Thud, thud...
Clack, clack...
Thud, clatter...
Mimicking the sound of a machine through her chanting voice, Senjumaru Shutara gradually faded from view.
Before Seiya, endless cloth descended from the heavens, stretching downward.
Like the tongues of the dying, they exuded an unsettling, suffocating aura, forcing even his breathing to slow.
Seiya frowned deeply—things weren't following the original storyline.
He noticed something was wrong—he couldn't move his body at all.
This isn't right! The Royal Guard didn't have this effect before—why now?!
Is it because now the effect is focused solely on me?
And not only that—this Bankai felt far more targeted and sinister than the original.
Thoughts surged within him as time ticked by.
And soon, the first wave of attack began.
"First thread unraveled—Enma's Wrath."
"Power overwhelming—blood rain greets the moon."
Snap—
A sharp crack echoed in his ears as black cloth wrapped around Seiya entirely, sealing him in.
From all sides, invisible blades of wind slashed at him, seeking to pierce and tear him apart.
Yet Seiya's expression was strangely calm.
...?!
It wasn't the attack itself that surprised him—it was the sensation.
Instantly, he recalled an old memory.
Kiganjō.
The first true enemy he faced when he was "young."
Though the man's blade, Enma Ōtsuchi, would hardly be remarkable now, Seiya still remembered it vividly.
Because it had been his first life-and-death encounter.
But to use this method against him now—
It was pointless.
Even if Kiganjō stood before him, Seiya wouldn't receive a scratch.
Couldn't even cut my skin…
So then what was this—
"Surprised, Seiya?"
Senjumaru's taunting voice coiled around him like a venomous snake.
"I told you earlier, didn't I?"
"My Bankai weaves your fate."
"Your past, present, and future—nothing more than a tangle of thread in my eyes."
Disorderly. Vexing.
"But that's alright."
"Because I adore tidying such things into a shape I find pleasing."
"Let's begin anew, shall we? Piece by piece, just like stitching a brand-new Shihakushō from scratch..."
"My Sātaka Corpse-Stitching Weave will spare no effort."
"I shall rewrite the legend that began with Kiganjō, thread by thread."
The moment her words fell—
A strange sensation rippled through Seiya's body.
Something—was missing.
Before he could grasp it, his body was flung high into the air.
When he hit the ground again, he found himself in a completely unfamiliar place.
Tall, hexagonal golden fabrics towered around him, intricate and flexible.
Reflected within them was Senjumaru's form, omnipresent, gazing down coldly.
"Second thread unraveled—Selfish Ambitions."
"Self-centeredness—despised by all."
Seiya groaned.
He clutched his head and dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
"Guh…"
What now?
Memories of training under Yamamoto at the Genryūsai Dojo surfaced—
But distorted.
He saw Yamamoto and Chojiro gazing at him with disappointment.
He saw himself, broken, fleeing the Genryūsai Dojo back to his comfort zone.
It was happening again—
Some unseen thing inside him was being stripped away.
Seiya gritted his teeth and cried out.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Senjumaru's laugh echoed from all around.
"Hehe... nothing too excessive, I assure you."
"I'm merely rewriting your past."
"Peeling away bits of your essence and abilities, little by little."
The question was simple:
What makes a person strong?
Mindset. Skill. Experience.
"The nourishment drawn from bonds, the fruit of self-discipline—"
"Countless hands pushed you forward, Seiya."
"To betray them so—heh, even cold-hearted as I am, it's pitiable."
Like silk being unraveled thread by thread—
Senjumaru's Bankai was meticulously dismantling everything Seiya Arima had ever been.
His duel with Kiganjō? Gone.
His training with Yamamoto? Gone.
Memories turned to mist.
Even his Zanpakutō's name and the wisdom it held blurred into oblivion.
Seiya realized something was deeply wrong.
This wasn't the way it had gone in the original story.
"You... wait—!"
"A tailor never halts once she begins," she replied icily.
Thus—
The third act.
A gaping hole opened beneath Seiya.
Caught off guard, he plunged into an abyss.
Pitch-black.
Senjumaru's ghostly figure flitted past as her voice floated in the darkness.
"Third thread unraveled—Bodhi's Trial."
"Sitting until bone, neither joy nor sorrow."
This time?
The simulated Bankai training with Kensei Muguruma blurred, fading away.
Another experience—gone.
Dropping again through the darkness, Seiya landed in another unknown realm.
He shivered.
Cold, bleak, and endless.
"Fourth thread unraveled—Dragon Lost at Shore."
"Self-deception—sight clouded."
Images surfaced—
His battle with Sui-Feng.
But now—
His understanding of his Bankai, Eight Aspects of the Heavenly Dragon, faded.
Technique, mastery—forgotten.
The world closed in.
Seiya instinctively hugged himself, shivering.
Cold.
But not the chill of flesh—
The hollowing chill of a soul being excavated.
He touched his chest.
The skin was solid—but deep inside—
Everything was breaking apart.
Piece by piece, the being known as Seiya Arima was fading.
Nothing left but scattered white ash.
Senjumaru was meticulous.
Had she tried to destroy the core first, she would have failed.
But bit by bit, she was winning.
Now the fifth act loomed.
"Fifth thread unraveled—A Fleeting Dream."
"Gut-wrenching grief—lamentable fate."
BOOM!
The cold world was devoured by roaring heat.
Seiya was swallowed in waves of searing fire.
Senjumaru's voice coiled around him.
"Unable to destroy Seireitei—"
"You fled, a self-proclaimed king in exile. How pitiful."
Seiya's mind scrambled—his memories twisted beyond repair.
The self unraveled.
Senjumaru smiled cruelly.
She had finally laid bare the man called Seiya.
"You held out well," she admitted.
"You would've been a fine comrade, had you stayed loyal."
"But traitors to the Soul King have only one ending."
Through the flames, she emerged.
Senjumaru stood before Seiya.
Calm. Dominant.
"Final chapter."
"Sixth thread unraveled—Wildfire Engulfs Heaven."
"Schemes exhausted—the world to ash."
Seiya had no strength left to resist.
Memories were wrenched from his mind, violently reshaped into new, false forms.
He saw Yamamoto's final strikes—
And his own body crumbling to dust.
All the groundwork laid—now bloomed.
No skill. No will. No spirit.
Like a newborn babe.
Seiya collapsed to his knees.
Senjumaru towered over him, her gaze strangely complex.
"Rise," she said softly.
"The final chapter is written. Your fate, rewritten by my hand."
"From now on—you will abandon everything you once were."
"And I shall grant you a new name."
Seiya, dazed, looked up.
Senjumaru extended a mechanical hand toward him.
Something deep inside whispered for him not to touch her.
But—
The battle was long lost.
Senjumaru closed the distance and crouched down, their faces mere inches apart.
"No need to hesitate, Seiya."
She touched his face with a cold, pale hand.
"Men like you... even starting anew, you won't be too late."
"Become my divine weapon."
"Relax—there's still plenty of time ahead."
Seiya's body moved of its own will.
He grasped her hand.
"Good... just like that."
A soft murmur.
In the blink of an eye—the flames were gone.
All was silence.
Seiya, hollow-eyed, followed Senjumaru through the ashes of the ruined world.
Toward—
A faint starlight shimmering above.
The further they walked, the brighter it grew.
Until, at last, a brilliant, blinding point of white engulfed the horizon.
"See it? That is the destiny I have woven for you."
"Seiya Arima—no, the one who has abandoned that name—"
"Remember it well. For it is your future."
Threads countless and intricate, weaving destiny anew.
Thus was born—
The Loom of Six-Colored Death Textiles.
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Powerstones?
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