Spiritual winds blew across the distance, brushing up against skin and ruffling clothes in the ambiguous silence denoted by an increasing tension.
The lady spirit stood on one end of the confrontation, and Ichibei on the other, both poising themselves for combat as tree roots rapidly formed a cage around them.
These tree roots stemmed from Hikifune using a spiritual technique known as the Cage of Life. By infusing her essence into the seed of a tree, the tree's grown branches and bark rapidly absorb all spiritual energy-based attacks that may seek to destroy it. The absorbed energy would only further strengthen the defensive structure of the cage through rapid tree growth.
The effect of the Cage of Life went both ways. Any energy used inside would also be absorbed through the tree's roots and branches to further strengthen the cage.
Within an instant, branching leaves and thick foliage formed a wide dome over Ichibei, the lady spirit, and Shirou was still trapped inside, much to the alarm of those in the distance.
Shunsui's features tensed, as he tried to see if he could find a way to disrupt the process, but was stopped by Nimaya. In contrast, Senjumaru was forced to knit her brows and buckle under the immense strain her cloth was under. The Hollows were going ballistic, and the problem wasn't in their individual strength, but their collective. She was already straining enough with Baraggan, Harribel, and the other members of the Vasto of White's elite, but now it was only getting worse.
Then there was Tenjiro…
Wheezing in the distance, Tenjiro grimaced as he glanced at his missing left arm and the Cero still blasting past him into the distance where it erupted into a cataclysmic explosion. Tenjiro prided himself on his recovery methods as the world's best healer, but you can't treat what's not there. He was beginning to understand the very real possibility of getting vaporized out of existence. One hit to his whole body, or an accurate incineration of his head or heart would render him done in. Glowering, as his gallant pompadour had become a slick buzz, dense spiritual energy converged on his missing arm, and rapidly accelerated cell growth in the area until a new arm appeared. The speed rivalled if not surpassed that of a Hollow's high-speed regenerati-
Bitch! There goes the other arm.
Tenjiro narrowly side stepped, but had still gotten clipped by another shot. He'd thought he'd gotten a gauge of his opponent, but it was like she'd gone feral as Hikifune isolated the area between the lady spirit, Ichibei, and the Vasto of White.
Meanwhile, back within the formed cage, only a scant few rays of light were able to penetrate through the foliage, dimming the entire space. However, the golden blade in the lady spirit's hands shone with a luminescence that pushed back the dark.
There was no hesitation nor doubt on the lady spirit's expression even after Hikifune had laid out her cage.
She would fight, and that was all that mattered, and Ichibei could see this.
Ichibei was a man who experienced many, many years of life. There was nothing he'd not yet encountered which was why he could already tell that before combat even began, he was losing out in momentum.
Standing before each other, Ichibei and the lady spirit differed in demeanor.
Where the lady spirit stood assured in posture and tranquil in aura with an unwavering gaze, Ichibei's features were carefully blank. The smile that often plastered itself over his face had dimmed and practically grew absent.
In a single stroke, Ichibei removed the large prayer beads worn as a necklace around his neck, tossing them to the wayside lest they hinder him in combat.
Ichibei alone understood the true significance of a name.
It was where his strongest strength lied as the monk with sovereignty over names.
Names had both meaning and power.
The root of fire was that of a never-ending destruction that eroded away until there was nothing left but ashes. Combined with the concept of a sword, Zanpakuto such as Ryujin Jakka exhibited overwhelming power in its simplicity: nouns such as 'Sword' and 'Fire' combined.
Similarly, the strongest ice type followed an identical pattern.
The simpler the concept, the more resolute the name, and the more defined an existence something was.
The enemy before Ichibei carried a name and concept that he could discern was in its purest form. Its state of absolute origin.
"I am the Sword of the Righteous- A blade of the Victorious!" The lady spirit flourished the sword in her hand, her stance without openings. "...And I have never known defeat."
Ichibei's features schooled into a solemn incline of his head.
Victory was the name of the daunting enemy he faced before him.
There would be no room for error.
His was a Zanpakuto that sought to name all. With a stroke, he could blot out a character of a name and erase its meaning through blackening. In the same vein, he could even rewrite it.
His sword would alter the characters for 'Sure Victory,' into 'Sure Defeat,' if it must be.
