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[Crossover] Ch 39: Ryūjin Jakka's Bankai
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 15:19:58 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"...What is that?"
Ukitake's eyes widened in pure disbelief, his body trembling uncontrollably as he stared into the distance.
Reflected in his eyes was the figure of a man covered in a luxurious black kimono, silver hair cascading down his shoulders, a pair of black horns protruding from his head—his face breathtakingly handsome.
That man... was Ryo Yagami, right after releasing his Shikai.
"A Shinigami's Shikai making the Zanpakutō vanish? No… that doesn't make sense. Could he be an Arrancar or an evolved Hollow? But there's none of that chaotic Hollow energy... Maybe a Quincy? But how could a Quincy have a Zanpakutō...?"
Ukitake's thoughts were a complete mess. It was like he was witnessing something beyond comprehension—something that didn't belong in this world. His entire understanding of reality began to crack.
Kyōraku Shunsui was staring at Ryo too, his eyes wide and his expression just as shaken.
"This Reiatsu... It's not Shinigami, it's not Hollow, and it's definitely not Quincy. It's something beyond all three...."
"…You don't mean—"
Ukitake bit his tongue before he could say the word Soul King, but deep inside, he couldn't stop that voice in his heart from whispering the truth:
That form… that's the ultimate form the Soul King was supposed to take!
And Ukitake believed it. He believed it because it didn't come from his head—it came from something deeper. From that arm of the Soul King sealed inside him.
The Soul King's will… was jealous.
It envied that man.
Ukitake was horrified. Utterly terrified.
But he didn't dare say any of this out loud—because if it were true, it would shake the very foundations of the Gotei 13.
The one who killed two Captains… might be the perfect Soul King himself?
That was too absurd to even joke about.
And yet, no one felt it more deeply than Yamamoto Genryūsai, standing directly before Ryo.
The old man's eyes were wide, his ancient face twisted in awe and disbelief.
"That form… it's different, and yet… somehow familiar. Even more complete than that one. But… how could that be possible!?"
For the first time in centuries, Yamamoto's resolve wavered.
...
Meanwhile, Ryo simply lifted his hand, getting used to the surge of power flooding his body.
It was his first Shikai, and his body wasn't fully adapted to the transformation yet—but with the Hōgyoku embedded within him, he was confident he'd master it within ten seconds.
At that moment, only Ryo could see a different world—a world in black and white. A white Night.
And standing beside him in that space, draped in a purple kimono patterned with falling cherry blossoms, was a breathtaking woman. Silver hair danced behind her, two horns crowned her head—she was elegance and danger wrapped into one.
Looking closely… her face bore a striking resemblance—about sixty percent—to the Celestial Star Spirit, Shiroyasha.
The woman looked at him, her voice clear and melodic with just a hint of irritation.
"You didn't call me by my full name. Why won't you fully awaken my Demon form?"
Ryo tilted his head toward her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Impatient, aren't you? You want me to go straight to Bankai, huh… Byakuya?"
This woman was Byakuya, the spirit of Ryo's Zanpakutō—born from a fragment of the divine power left behind by Shiroyasha, fused with his own soul.
She was also the embodiment of a desire buried deep within Ryo's heart.
"Childish."
Byakuya replied with a cool glance before fading away, but not before leaving one final, annoyed whisper in his ear.
. . .
Back in the real world, Ryo rolled his neck, somewhere between amused and disappointed.
"So this is the power of a Demon Lord who rules over all creation... gained through Shikai, huh?"
Transforming himself into a being who could shake the heavens and control all existence—this was the ability granted to him upon releasing Byakuya.
And yet… despite its overwhelming strength, it still felt lacking to Ryo.
Because deep in his heart, he longed to be like the peak form of Shiroyasha—the one who governed the total mass of the universe and reigned over all mythologies as the ultimate Celestial Star Spirit.
But that was just a fantasy.
A desire that could never be fulfilled.
With the Hōgyoku and Byakuya's power, he had pushed himself from a near-godly human into a Demon Lord whose strength could rewrite the world.
But even that had its limits.
"Guess I got a little greedy," Ryo muttered with a sigh.
Then he turned his gaze to Yamamoto Genryūsai.
"Ready when you are, Yamamoto."
Yamamoto didn't speak. He just tightened his grip on Ryūjin Jakka.
Concentrated Reiatsu surged through the blade as he struck forward with terrifying speed.
It was his fastest move—quick, brutal, decisive.
He didn't hesitate to use it against Ryo. Whether it worked or not, it was both a probe… and a potential killing blow.
Clang!
Two fingers reached out mid-air—and caught the blade.
"…Foolish!"
Yamamoto roared—not just a battle cry, but a technique designed to shake the enemy's spirit.
At that moment, compressed Reiatsu exploded from Ryūjin Jakka in the form of searing red flames—an inferno that pierced the sky and evaporated the clouds above.
"Did it work…?" Shunsui muttered from the sidelines, eyes narrowed.
Ukitake's breathing was labored, his illness worsening as the Soul King's will stirred within him—but he didn't look away.
Moments later, his eyes shot open.
"Sensei—RUN!"
"What!?" Yamamoto's eyes darted around in confusion.
And then—RIP—
His left arm was gone.
Floating a dozen meters behind him, Ryo slowly turned his head, his voice flat.
"Your flames… were underwhelming."
Yamamoto didn't respond. Sweat poured down his face as he clutched the bleeding stump.
"My Ryūjin Jakka… couldn't even scratch his defense?"
Ryo raised his hand again.
The red flames swirling around Yamamoto suddenly surged toward him—like birds returning to a phoenix—before flowing directly into Ryo's palm.
And then came his cold verdict:
"A servant… dares raise his blade against a king?"
Ryūjin Jakka's power wasn't stolen—it was overwritten, subjugated.
Yamamoto realized the terrifying truth in that instant.
"Your Shikai... you can control fire!?" he shouted, shaken.
"…Shallow."
Ryo chuckled darkly and vanished—only to reappear behind him.
The move was Sonido, a secret technique only the highest-class Hollows could perform.
"Even space… bends to my will."
As he spoke, his hand came down in a chop like a divine blade.
But—He hit nothing.
Looking down, Ryo saw nothing but a discarded captain's haori. He turned, narrowing his eyes at Yamamoto in the distance.
"Utsusemi," Yamamoto muttered. "Didn't think this old man was that easy, did you?"
His severed arm pulsed and twitched, sealing the wound. He clenched Ryūjin Jakka tighter than ever, voice sharp as steel.
"I've lived over a thousand years for a reason."
"Bankai!—Zanka no Tachi!!"
With a roar, flames erupted once more. A weathered black katana formed in Yamamoto's hand, radiating terrifying heat.
"Zanka no Tachi, Minami: Kaka Jūman'okushi Daisōjin!!"
The blazing inferno gave birth to an army of blackened skeletons—ashes of ancient warriors, all slain by Yamamoto himself, rising once more under his command.
"Oh? Interesting."
Ryo smiled faintly as Yamamoto disappeared into the flames.
"Stalling for time… to build up power?"
Then his expression turned icy. "Typical move… for the weak."
The battle against the oldest Shinigami had entered a war of attrition.
---
Meanwhile, far below at the base of Sokyoku Hill—
The original protagonist, Kurosaki Ichigo… finally arrived, fashionably late.
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