leaned into his touch.

A deep rumble, almost like a purr, resonated from its chest.

Then, with deliberate movement, the creature's chest split open, revealing a gleaming blade embedded within its flesh.

With a monstrous yet strangely human laugh, the beast spoke in a distorted, feminine voice. "I've been lonely, master..."

Arima's expression softened as he grasped the hilt of the sword, pulling it free in one smooth motion.

The blade pulsed with a life of its own, its surface alive with arcs of black and blue energy.

He nodded, holding the weapon as if reacquainting himself with an old companion.

The beast laughed again, its voice echoing in the vast chamber. "So long... so long without you. But now, we are together once more."

Arima placed his free hand on the beast's head once more, his gaze steady. "Today may not be the dag but know that we will fight together again. Soon."

The beast's eye gleamed with an almost childlike joy as it let out a satisfied growl even if today may not be that day, its colossal form settling back into rest, though the faint glow of its blue veins remained.

As Arima turned to proceed with the meeting with ichibei , sword in hand, the creature's voice rumbled softly behind him, "Do not forget me ..., master. I am yours, always."

Without turning back, Arima responded, his voice firm yet quiet, "I won't."

---

Arima stood outside the Soul King's chamber, his Zanpakuto in his hand.

Its appearance was neither beautiful nor grotesque, but something wholly alien—a blade of pristine, glasslike material encasing an inner core that pulsed with faint light and looked like living flesh.

The core looked cracked, and from those fissures, a subtle, ember-like glow escaped, as if something molten dwelled within.

It was a weapon eliciting no disgust, no admiration—only a cold, indifferent awe.

As he walked, the blade swung lightly in his grip, a casual motion that belied its weight and potency.

The air rippled faintly with each swing, a soundless resonance that seemed to stretch beyond the physical.

He was touching this blade in almost 400 years..

On his way up to the Soul King's chamber, he took a moment to reacquaint himself with its balance, its essence.

The act was subtle, almost thoughtless, but as he passed Ichibei, the monk's smile flickered ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second.

Ichibei spoke first when Arima entered. "Right on time," Ichibei said, his tone less pompous.

His gaze darted momentarily to the sword before returning to Arima. "That blade… I see you've reacquainted yourself with its power."

Arima didn't respond immediately, his eyes scanning the chamber.

His gaze rested on Ichibei. "I'm not here to discuss the sword," he said, his tone cutting the diversion short.

"I'll take the Soul King's spine. You handle the knobs anchoring him to the three worlds."

Ichibei's smile returned, though the lines of his face seemed tighter, his composure just slightly off. "You make it sound so simple," he replied with a faint laugh. "Do you have any idea—"

"I know," Arima interrupted, his gaze locking onto the monk's.

"I'll bear the burden of stabilizing the three realms in this process. A few hours is No big deal." His tone carried an unspoken finality that left no room for argument.

Ichibei exhaled, his expression settling into one of reluctant acceptance. "You always did like carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Turning to face the massive seal, he raised his hand. "Very well, then. Let's see if your resolve matches your blade."

Arima said nothing, tightening his grip on the sword.

The faint pulse from its molten core seemed to sync with his own heartbeat, as small tendrils of obsidian began forming on his back giving him slight pain.

The more he held the Zanpakutō the more his form would return to his true form which held out all his hollow lole nature in a more defined way.

For a brief moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant, almost imperceptible hum of power radiating from the weapon.

As he stepped forward, the three worlds seemed to tremble in anticipation as ichibei began setting up the ritual for the process.

But Arima's expression remained unreadable, his resolve unwavering.

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Stones and Reviews please