From Ichibei's former brush, the tip had become a glaive rippling with layers of black viscous ink. Dabbing the tip downward, the ink pooled into a visible stream that floated in the air to be molded into characters. From his free hand, he lifted a finger and initiated the bout.
A massive finger of spiritual energy to identical to his index finger pushed down from up high in a bid to suppress the foe before him.
Unperturbed, the lady spirit glanced up and flicked her sword, an aura of resplendent gold shooting out.
The two attacks met, clashed, and then scattered into the wind, leaving nothing behind but a scar carved into the very cage that bound them into an arena.
Large spiritual based attacks like the one Ichibei had just launched were useless.
It was as Ichibei had feared. The concept carried in the lady spirit's blade was one that size and ordinary power would not be able to overcome.
To have any hope of turning victory into his favour, he must change the concept at the root, or erase it completely.
Flash stepping, numerous afterimages of Ichibei appeared around the lady spirit, each stabbing out with their glaives.
The armoured gauntlet the lady spirit was wearing on her arms rose up in defence, creating sparks as the batted the sharpened metal away. The metal plates around her left hand then caught the steel, and allowed her to grip onto Ichibei's afterimage. Her right hand swung the sword into a cleave.
Without delay, the attack collided, a shower of liquid splattering across the lady spirit's face.
However, the lady spirit's features creased. She'd not felt resistance in her swing. Her blade had not cut.
Regardless, Ichibei retreated as if he were injured, giving the lady spirt enough time to dab a finger over the liquid on her face to see ink staining her skin.
A shudder quickly travelled down her back, wisps of spiritual energy wafting off as steam from where the ink spread over her. It was corroding her? No, that wasn't quite right. The definition of her existence was weakening?
It was a black ink that would erase the meaning of a name. Was that it then? Was that what he was trying to do?
The lady spirit steadied herself, features remaining neutral.
Wind and dust blew out, straining eyes through irritation, but not enough to force either combatant to shield their faces. Doing so in such a level of combat was nothing less than fatal.
Ichibei had not been idle in his retreat.
Draw it in, and focus.
Ichibei was the writer, and the foe before him, the canvas to be painted.
Swirling his brush glaive, Ichibei began to draw with the ink in the air, resonating with the ink he'd smeared across the lady spirit.
The lady spirit felt her body slow, the ink already on her writhing before spreading out over her clothes and her person. Her armour grew stained, but her sword remained untouched, unblemished no matter how the ink tried to cover it.
Ichibei knit his brows, his features creasing as the intensity of his stokes magnified. It wasn't possible. There was no he'd missed or was lacking in control.
His ink should have covered the radiance of the sword in the lady spirit's hands as well as her body. Once done, he would rewrite 'sharpness' into 'dull,' and 'Radiant,' into 'Dim.'
Once more the ink squirmed, vainly reaching out to the golden sword of the victorious.
Ichibei clenched his jaw. By now, he understood that it wasn't through any fault of his own that was causing his efforts to fail, but that he was missing some key concept.
This was something that Ichibei did not know, but something that the lady spirit knew all too well.
"You seek to alter the name and properties of mine, blade?" The lady spirit took in a breath and narrowed her eyes. "Naïve. I ask of thee, can you read it? Do you truly know its true name?"
Ichibei tensed in realization. It was he who had the ability to discern the names of all before him, and yet, the letters that his eyes conveyed to his mind might as well have been foreign language together.
Jumbled letters and odd script were engraved on the sword's hilt and fuller, each symbol more incomprehensible than the other.
Before Ichibei's eyes were not words crafted by human hands. They were symbols and etchings whose meaning could only be interpreted by those attributed to the legends of the Fae.
Ichibei could not change that which he didn't even understand.
If his ability could not work, then all that was left to him was a test of combat and spiritual energy. If the name couldn't be changed, then all that was left was to erase it.
With no choice left, Ichibei instantly charged the lady spirit.
The clashing of the two sent rippling waves that reverberated throughout the entire space, the cage of life groaning in protest.
Ichibei huffed, ink splattering out from his brush glaive at every strike he parried or delivered, bathing the entire area in a turbid blackness.
In this sea of growing ink, the noble light of the lady spirit's sword remained unblemished, beams of radiant gold searing and cutting through all forms of resistance. It was to the point that Ichibei did not dare meet a strike head on, and would actively choose to strafe around each swing.
