NOTAKING
patreon
Chapter 118
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 18:47:43 +0000 UTCIchigo, nonchalant as ever, stood tall with his blade resting lazily on his shoulder. His orange hair swayed in the windless void of Hueco Mundo, and his expression remained unreadable , calm, cold, and detached. Aizen lunged at him, bursting forward with terrifying speed, but in a flash of effortless power, Ichigo raised his arm and swung.
The force behind the strike was unreal like a mountain moved by the hand of a god.
CRASH!
Aizen’s body was hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the white sands of Hueco Mundo with a thunderous explosion. The ground split apart from the impact, sending up a cloud of dust and fractured stone. Sand flew in every direction, forming a crater where his body had landed.
Yet the man who called himself a god refused to stay down.
In an instant, Aizen shot back into the sky, fury burning in his eyes, his spiritual pressure now wild and volatile. His white robes were torn, and strands of hair fell loosely over his face, but his pride was far from shattered.
Ichigo didn’t flinch. His gaze followed Aizen’s ascent with detached boredom, as if the outcome had already been decided.
“You dare…” Aizen hissed, his voice breaking with disbelief and rage.
He slashed forward with all his might, and Ichigo met him mid-air. Their swords collided with a deafening clang, a burst of reiatsu tearing through the sky like a thunderclap. Waves of pressure rolled across the battlefield, flattening dunes and sending shockwaves that echoed for miles.
"This is impossible!" Aizen shouted, their blades sparking as they exchanged blow after blow. Each strike from Aizen was filled with desperation, frustration, he was a man who had never known fear, now being forced to taste it.
But Ichigo’s face remained unchanged. Calm. Stoic. Unimpressed.
Their blades clashed again, and again, the storm of their battle growing stronger with every passing second.
Their swords clashed in a burst of sparks, the force of the impact causing ripples through the air. Aizen twisted mid-strike, shifting his wrist to redirect Ichigo’s blade, only for the younger warrior to pivot effortlessly, sliding his foot through the air and bringing Zangetsu down in a sharp arc.
CLANG!
The sound of steel screamed as Aizen blocked just in time, his arms trembling slightly from the sheer weight behind the blow. Ichigo pressed in, each strike more brutal than the last, his movements precise—controlled chaos. He didn’t waste motion. Every slash was calculated, every deflection meant to unbalance.
Aizen gritted his teeth, parrying a horizontal slash before countering with a thrust aimed at Ichigo’s heart. But Ichigo leaned just enough to the side, letting the blade pass by his ribs, then turned his body sharply, smashing the hilt of Tensa Zangetsu into Aizen’s side.
The older man recoiled, but didn’t retreat.
Instead, he spun, slashing diagonally in a blur of white, forcing Ichigo to raise his blade in defense. Sparks exploded again as the two locked blades mid-air, the energy around them crackling violently, tearing apart the clouds overhead.
Ichigo pushed off, twisting into a backflip mid-air, before shooting forward again. His blade came from above fast, sharp, aimed to split Aizen’s shoulder.
Aizen barely ducked, the wind pressure alone slicing his left cheek open.
SLASH!
Blood sprayed into the air, a crimson mist against the white sky. Aizen staggered back, but with a roar of fury, he surged forward, his sword dancing through the air like a silver serpent. He launched a flurry of attacks slashes from all angles, unpredictable and relentless.
Ichigo deflected them one after another, his eyes locked, his body flowing like water between each motion. His parries weren’t just defense they were insults. He wasn’t being pushed back. He was reading Aizen like a book.
Suddenly, Ichigo vanished.
BOOM
Aizen’s eyes widened instinct screamed too late. Ichigo appeared behind him, already mid-swing.
CRASH!
The blow landed across Aizen’s back, launching him into the sand again. He rolled through it violently, carving a deep trench before springing to his feet, panting, eyes wild.
“This power…” Aizen muttered, rage and confusion boiling together. “You shouldn’t be able to keep up with me!”
Ichigo didn’t answer.
He simply stepped forward one step. That was enough.
