บท 20: A Heir
Yo! The rating must have reset can we have some powerstone boost ...
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The shadows trembled as Arima stepped into the heart of the Quincy refuge, his form cutting through the air like a blade through silk.
The stale air reeked of desperation and fractured pride, but none of it mattered to him.
Zing.
In an instant, Arima unleashed his reiatsu though carefully not to use his hollow essence..
It was as if the heavens themselves had descended.
The sheer weight of his spiritual pressure exploded outward, consuming the corridors like a raging storm.
The first Quincy fell without resistance, gasping as they clutched at their throats, their knees hitting the ground with hollow thuds.
The next wave barely had time to react before they, too, were crushed under the invisible force.
Reiatsu needles materialized around him, glittering with malevolent precision.
With a flick of his wrist, they shot forward, embedding themselves into each Quincy, locking them to the ground like insects pinned to a collector's board.
Their screams of defiance turned to choked silence as the weight of his presence rendered them immobile.
"Stay down," Arima said, his voice cold and commanding. "Your struggle is meaningless."
The remnants glared at him with hatred burning in their eyes, but not a single one dared to move.
Even those who might have considered resistance felt the abyss in his power—a force they knew they could never overcome.
He strode forward, the sound of his boots echoing ominously through the corridors.
Each step was deliberate, his expression unreadable, his crimson eyes fixed on the path ahead.
The walls pulsed faintly with Quincy symbols, their glow faltering under the strain of his reiatsu.
At last, he reached the chamber with massive doors.
With a simple touch, the doors groaned and parted, yielding to his will as if even they feared his wrath.
The chamber was vast, lit by the flickering glow of lanterns.
And there, at its center, lay the broken form of Yhwach.
The Quincy King was a shadow of his former self.
His body, mangled and torn, bore the indelible scars of Yamamoto's Zanka no tachi and his own single slice.
Yet even in his feeble state, his presence lingered, faint but undeniable—a god reduced to a husk, yet still clinging to existence.
Arima stepped closer, his gaze unwavering as he regarded the once-mighty king.
Arima flexed his hand, the air around it shimmering with an eerie light as his flesh morphed into razor-sharp claws , black veins crawling up his arm, his claws gleaming with menace as he muttered a kido.
"O veil of shadows, thread of eternity,
Weave the path to the core of being."
"Through the gates of spirit, where truth resides, Unbind the walls, and let me stride.
Reikon Kaikō!"
(Soul Unveiling)
Without hesitation, he plunged his clawed hand into Yhwach's chest.
The chamber shuddered violently, the remaining mechanisms sputtering and failing as the connection between Yhwach and his revival process was disrupted.
A pulse of energy rippled outward, and the world around Arima began to distort.
The chamber faded, its walls peeling away like layers of mist.
Shadows deepened, swirling into a vortex that pulled him into a different plane.
When the distortion settled, Arima found himself standing in an endless void.
The ground beneath him shifted like liquid shadow, and the air was thick with the essence of Yhwach's soul.
He straightened, his claws retracting as he took in his surroundings. "So, this is your soul space," he murmured, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.
The scene was hauntingly serene.
A still lake stretched out before them, its surface as smooth as glass, reflecting a pale, eerie light.
Surrounding the lake were trees of unnatural beauty, their bark twisted and smooth, their branches heavy with leaves that shimmered like silver.
But it wasn't the trees' elegance that drew the eye—it was the faces embedded in their trunks.
The expressions were frozen in time: some twisted in agony, others serene in an uncanny, unsettling way.
These were not ordinary trees; they were grotesque reminders of Yachiru's art, her mastery over life and death.
Each tree bore the soul of someone who had crossed paths with her blade.
Sitting by the edge of the lake, his legs crossed and his posture deceptively relaxed, was Yhwach.
The Quincy King's form was ethereal, not entirely solid.
He gazed at the water with eyes that betrayed neither anger nor sorrow—only contemplation.
The plane twisted as Arima took his first step towards him.
The oppressive silence gave way to the faint squelching of wet soil beneath his boots. A scent of iron filled the air.
Looking down, Arima realized where he was.
The ground beneath him was the battlefield—the first and perhaps most decisive one where he had descended upon the Quincy.
The blood spilled that day had stained the earth so deeply that even rain could not wash it clean for weeks.
Arima stepped into the clearing, his aura muted but no less imposing.