His close proximity hindered whatever build up of energy the lady spirit was trying to muster, forcing her to release her bursts of energy primitively.
Ichibei could well imagine that if he gave the lady spirit time, the energy she could unleash with the sword in her hands would be beyond even his own understanding.
One exchange quickly turned into two, then four, eight, then dozens.
As the scars upon the ground began to accumulate, and the ink began to pervade everything, all that was left in a field of black liquid was the lady spirit standing aloft within.
Her entire body was now bathed in ink, leaving not a single spot where colour remained other than her sword.
The lady spirit didn't mind as she was a reflection of her sword. So long as the sword couldn't be erased, then she would never truly 'die.'
Be that as it may, the ink was of a blotting nature.
Ichibei had latched onto a new avenue of attack. Rather than the concept of the sword, he willed his ink to erase the concept of 'Sword Spirit.'
After numerous exchanges, the lady spirit paused, followed by Ichibei himself who was panting for breath, unwilling to test his body with a sword that encompassed promised victory.
It was a pity. A real pity, but this duel ended here.
The lady spirit stared at herself calmly, nary a change in expression.
The dignity of the lady spirit's demeanor would remain even until the end.
Ichibei pulled back his brush glaive, unwilling to continue attacking an adversary of such regality who was already defeated. And yet, he still found himself shuddering.
"It's over. I find no joy in your passing, only regret that we stand opposed." Ichibei frowned, eyes downcast before he tilted his head to stare into the lady spirit's eyes. "Noble spirit of the sword. Cease this meaningless struggle here. As you are now, you cannot win."
Ichibei didn't speak on baseless assumption, but something both he and the lady spirit fundamentally understood and realized as the fight progressed on.
The lady spirit pursed her lips, not answering as she stared down at her palms blackened by corroding ink, then to her sword whose glow remained ever firm. Her knees buckled, her shoulders slouching forward, barely keeping her head up. All the same, her features remained ever composed, if only a tad set into resignation.
It wasn't her sword that was losing out in this exchange, no.
It was her.
Ichibei flourished his brush, the motion creating a circle of ink behind him that was painted with the characters for 'to show weakness,' and 'fading light.'
"Your strength was admirable, and yet…" Nodding to himself, Ichibei shook his head in pity at the stalwart figure before him on the precipice of vanishing. "In the end, you are but a Zanpakuto spirit, half of a whole."
The lady spirit took in a breath, eyes forever firm and unwavering.
"By virtue of spiritual energy alone, my brush can blacken and crush your conceptual spiritual body out of existence."
Truly. It was a pity.
Ichibei could hardly restrain the admiration within him. Enemy or not, the aura of a king abounded her.
"Your sword of the victorious, will know of defeat."
Silence, only the sound of clanking armour and steel echoing as the lady spirit continued to assess herself. Avalon could heal her, but it couldn't heal a body that didn't exist.
It was a well-played maneuver on Ichibei's part.
She sighed, watching her spiritual body begin to break down whilst covered in black ink that sought to erase her existence. She did not deny Ichibei's words, as he was right. However, just because it was right, didn't mean that it was wholly correct.
She may crumple and fall, but it will matter not.
Hers was a concept that could never be smothered.
From beneath the ink, light began to shine from glowing motes that signaled the gradual crumbling of her form and the dissolution of her sword. However, these motes were not blackened, nor tainted by the ink. The dark could not capture them, for they represented a property not encompassed by the definition of Ichibei's understanding. Instead, the motes drifted and converged, drawing together and swirling into an array of stars much to Ichibei's alarm.
Defeated she was not.
"The light of triumph will forever shine beyond the horizon."
The lady spirit's voice echoes in the sea of possibility, resolute and firm.
"Hear of honour, live in honour, and die in honour, never questioning its integrity."
Her body continued to fade in its entirety, the ink splattered over her trickling into the pool beneath her feet.
"A bent blade shall never speak of the wisdom of a steadfast ideal."
She placed her fading left palm over her chest and gradually peeled off the armour, revealing the simple blue dress beneath.
"Man manifests dreams, and dreams capture the inspiration set within."
She locked eyes with Ichibei, her stare striking him uncomfortably in place. Her stare was neither glaring, nor reproachful.
Victory was indeed her surest property.
However, Victory wasn't even her proper name.
"Human yearning speaks of the glory found in tales spun around a dying fire for eons past."
