Bleach: Kishou Arima

Larger chapter as Compensation for delay.

[Narukami Sword Image]

---

The garden was bathed in soft, golden light as the sun began its slow descent beyond the horizon.

White lilies and wisteria swayed gently in the breeze, their sweet fragrance mingling with the tranquil hum of nature.

Arima sat with his back resting against the sturdy trunk of a tree, his gaze distant yet calm, while Unohana lay with her head resting comfortably on his lap.

She looked serene, her dark hair flowing like silk across his legs and onto the grass.

Despite her peaceful demeanor, the slight crease in her brow gave away the thoughts troubling her.

"It's happening again," she said quietly, breaking the calm.

Her voice carried its usual soft tone but held an edge of concern. "Another disappearance in Rukongai. That makes three this month."

Arima's fingers moved absentmindedly through her hair, combing it gently as he stared out into the open field. "Souls disappearing… Without a trace?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes briefly, sighing. "No bodies, no spiritual residue. It's as though they're plucked out of existence entirely. The Gotei's investigations have led nowhere so far."

Arima clicked his tongue softly, his expression unchanging but his voice tinged with disapproval. "That's not just a small oversight, Retsu. It's a massive security crack—a glaring sign of weakness."

His tone was sharp, cutting through the otherwise serene atmosphere. "If the Gotei 13 can't even track the perpetrator, it speaks volumes about the current state of their systems."

Unohana opened her eyes at that, looking up at him with a small, knowing smile. "You never hold back, do you?"

"I don't see the need to sugarcoat it." Arima's gaze drifted down to meet hers, his black-and-yellow eyes sharp yet soft at the edges. "The protection of souls is their duty. If they're disappearing under thier watch, it's a failure they can't afford to ignore."

She chuckled softly at his bluntness, though there was no humor in it. "Ever the harsh critic, Arima. You'd make an excellent captain yourself if you ever cared to step into such a role."

He scoffed lightly, his hand pausing in her hair for a moment. "I have no interest in wearing their haori. But if I were in charge, something like this would never happen."

Unohana's smile lingered faintly as she looked up at the branches above.

"you're not wrong. This situation is troubling. Souls shouldn't be able to vanish so completely… not unless there's an entity with enough knowledge enough to erase all traces."

---

After some time ..

The golden hues of the sunset bled into deep crimson as Unohana stood in front of him, a rare frown marring her usually calm expression.

"I have to go," she said, clearly displeased as the emergency messenger waited impatiently a short distance away.

"It's an urgent treatment. I'll be back soon."

Arima, still resting against the tree, waved a hand dismissively. "Go on. You don't need to apologize. I'm used to it."

She lingered for a moment longer before finally turning to leave, her back straight and composure restored.

Arima watched her figure disappear, the edge of her captain's haori fluttering in the wind.

Once alone, Arima let out a quiet sigh, his sharp eyes lifting to the darkening sky.

Something didn't feel right tonight—an odd ripple in the flow of spiritual energy that was too subtle to ignore.

For a brief moment, he debated leaving it alone.

"...No." He stood up, brushing his robes off.

This disappearing soul phenomenon… might as well see it for myself.

Unlike usual, he chose to move light. His massive black lance was left behind, and instead, he picked up Narukami—the four-bladed thunder sword. Its familiar weight sat comfortably at his side as he concealed his presence entirely, disappearing into the growing night.

---

The streets of Rukongai were quiet at first, the setting sun casting long shadows over the dusty roads.

Moving through the districts, Arima became something of a silent observer, his presence unnoticed by the people bustling around.

Here, he encountered glimpses of the lives that often went unseen.

A young boy stood alone in a field, clutching a wooden practice sword with trembling hands.

His swings were sloppy, his footing unsure, but his determination was evident.

Arima stopped, watching the boy for a moment before approaching.

The boy stiffened when he saw Arima, unsure of who he was.

Without a word, Arima picked up a small branch and demonstrated a proper stance. "Like this," he said simply. "Your weight is wrong. Distribute it evenly and loosen your shoulders."

The boy's eyes widened, but he nodded.

Following Arima's movements, his form improved slightly with each swing. After a short while, Arima gave a faint nod.

"You're not bad for a beginner," he said as he turned to leave.

The boy beamed, bowing deeply. "Thank you, sir!"

Arima didn't look back, his pace steady as he continued onward.

---

Further along the road, he passed by a group of struggling families, their clothes worn and their faces etched with exhaustion.

Without breaking stride, he slipped a pouch of coins into the hands of an elderly man.

The old man blinked in surprise, calling out after him, "W-wait! What's your name, kind sir?"