His crimson eyes took in the lake, the trees, the faces—an unflinching gaze that registered everything and judged nothing.
As he approached, Yhwach spoke, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. "It's been some time, Weißer Sensenmann. I wondered when you would find your way here."
Arima didn't respond immediately.
He stopped a few feet away, his gaze lingering on one of the twisted trees, the face embedded within it bearing an expression of eternal dread.
He sighed softly, almost imperceptibly, and then walked to the edge of the lake. Without ceremony, he sat down beside Yhwach, his movements measured and unhurried.
The two sat in silence for a moment, the stillness of the lake reflected in their quiet presence.
Finally, Arima spoke, his voice low but firm. "Is this where you come to reminisce about your failures, or does it serve some other purpose?"
Yhwach smirked faintly, his eyes still on the water. "It's rare to find someone who speaks to me with such casual disdain. But no, this is not a place for failures. This is a sanctuary, a reminder of the cost of ambition."
Arima glanced at the trees, his gaze lingering on the intricate patterns of their bark and the grotesque faces etched into them.
"Yachiru's work," he murmured. "She's always had a flair for the dramatic."
Yhwach finally turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. "And yet, you're here. Not to admire her handiwork, I presume. So, tell me, Weißer Sensenmann, why have you come? Surely it's not to kill me. I would have felt the intent if it were."
Arima leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on the lake's surface. "You're right. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to ask you something."
Yhwach raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would the great Arima possibly need to ask me?"
Arima turned his head, his piercing crimson gaze locking with Yhwach's. "Do you still believe you can ascend beyond the Soul King's shadow? Or have you finally accepted that you're nothing more than a fragment of his will?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
For a moment, the stillness of the lake seemed to deepen, as if the very world held its breath.
Yhwach's expression darkened, a flicker of something indefinable passing through his eyes.
"I have always believed in my purpose," Yhwach replied slowly, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to resonate with the world around them.
"I am not a fragment. I am the heir. And yet…" His gaze shifted to the lake.
"Even an heir must confront the limits of what he can take."
Arima studied him for a moment, his expression inscrutable and then.
"I will not be part of the next inevitable war," Arima said, his tone as flat as a blade's edge.
There was no hesitation, no wavering in his voice. "Whatever happens to Soul Society, to the worlds, it doesn't matter to me. I've long since stopped tethering myself to such concerns."
Yhwach's crimson eyes narrowed faintly, though his expression remained neutral.
He seemed neither surprised nor offended by the statement.
"You came here, then, for what purpose?" Yhwach asked, his voice rasping but unshaken.
Arima's gaze turned toward the lake, his reflection staring back at him like a phantom. "To ask you one thing," he began, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability.
"What is your end goal?"
Yhwach tilted his head, intrigued.
"You wish to become the next Soul King. To reunite the three realms under a singular existence. That much, I understand," Arima continued.
"But what then? Eternal peace? A never-ending world without death or conflict? A perfect utopia? What is it that you truly seek to achieve?"
The air grew heavy with the question. Even the grotesque faces on the trees seemed to fall silent, as though the realm itself awaited Yhwach's answer.
For a long moment, Yhwach said nothing.
His gaze was fixed on the lake, but his mind was elsewhere, wandering through visions of the future he jad seen before..
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but resonant.
"You already know, White Reaper," Yhwach said. "A world without division. Without suffering. A world that is whole, where the endless cycle of death and rebirth no longer binds us like chains. That is my goal. To end the chaos and bring about unity. Permanence."
Arima's expression did not shift, though a faint, almost imperceptible gleam flickered in his eyes.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Unity," he echoed. "And what would unity look like? No death, no change, no growth. Would it truly be peace, or would it be stagnation? Would it be balance, or would it be tyranny?"
Yhwach's eyes narrowed, but he did not respond immediately.
Arima stood, brushing the dirt from his clothing, his movements deliberate.
"Your answer will determine my next steps," he said.
"Whether I remain indifferent or intervene in the threads of fate that bind this cycle."
He turned to leave, his obsidian presence a shadow against the bloodied hues of the realm.
Yhwach watched him, his expression unreadable, as the lake rippled faintly, disturbed by an unseen force.
"I will wait for some time given you yourself don't understand what comes next.." Arima added without looking back.
"Do not disappoint me, son of the Soul King."
And with that, the White Reaper disappeared into the darkness, leaving Yhwach to his thoughts and his endless ambitions.
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