How can one rewrite that which they did not know?
"From the past, and into the present, the vision sought by man remains into the future."
It was as if everything about her was judging Ichibei's sureties about her, her existence, and her very defeat to be false.
"That which inspires heart."
Ichibei wasn't wrong.
"That which inspires the soul."
Her eyes closed, her body having vanished completely in the same instance, leaving behind only the motes of light and a disembodied voice.
"The will carried by mine blade will never fall."
From the beginning, Ichibei had been right. On her own, she could not display her true radiance.
The motes of light swirled, leaving behind any ink that sought to stain it before converging upon the one left forgotten through the exchange.
"Wake, dearest Master. Rouse from thy rest," her voice beckoned softly in the stillness.
The motes of light soon fell over the Vasto of White's form in distinct outlines; half taking the silhouette of a sheath that sunk into the body, and the other, the very same sword that the lady spirit wielded appearing by the palms.
"Thine sword, and thine sheath, returns to your hand."
Fingers curled, digging grooves into the sand, spiritual winds flowing violently.
This distant feeling of nostalgia…
This beckoning voice…
The Nameless Hero began to stir whilst Ichibei took a step back.
Sword and Soul returned to one.
"-The steadfast radiance of victory rises once more."
Ichibei watched in utter silence as the man who should not have been able to get up, began to get up on wobbling knees weak from strain; hands firmly clasped over the hilt of her sword.
The true light of promised victory would shine.
This level of tenacity…
This inexplicable pressure and purity of this aura…
How did such a man become a Hollow?
"You…who are you, really?" The words escaped Ichibei's mouth unbidden.
The man who had roused from his slumber would answer thus.
"An Ally of Justice."
The Vasto of White.
Kisuke was many things, a scientist, a sadist, and even an asshole at times, but a fool was not one of them.
His keen eyes observed the changes rapidly occurring around him in an instant, his mind processing that information within seconds. The members of the Royal Guard who had recovered their spiritual power, were not to be taken lightly.
At present, a majority of the Royal Guard's attention was focused on the Vasto of White's forces, many restrained entirely by Senjumaru whose efforts forced her into a stationary position. The cloth woven from Senjumaru's threads may as well have been the equivalent or greater of Seki-Seki stone with how resistant they were.
It didn't matter. What did was the overall effect of said cloth.
All of the Vasto of White's executive forces were bound, leaving only the weaker Hollows restrained by strips rather than mummified. Moreover, as they'd also taken the remaining Quincy under consideration, Masaki and the others were all contained in a similar dome as Baraggan.
Sweat could be seen perspiring off of Senjumaru's brows, but she wasn't a Royal Guard for nothing. Her reserves at full power were exceptional.
Rationally, Kisuke could understand why the Royal Guard would focus all their efforts on the Quincy and the Vasto of White's forces, as the Shinigami of the Seireitei weren't exactly in fighting order. Even Head-Captain Yamamoto wasn't in proper condition.
However, this did present an opportunity only to them.
While the Hollows were bound, few if any of the Shinigami were restrained in the same manner.
Of course, it would be fatal for those bound if the Shinigami decided on a killing spree, but in all honestly, Kisuke resolution was shaken. Without resolve, one wouldn't even be able to cut the dullest blade.
Pragmatism was what led to Kisuke's recent actions, and it was also pragmatism that was now finally forcing him to acknowledge and reconsider the end goal. In retrospect, he agreed with Aizen that the system of balance that everyone lived in was flawed, but in the same vein, it was the only one that had been proven to work.
There is choice in freedom, but there was stability in order.
Having predicted a world without a balance to maintain the divide between the living and the dead, all that would remain was a meshwork for catastrophe. Hell, itself was centered around the balance. With nothing to judge and filter the nature of souls, spirits would wander among the living, eventually turning into Hollows. With even Hueco Mundo factored out, there was no accounting for every Hollow that could kill humans. Then there was the concept of powerful souls growing into Shinigami who's views and ideologies may as well make them no better than Hollows.
There was a reason the Seireitei vetted its Shinigami even if the spirit possessed significant spiritual energy. This vetting process, would also be gone without the balance.
Everything would truly fall into a quagmire of never-ending tragedies. Having predicted such an outcome, Kisuke could move with justification, but now? …Not so much.
An alternative beyond restoring the balance was revealed. A new balance without the old's flaws as the lady spirit had put it.
