Chains of the Abyss
Riddle’s golden eyes glowed with amusement as the last remnants of his Hollow army crumbled into mist. The battlefield was silent, the oppressive weight of his Reiatsu pressing down like a storm waiting to break.
And yet…
Harry didn’t falter.
If anything, he felt lighter, as if something deeper inside him had begun to unravel. His scythe pulsed in his grip, the chain coiling and uncoiling in anticipation.
Riddle took a slow step forward. “I will admit, I am… intrigued. You were always powerful in life, but here? You are becoming something else entirely.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You talk too much.”
Then, in a blink, he moved.
The ground shattered beneath his feet as he launched forward, the chain of his Zanpakutō snapping outward like a serpent. Riddle barely had time to react before the blade was on him, carving a gleaming arc through the darkness.
But Riddle vanished.
Harry’s scythe sliced through empty air, and before he could adjust, a pulse of corrupt energy surged behind him.
Too slow.
He twisted just in time to raise his weapon—Riddle’s blackened claws slammed into his scythe, sending out a shockwave that cracked the air itself. The sheer force ripped the sand beneath them into a spiraling vortex.
Harry slid backward, his heels digging into the ground. But instead of faltering—he pushed forward.
The chain tightened, then lashed out, not in a wild strike, but in a motion so precise that it wrapped around Riddle’s extended arm before he could retreat.
Riddle’s eyes widened slightly.
Harry smirked. “Got you.”
With a fierce pull, the chain tightened—hard—and something shifted in the air.
The space around them warped, as if the weight of Harry’s power had become something far older, deeper, unshackled. The very ground beneath them darkened, the air humming with a force that did not belong to the Soul Society, nor to Hueco Mundo.
For the first time, Riddle hesitated.
Harry could feel it now. Something ancient. Something beyond him, yet a part of him.
It whispered through his bones, through his blade—an instinct that this power did not come from the Soul Society. It was something before that. Older. Primordial.
Harry yanked hard, sending Riddle hurtling toward him. He spun his scythe effortlessly, the blade glowing with an eerie silver aura, and brought it down with crushing force.
Riddle barely managed to block. The impact sent tremors through the battlefield, cracks forming in the very fabric of the world.
And then, Riddle grinned.
“Yes… I see it now.”
He pushed off, breaking free of the chain’s hold. Instead of retreating, he laughed, his voice carrying through the empty sky.
“You are not just a Shinigami,” Riddle mused. “You are something… more.”
Harry didn’t respond. His scythe hummed in his hands, its power thrumming like a heartbeat.
And for the first time—he could hear it.
Not just the whispers of his own thoughts.
The voice of his Zanpakutō, distant but clear.
You are almost ready.
Harry exhaled. He didn’t know what he was becoming.
But he knew one thing for certain.
He was going to end Riddle.
For good.