Zanpakutō — Ichimonji.
Normally appearing as a giant calligraphy brush, it could wield spells akin to Kidō simply by painting characters — such as writing "conceal" to hide the Soul King Palace or "seal" to erect an impassable barrier. As Hyōsube Ichibē's ultimate weapon, its authority was so overwhelming that it touched the domain of the Soul King himself.
And now, with a wave of Hyōsube's blade, the air before him became saturated in thick, black ink.
Instantly soaked, corroded — a broad stroke of deep ink appeared!
"What is that...?"
Even Aizen Sōsuke couldn't hide his unease.
He could feel it — spiritual pressure, once vivid and alive, was retreating like a vanishing tide.
Disappearing without a trace.
What is happening?
Everyone knew — spiritual pressure was the very essence of existence for a Soul Reaper... no, for any powerful being.
Hyōsube Ichibē, Captain of the Royal Guard, was without a doubt stronger than any of the previous Four Divine Generals.
But this sensation of vanishing reiatsu set off every alarm within Aizen's mind.
When something was this abnormal, it was because it was dangerously wrong.
Even Seiya, who had prepared mentally for such an encounter, found his brows knitting in concern.
Things were about to get difficult...
"Hahaha! Confused, are you, intruders?"
Laughing meaninglessly, Hyōsube's pupils faded into pure white.
Only the whites of his eyes remained — an inhuman and unsettling sight.
"Upon releasing my Zanpakutō, the brush transforms into a blade."
"It erases all traces of spiritual pressure, making it impossible to discern whether it's a sword or still a brush..."
"You're wondering, right? Can something like that really hurt anyone?"
Revealing his secrets openly —
From a tactical standpoint, sheer folly.
But in truth, it spoke of overwhelming confidence.
As if victory was already assured, and he was merely toying with his prey.
Even Aizen, master of deception, paused for a breath.
—Be cautious.
He wanted to warn Seiya.
But before either could act, Hyōsube blurred forward—
"Still hesitating? You came here to fight, didn't you?!"
So fast!
Faster than expected — he had been holding back earlier!
Without giving any chance to react, Hyōsube swung Ichimonji downward.
The tip, saturated in black ink, slashed through everything—
A dark trail stained the very air,
splattering over half of Aizen's body.
"—!!!"
What was this?
Strength.
Spiritual pressure.
Thought.
Even perception—
Half of it — simply vanished.
It was as if one side of Aizen's being had been cleanly carved away.
The imbalance was so violent, so alien, that even Aizen found himself paralyzed—
Only able to gasp wordlessly as Hyōsube stepped in and—
SLAM!
With a single brutal kick to the chest, Aizen was sent flying like a broken doll.
Crashing downward—
Spiraling from the skies into the lower palace.
Crack!
He smashed into the grand hall below, leaving a crater in his wake.
From above, Hyōsube laughed raucously, shielding his eyes from the impact dust.
"Oh-ho! Flew quite far, didn't he? Looks like this old man's legs are still pretty strong!"
"Hahaha! Lost your name, didn't you? Forgotten your Kidō? Your reiatsu?"
"It's like cramming an ant's soul into an elephant's body! That unbearable mismatch — how could anyone still resist?!"
And now.
"You're the only one left, Seiya Arima."
Facing the man's blade, Seiya's face hardened.
This was Hyōsube's power.
And his greatest threat.
Ichimonji didn't cut flesh.
It cut names.
And with a name went the essence, the power, the being.
Aizen —
Slashed, not physically injured, but ruined.
Half of himself gone.
An arm lost on a battlefield could be rationalized.
But to have half your self erased?
Unthinkable.
Only a monster like Yhwach — who thrived by stealing what was not his — could endure such loss.
For anyone else—
It was death.
Seiya gritted his teeth.
Hyōsube was truly a terrifying opponent.
And even worse—
"Hahaha! What's the matter, Seiya Arima?"
Hyōsube blurred into Seiya's blind spot—
No time to block.
Forced to defend with his blade—
CLANG!
A shockwave burst from the collision.
Though Ichimonji appeared as nothing but a brush, it struck like a hammer of steel.
"Heh!"
Hyōsube pressed the assault, relentless and ferocious.
Seiya could only retreat, parrying blow after blow.
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!
Black ink splattered the air with every impact, speckling Seiya's blade—
Slowly but surely staining it black.
Damn it...
"Haha! Can't hear it anymore, can you, Seiya Arima?!"
Another heavy blow forced them apart.
Seiya shook his aching wrist, grimacing at his now spotted, black-stained Zanpakutō.
"Can you still hear your sword?!"
"Can you still call its name?!"
He couldn't.
He could feel it.
The bond between him and his Zanpakutō—
thick, blurred, distant.
He could see it still—
but he couldn't feel it anymore.
"Impressive sword or not—"
"Clash with Ichimonji, and you lose your name."
"Without a name, your blade is nothing but a stick."
"Without a name, what strength can you summon?!"
Each splash of ink severed another thread.
Seiya tried to resist—
But he couldn't summon his Zanpakutō's true power anymore.
Name gone.
Connection fading.
Strength slipping through his fingers.
And Hyōsube pressed the advantage.
"What's wrong, Seiya Arima?! Done already?!"
Shifting, darting—
A massive figure moved with frightening speed, slashing at his blind spots.
Seiya tried to dodge—
But Hyōsube was already beside him.
"I'll carve you into pieces."
SLASH!
A black streak.
Seiya's left arm — soaked in ink.
And with it, his left side went numb, fell limp.
"..."
Nothing.
He could see it—
But it might as well not exist.
"How does it feel, Seiya Arima?"
"Losing your left arm's sense?"
"No longer yours. No blood, no sensation—only rotting flesh left to decay."
"Soon... it will disappear completely."
"Sorry if this is a bit much—"
"But you'll be chopped to pieces soon enough anyway!"
Seiya clenched his teeth, offering no reply.
Ichimonji's power had exceeded every prediction.
A true authority of death.
Even worse—
Aizen had been knocked out of the fight.
Now it was just him.
One-armed, powerless, without his Zanpakutō's true strength.
Cornered.
"Surrender, Seiya Arima."
"My Ichimonji will grant you peace."
Bottom of the barrel.
This—
Was despair.
Was there even a way out?
As Seiya struggled to answer that question—
Hyōsube's brush swung again.
Ink soared toward his face.
This time—
To erase Seiya's very name.
But in that instant—
Something within Seiya ignited.
A flicker of memory.
A hidden trump card.
His lips moved—
A whisper escaping.
Simulated Release.
"Ikka..."
With that word—
The world warped.
Futures unfolded before his eyes.
A thousand paths.
A thousand possible tomorrows.
Seiya had studied.
Prepared.
When he lost access to his original Zanpakutō—
He had crafted a backup.
A second name.
A new identity for his soul.
And with a shatter—
The invisible barrier broke.
A new spirit roared into existence.
Not Sāgara Ryū—
No.
Something new.
High and proud, a woman floated beside him.
Tall.
Magnificent.
Her form declared defiance to the heavens themselves.
Seiya smiled grimly.
"No matter what—"
"A sword will always answer its wielder's call."
No matter how much was lost.
No matter how much was stolen.
They would always find each other again.
Thus—
Once more, let it be sung.
My Name.
"Sāgara Ryū!"
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Powerstones?
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