Bleach: The Fifth Division Captain

I…

Since my birth.

I could not see. I could not hear. I could not speak. I could not move.

Yet, even so, I survived.

This was an omen. A sign. A declaration that I was meant to live.

To bring mercy and grace to the world.

Like lambs, the fragile mortals sought my power.

They desired salvation. And when they sought, I answered.

Come.

Reach out.

Touch me.

Allow me to feel your thoughts, your desires, your very essence.

My blood, my power—let me offer you a portion of it.

This is my gift. Remember it well.

But alas…

Humans are fragile, pitiful creatures.

They are fleeting, like blooming flowers that wither too soon.

They vanish quietly in moments of distraction.

It is precisely because they are brief that they are beautiful.

But those who take my power inevitably return to me. Their souls, too, are drawn back into my being.

How pitiful they are.

Mourn.

Regret.

Grow angry.

Grieve.

This is the power of death.

The cycle of life and death.

The sword of Damocles hanging over every mortal.

If I were to reunify the world, perhaps this barrier between life and death would cease to exist.

Listening to the cries of the people, I will answer their pleas.

I can grant power to the ignorant.

And I can reclaim the souls of the lost.

Therefore.

Do not fear.

Do not be afraid.

I am the Father of All.

The world will return to me. It will become the road beneath my feet, lifting me higher toward the heavens, until I reign over all.

The people await my salvation.

And everything in this world waits to be trampled beneath my feet.

I feel it.

Souls are gathering.

I open my eyes.

I hear the whispers.

I speak.

I walk upon the earth once more.

And from this moment, my name shall be sung.

The hidden flood of darkness, long dormant for centuries, begins to stir.

Like rusted gears grinding into motion, they turn slowly and clumsily.

Yet, even this stiff movement—

Is enough to send shivers down the spine.

That empire, so silent for centuries, now begins to awaken.

Listen.

The bells beneath the twilight are tolling.

Like lambs, the masses gather. They pray, offering their faith, their desires, their souls.

Their goals do not matter.

Because the King will lead them to victory.

So, cast aside shame.

Forget modesty.

And sing loudly of our Emperor's name.

Yhwach.

Thump.

A sudden, resonant heartbeat echoed across the land.

The fragile lambs wept with joy, running to spread the word, to share their overwhelming awe and elation.

Everything.

Would unfold exactly as the prophecy foretold.

The Emperor, after nine hundred years, regained his heartbeat.

Its sound reverberated across the empire, calling forth the capable, summoning them to his side.

Thus.

Place your faith in him.

Wait.

Wait for the next ninety years, when the Emperor will reclaim his mind.

Wait for the next nine years, when he will reclaim his strength.

Wait for the next nine days… when he will reclaim the world.

"Achoo!"

Seiya Arima sneezed while organizing documents.

He rubbed his nose, sniffled a few times, and wore an exhausted expression.

One of the Eighth Division members nearby glanced over at him.

"What's wrong? Got a cold?"

"No, just allergies… Haha, thanks for asking."

Frankly, Seiya's body had never gotten along well with alcohol.

Ever since the previous night's 'drinking session' with Kyōraku, he had been feeling sickly.

Who would've thought a spiritual body could even have alcohol intolerance?

The squad member nodded, seemingly understanding—or at least pretending to.

"Hey, how's the work in the Eighth Division treating you?"

"It's… pretty relaxed."

"Right?! Just a friendly heads-up, though—when it's time to submit your assignment preferences, don't pick certain squads! Some of them are absolute nightmares!"

For example?

Seiya listened as the man rattled off his list.

"Third Division and Fifth Division? Brick walls. People die all the time over there!

And the Fourth? You'll spend your days crawling through the Seireitei's sewers.

The Ninth? Constantly patrolling the dungeons.

And the Thirteenth? Always sent on long missions to the World of the Living…"

Heh.

If someone overheard this, you'd be dead before you knew what hit you.

Still, Seiya could tell the man trusted him.

Just as Kyōraku had said, his colleagues here in the Eighth Division seemed genuinely friendly.

"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."

"No problem! Honestly, we could really use someone like you here. Hardworking types like you are rare around here!"

Seiya couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.

No, people came to the Eighth Division precisely because they wanted to slack off.

Kyōraku… Aren't you going to do something about this atmosphere?

With a sigh, Seiya turned his attention back to their earlier topic.

"By the way… Is it true that the Thirteenth Division frequently gets dispatched to the World of the Living?"

"Yep. Didn't you know?"

Actually, he hadn't really thought about it before.

But now that he considered it, Seiya remembered why.

Rukia Kuchiki's mission to the World of the Living.

She was a Thirteenth Division member, after all.

Recalling the details, Seiya pieced it together.

'A division specializing in soul burials and Hollow purification, with members stationed in the World of the Living to battle on the frontlines.'

"So the Thirteenth Division is the real battle-crazed squad, huh?"

Maybe the tough guys in the Eleventh Division should consider transferring over there.

They'd be right at home.

As Seiya reflected, the squad member hummed a tune and strolled out of the records room, clearly in high spirits.

Seiya glanced at the clock.

Ah.

It was quitting time.

After finishing up his work and stepping outside, Seiya ran into a familiar figure.

"Yo. Working late?"

Kyōraku Shunsui leaned against the wall, his hat tilted at a jaunty angle.

Seiya wiped his brow, suddenly wary.

"Captain Kyōraku… I really can't drink anymore."

"Haha! My bad, my bad. I'll keep that in mind next time."

"But today's a bit different."

Kyōraku straightened his hat, a serious glint in his eyes.

"If you're free, would you mind coming with me?"

Seiya blinked.

"…Is something important happening?"

Kyōraku chuckled softly.

"Nothing too serious.

We're just… having a little chat with the old man."

"…Wait. With Captain-Commander Yamamoto?"

Kyōraku adjusted his hat again, reminiscing aloud.

"Yeah. It's something he does every year around this time."

"He's been doing it for a long, long time. A tradition of sorts."

Pausing for a moment, Kyōraku nodded to himself.

"Now that I think about it… it must've started around nine hundred years ago."

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Powerstones?

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