Mors Vincula
The battlefield was silent, save for the hum of raw energy vibrating in the air. Harry stood firm, his scythe glowing faintly in his grip, the chain coiling like a serpent ready to strike.
Across from him, Riddle’s twisted form pulsed with dark energy, his golden eyes flickering with eerie fascination. “You’re close, Harry,” he murmured. “I can feel it. The threshold of true power… You are at the edge.”
Harry exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his weapon. He wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.
He could hear it now.
His Zanpakutō.
The voice that had been distant, elusive, always just out of reach—was here.
You have fought against fate your entire life… yet still, you carry its weight.
The wind shifted. The chains on his weapon rattled, as if resonating with the voice.
Riddle took a slow step forward, his amusement growing. “What will you do, Potter?”
Harry closed his eyes.
And then—
He let go.
Not of his weapon, but of the doubt. The hesitation. The bindings that had kept him from truly wielding his power.
The world seemed to stop.
Then, in a voice filled with certainty, resolve, and something ancient, he spoke:
"Shatter the chains of fate—MORS VINCULA!"
The moment the words left his lips, everything changed.
The chain of his scythe glowed with spectral silver, extending outward like veins of light. The very air split open as an overwhelming force erupted from his soul, shaking the very fabric of Hueco Mundo.
Riddle’s golden eyes widened.
The scythe shifted, its form expanding, warping, evolving—no longer a simple blade, but something otherworldly. The chain stretched into the sky, its links glowing with an eerie radiance, forming an endless network of bindings that seemed to touch everything.
Harry’s Reiatsu was no longer just powerful—it was ancient. Inevitable.
The chains moved on their own, reacting to his intent. With a simple thought, they surged forward—not to cut, but to bind.
Riddle stepped back, his amusement vanishing. He raised a hand, preparing to unleash a counterattack—
But it was too late.
The chains wrapped around him, searing into his very essence.
And for the first time—Riddle screamed.
Harry’s eyes burned with focus as the chains tightened, pulling Riddle toward him. His scythe gleamed in the dim light, no longer just a weapon, but a force of judgment itself.
“This is the end,” Harry said, his voice steady.
And then—he swung.