Into the Seireitei
The night air in Soul Society was still, but Harry could feel the tension hanging over the Seireitei like a storm waiting to break. As he and his small team—Shion, Renji, and Kaida—moved toward the heart of the Shinigami’s domain, the streets were eerily empty.
Harry had been expecting patrols, guards, or at the very least, signs of the chaos Shion had described. But what he saw instead was even more unsettling.
The Seireitei was quiet. Too quiet.
Signs of the Rebellion
“This isn’t right,” Renji muttered as they walked along an empty street, his hand resting on the hilt of his zanpakutō. “The Seireitei is never this dead.”
Kaida glanced around warily, their small blade held tightly in their grip. “Where is everyone?”
Shion closed their eyes, channeling their vision across the vast city. A sharp inhale was the only sign that they had seen something troubling. “They’re fighting… but it’s not like a normal battle. The Shinigami are being overwhelmed.”
Harry frowned. “Take us to where it’s worst.”
Shion nodded and took off, leading them through the twisting pathways of the Seireitei. They moved quickly but cautiously, avoiding detection as much as possible.
As they turned a corner into a large open courtyard, they finally saw it.
Zanpakutō spirits—fully corporeal, just like those in Harry’s village—were fighting their former Shinigami wielders. Some of the Shinigami were holding their ground, struggling to suppress their rebellious weapons, while others had already fallen, their zanpakutō standing over them with cold, detached expressions.
But what disturbed Harry the most was the way the rebellious zanpakutō moved. Their actions weren’t chaotic or wild; they were coordinated, as if following some unseen command.
“This isn’t just a rebellion,” Harry said under his breath. “It’s an organized uprising.”
An Unexpected Encounter
Before they could move closer, a powerful spiritual pressure washed over them.
Harry turned just in time to see a familiar figure drop from the rooftops above, landing with a heavy thud in front of them.
Ichigo Kurosaki.
His orange hair was wild, and his black Shinigami robes were torn and battle-worn. His zanpakutō, Zangetsu, was already drawn, its massive blade resting in his grip. But his expression wasn’t hostile—just wary.
“I knew you’d show up,” Ichigo said, his brown eyes locking onto Harry’s glowing green ones.
Harry tightened his grip on his scythe. “And I figured you’d be in the middle of this mess.”
Ichigo exhaled sharply, his stance relaxing slightly. “I don’t have time for a fight, Harry. Things are bad. Real bad.”
“We can see that,” Renji said, stepping forward. “What the hell is going on?”
Ichigo’s jaw tightened. “The zanpakutō have turned against us. Not just a few—all of them. They broke free somehow, and now they’re fighting like they want to wipe us out.”
Kaida hesitated before asking, “Do they remember their wielders?”
Ichigo hesitated. “Some do. But they don’t care.”
That sent a chill through Harry. In his village, the restored zanpakutō had kept their past memories. Even those who no longer had wielders still remembered their bonds. But if these zanpakutō were truly rejecting their Shinigami… something unnatural was at play.
“I need to find out what’s causing this,” Harry said. “There has to be a reason.”
Ichigo nodded. “Good. Because if we don’t stop this soon, Soul Society is going to tear itself apart.”
The First Real Test
Before they could continue their conversation, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Well, well. I wasn’t expecting you to come walking into the middle of the war zone, Inochi no Shinigami.”
A figure stepped out from the shadows, their form crackling with spiritual pressure. Harry recognized them instantly—Muramasa, the mysterious zanpakutō spirit who had somehow triggered this rebellion.
Muramasa’s piercing eyes swept over Harry and his team with amusement. “I’ve been wanting to meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “You’re the one who gave the forgotten a second chance. But tell me… do you really understand what you’ve created?”
Harry’s grip on his scythe tightened. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Muramasa chuckled. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m giving zanpakutō their freedom. Just like you.”
There was something unsettling about the way he said it. The way his words carried weight, as if he believed he was doing something righteous.
But Harry wasn’t fooled.
“This isn’t freedom,” Harry said coldly. “It’s control.”
Muramasa’s smirk widened. “Then why don’t you prove me wrong?”
In an instant, the air around them exploded with spiritual energy as Muramasa raised his hand. The ground trembled beneath them, and from the shadows, dozens of rebellious zanpakutō spirits appeared, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
Harry exhaled slowly, his scythe pulsing with power.
This was it.
The fight to protect both his village and the Soul Society had begun.