Kisuke and many others had seen paradise.
They had also seen it taken away for no apparent reason but to maintain the prior order of things.
In trying to bring peace and order back into the world, in the end, it felt as if they'd directly contributed to ending an actual peace.
Shunsui's actions right now were not unjustified.
The fact Yamamoto hadn't spoken a word, and remained stone-faced screamed indecision.
For Kisuke, it was different. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.
The key to concluding this chapter of a thousand year's war had been by their side all along, and they had failed to see it. Now, now she was trapped along with the Vasto of White against the Royal Guard's strongest.
Kisuke grimaced, analytically plotting out a means to an end in his mind.
He'd been moving on the wrong foot from the start, and now that he was already at the end, it felt like he was only just beginning.
"Yoruichi," he called out, a flash of Shunpo revealing Yoruichi who appeared beside him. "I'll need you to cover them for me for a while. I'm moving out."
By cover, Kisuke meant Yamamoto and the others who'd only been able to move around freely under the effects of Kisuke's Bankai. Once Kisuke left his Bankai's area of influence, it would the equivalent to cutting off the strings keeping everyone aloft, but it had to be done.
There was no more room for doubt at this point. The end game was here.
"Wait, Kisuke! What are you trying to-"
Kisuke was moving before Yoruichi could even finish her question. He knew Yoruichi best, and she didn't end up following him, and trusted him by doing as he'd asked.
All the while, Kisuke made his way to a location of heavy spiritual energy being recklessly fired from inexperienced hands.
A flash of blue light flickered across Kisuke's face as he raised his sleeve to dim the brightness. He whistled, alerting the two before him of his presence.
"That material isn't something that will just tear away through brute force alone," Kisuke kindly advised.
Ichigo and Karin who weren't caught up in Senjumaru's cloth due to Isshin's quick reflexes to push them out of the dome had saved them. In response, the noise the Kurosaki siblings were making while trying to free their parents wasn't missed by Kisuke.
"Hat and clogs…" Ichigo was the first to greet stiffly; his current appearance a far cry from before. Long twisted horns gave him a menacing glare.
"Been a while hasn't it, Kurosaki?" Kisuke remained unperturbed, but Ichigo was past caring.
All Ichigo cared about was saving those bound by Senjumaru's cloth, and Kisuke could easily see this. Ichigo's mounting frustration in light of failure was already evident enough.
"What do you want?" Ichigo grouched, raising his sword to hack away at the cloth, only to be rebuffed again and again. "If you're trying to convince me of something, then I ain't listening."
"Do I look like that kind of person to you?" Kisuke scoffed in mock offence, placing a hand on Ichigo's shoulder.
"You look like a sleaze," Karin grouched from the side, directly pushing Kisuke away from Ichigo so they could get back to breaking their parents out. "Now beat it unless you want to be helpful!"
Kisuke blinked at Karin. Who was the one who'd begged on her knees for him to make her stronger?
Brow twitching, Kisuke sighed. "Is that how you see me, dear pupil? And to think I helped train you so earnestly."
Karin made a face at the reminder, and Ichigo wouldn't blame her. He'd experienced Kisuke's version of 'training,' first hand. Karin's reaction was no surprise.
"Alright, enough beating around the bush. Now answer the question?" Ichigo shook his head, and tried to direct things back on track. He was just as impatient as Karin to save those he cared about. If Kisuke had an answer by seeking them out, then he might as well listen as he knew that he wasn't the most observant. "What did you want, hat and clogs?"
"Just a little cooperation," Kisuke pointed to Senjumaru's restraints. "A way to break these clothes, if you will."
Ichigo and Karin's eyes widened. To say they weren't interested would be a lie.
Karin pushed Ichigo forward, and urged him to hurry and make a choice.
"Alright, what do you need me to do?" Ichigo asked resolutely.
"Any chance you can fire a Cero rivaling hers?" Kisuke pointed at Coyote in the distance. "Something like what you did in the battle of the Fake Karakura tone."
"…I can try," Ichigo was uncertain. The him of the Fake Karakura town war was him with his power out of control. Nevertheless, if this was what needed to be done, then he'd succeed. "Leave it to me."
"Your words is more than enough," Kisuke said while titling his hat. "Listen, I need you to shoot a full powered cero directly at Senjumaru. With her compatriots occupied, she'll have to react, and in this moment, some of her concentration will be forced to be diverted."