Aizen lunged again, blade glowing with unstable reiatsu. They met once more, steel on steel, clashing with the force of a collapsing mountain. Each blow cracked the ground beneath them. The battlefield was a storm of sand, pressure, and firelight sparks.
Their blades locked again, faces inches apart. Sweat dripped down Aizen’s temple.
Ichigo spoke, voice calm but cold:
"You talk too much."
With a twist of his wrist, he broke the lock and launched Aizen upward with a rising slash. Aizen twisted in the air, catching himself, only for Ichigo to already be above him, descending like a blade from heaven.
Zangetsu came down with a roar of wind.
Aizen screamed, raising his blade and their swords met once more in a collision that shattered the very sky.
The collision above the battlefield ripped through the heavens. Steel screamed as Ichigo forced Aizen downward mid-air, their blades grinding against each other, sparks flying in every direction like miniature stars caught in a violent dance.
Then Ichigo twisted—just enough to break the deadlock—and with a step backward mid-air, his form blurred.
Shunpo.
He vanished.
Aizen’s eyes barely had time to track the movement when Ichigo reappeared behind him—silent, swift, and already mid-swing.
THWACK!
Zangetsu’s flat edge slammed into Aizen’s ribs like a falling steel beam. The impact echoed across Hueco Mundo, sending a shockwave through the air as Aizen was flung sideways in a spiral. His body bounced across the dunes like a skipping stone, digging deep furrows into the white sands with each crash.
Ichigo reappeared atop a pillar of stone, the wind brushing past his cloak, his body completely still except for the gentle raise of Zangetsu over his shoulder. His eyes followed Aizen’s descent without emotion, like a reaper watching a soul fall.
Aizen coughed once—blood staining his lips. He stood slowly, brushing sand off his arms with a shaky hand, though his eyes remained locked on Ichigo with simmering hate.
“You’re starting to annoy me,” he hissed, his voice echoing across the wasteland.
Ichigo didn’t reply. Instead, his spiritual pressure spiked—quietly at first, like a whisper building into a scream.
Zangetsu’s edge began to glow, a deep obsidian light trailing along its length. Wind coiled around Ichigo’s form, pulling the air tight with tension. A distant rumble stirred in the clouds above, and the ground trembled as his power condensed into a singular, crushing point.
Aizen’s eyes narrowed, instantly recognizing the signature.
“Getsuga...” Travis whispered.
The energy shimmered along his blade like liquid shadow, crackling with unstable force. It wasn't loud—it was precise, as if the world itself paused to witness the release.
“Tenshō.”
With a single swing, the world tore open.
The black crescent exploded from Zangetsu, a wave of compressed spiritual energy howling through the sky like a scythe forged from night itself. It traveled faster than Aizen could move—unstoppable, massive, perfect.
BOOOOM!
It struck.
Aizen raised his blade at the last second, summoning a barrier of raw reiatsu to deflect the attack. But the Getsuga didn’t stop. It devoured the shield, burning through it like fire through paper, and slammed into Aizen’s chest.
There was no time to scream.
The explosion swallowed him whole—light and darkness clashing in a maelstrom that cracked the landscape. Pillars of sand erupted skyward. The ground he stood on disintegrated beneath the weight of the blast. When the dust settled, Aixen stood at the center of a smoldering crater, shoulders heaving.
Smoke rose from his body. His robes were torn open at the chest, revealing scorched flesh and a deep, diagonal gash running from his left collarbone down to his ribs. The wound pulsed, sickly and raw—exposing cracked skin glowing faintly beneath.
A scar.
For the first time, a scar marred Aizen’s otherwise immaculate form.
He stared down at it, lips parting in disbelief.
Then, like molten wax. The skin began to knit together. Slowly. Painfully. His regeneration was not instantaneous. Not this time.
His jaw clenched, blood still dripping from the wound. His eyes lifted to Ichigo, who stood exactly where he had been, blade lowered, unmoved.
“You… wounded me,” Aizen said, his voice low. Not surprised. Not furious. Just cold.
Ichigo’s gaze didn’t change. “That was the point.”
The wind howled between them again, carrying sand and tension through the battlefield like an omen.
Aizen's hand clenched tighter around his hilt. And the battle was far from over.
TO BE CONTINUED