"Which would let us break the restraints!" Karin eyes brightened immediately, only to dim somewhat at Kisuke's lack of enthusiasm.
"Not quite," Kisuke shook his head. "Senjumaru may divert her concentration, but she will never reduce it for those that matter the most. In short, we need to free up allies with enough strength to make the difference."
"But the only strong ones being bound right now are…" Karin trailed off in realization.
Considering the current state of the Shinigami, this was the only suicidal choice left. One wouldn't easily be able to help free someone who wants to kill you, but this was precisely what was being proposed by Kisuke and Karin knew it.
He was mad. He had to be.
Unfortunately, there wasn't any time for indecision here. Kisuke had already made up his mind.
"In one minute, Kurosaki. Get it done."
With nary a second's pause, Kisuke was already on the move again, leaving Ichigo and Karin behind.
Soon enough, Kisuke positioned himself at a particular bundle of cloth, eyes focusing on where Senjumaru could be seen maintain her cloth.
Anytime now, Kurosaki.
Kisuke waited for the telltale glow of a Hollow's cero, and when that red light came, he was ready to act.
A fiery ball of destructive power was fired with a reverberating roar. The beam shot across the expanse at break-neck speed, its power unable to be ignored. However, Senjumaru merely glanced at it before a wall of cloth spread out from her long sleeves.
Kisuke carefully unsheathed his blade and ran its edge over the cloth binding the figure before him. The durability of the cloth was unmistakable, but having been one of the chief developers of the formation that had used the Royal Guard as energy conduits, he'd used his own sword as a node point. Benihime's edge still lingered with the energy of the Soul King, and unless Senjumaru was actively reinforcing her cloth, Benihime should be able to sever it.
Expectedly, the fabric began to fray and tear as a clean slice carried the entire way through. From the opened gap, a monstrous spiritual pressure leaked before a figure burst out in a frenzy only to be intercepted by Kisuke himself.
The figure could care less and moved to strike him, but was forced to pause at the last minute by a rather snide, yet true remark.
"Now, before you try to kill me, do be sure to remember that I just did you a favor, and give me the courtesy of hearing me out," Kisuke said while grimacing, Benihime barely keeping back the lance poised to behead him.
Harribel's eyes narrowed with impatience, gaze constantly flickering to Hikifune's cage of life. "I don't trust the words of a snake."
"Funny, I thought you knew one."
Somewhere, Sung-Sun hissed within earshot.
"Speak then, Shinigami." Harribel narrowed her eyes in contempt at Kisuke's pettiness. "Let it be your last rite."
A bead of sweat formed over Kisuke's brows. The power Harribel was exuding in her second release form was as vast as an ocean when compared to the last. Regardless, he remained steadfast. Hesitation now would only get him killed if Harribel concluded his final rite was over. As such, being direct was the only choice.
"If we open up a path to the Vasto of White, how sure are you of being able to aid him?"
"Ah, not so quick to quibble anymore, are you?" Kisuke poked, a bit of playfulness trying to ease his tension but failing as Harribel began to glare.
"You seek an accord?" She pressed grudgingly, knowing that she had no other plan to break the cage of life than brute force.
If Kisuke had a means that would work, then she'd tolerate him for the time being as she'd done with Aizen and the others.
"Mutual benefit." Kisuke was quick on his feet. "You save your lord, we save the lady spirit, and then from there, all bets are off. If you don't agree, well, that's fine too if you feel like you have a better solution to resolve this situation than I?"
Harribel's lip twitched, but her concern was overriding her fury at the Shinigami.
"You specialize in water, don't you?" Kisuke didn't bat an eye, and gave no time for Harribel to even answer. It was a rhetorical question to begin with. "Good. We have a squirt who specializes in ice. I want you both to pair up, as your abilities will bolster the other's."
Harribel narrowed her eyes. "To what end?"
"Him, or them," Kisuke pointed simply to the dome restricting Baraggan, then to the one restraining Masaki and the Quincy. "We need to free either of those monsters to divest Senjumaru's focus away before we can truly begin operations. From there, we break the main cage, and then separate to pursue our own interests."
Harribel considered it.
She could get behind this. Both Baraggan and Silent were her allies.
More importantly, the Shinigami were fools to think someone like Baraggan…could be easily handled.
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