Arima didn't answer.

He simply raised a hand as if to wave them off and disappeared into the thinning crowd.

---

Eventually, his path led him to a small, dimly lit clearing on the outskirts of the district, where the sound of soft humming and faint snoring reached his ears.

Sitting beneath a crooked tree was none other than Shunsui Kyoraku—drunk, alone, and without his usual vice-captain to rein him in.

Kyoraku's pink kimono was rumpled, his straw hat hanging askew.

A sake bottle rested lazily in one hand while the other absentmindedly hovered near the hilt of his sword.

Arima stepped into view, his presence startlingly quiet despite the loose dirt crunching under his feet.

Kyoraku's humming stopped immediately, and he stiffened as though a chill had run down his spine.

Arima didn't say anything as he sat down across from the drunken captain.

His movements were deliberate but casual, and his sharp eyes settled on Kyoraku like a predator watching prey.

Kyoraku's fingers twitched slightly, reaching for his sword on instinct. ".....Arima," he said cautiously, his voice lacking its usual playful tone.

"I wasn't expecting to see you ...around here."

Arima leaned back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed manner. "You're being a disgrace, Kyoraku Shusui."

"Where's your vice-captain? She usually stops you from being this useless."

Kyoraku's brow twitched, and he took a slow sip of sake, his eyes narrowing faintly. "She's off handling something. I don't always need a babysitter, you know."

"Clearly, you do." Arima's tone was dry, though there was a faint amusement behind it.

His gaze, however, remained sharp and analytical.

"You seem uneasy. Did you expect someone else to find you out here?"

Kyoraku's free hand tightened slightly around his sword's hilt before he released it with a visible effort. "Hah… You're sharper than you look. ..Guess it's hard to relax when you're around."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the wind rustling the branches above them.

Kyoraku watched Arima cautiously, his usual carefree facade slipping just slightly.

"What brings you out tonight?" Kyoraku finally asked, trying to steer the conversation. "It's rare to see you roaming around anywhere at all...."

Arima's gaze drifted toward the dark horizon.

"Curiosity."

"The disappearances, huh?" Kyoraku murmured, his expression sobering as he looked away. "Yeah… It's bad."

Arima didn't respond, but his silence said enough.

He stood up after a moment, brushing the dirt from his clothes.

"Get a better life..., Kyoraku," he said flatly.

Kyoraku flinched, his lips twisting into a faint grimace. "Always so kind with your words…"

Arima didn't linger to hear more.

He turned, leaving Kyoraku behind as he continued deeper into the district, his hand resting idly on the hilt of Narukami.

The night deepened, the last traces of the sun extinguished beyond the horizon.

Silence wrapped around the streets of Rukongai like a shroud, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.

Just as Arima turned a corner, his steps halted.

A flicker—an almost imperceptible hint of reiatsu brushed against his senses, faint yet unnatural.

His sharp yellow-black eyes darkened, the irises deepening into a blood-red hue.

The familiar pull of his hollow powers thrummed within him, a quiet, dangerous hum that he rarely indulged.

"Interesting…"

His vision shifted instantly as the hollow's sight activated—an ability unique to him, granting him a "spiritual" perspective beyond normal comprehension.

The world around him peeled back layer by layer like a veil, every spiritual thread, every camouflaged presence laid bare before him.

What he saw made his gaze narrow.

You can't hide from me.

Without hesitation, the air split around him, space itself fracturing with a low, resonating hum.

A Garganta tore open in response to his will, the swirling black void stretching wide at his feet.

Arima stepped forward without a sound, his figure swallowed instantly by the darkness.

In the span of a breath, Arima reappeared—high above the faint trace of reiatsu he had sensed.

The sky loomed dark and vast, the stars looking far away and uncaring.

Arima's crimson eyes burned bright in the night, casting a faint glow against the deep shadows.

From this vantage point, he scanned below, his piercing gaze sweeping through the landscape with unnatural precision.

Arima hovered silently above the battlefield, his crimson observed the scene below.

The air was heavy with the residue of clashing reiatsu, but his focus remained on the figures at the center: Hirako Shinji, half his face obscured by a hollow mask, and the man opposing him—Aizen.

The sight of the mask told him enough. A hybrid.

It was obvious this wasn't natural since the world produced no other hybrids except him and it was nigh impossible for him to reproduce.

An experiment had been conducted to blur the lines between hollow and Shinigami.

Arima's gaze lingered on Aizen for a moment longer.

The man exuded control, his calm aura standing in stark contrast to the chaos around him.

Arima quietly noted the precision in Aizen's movements—no wasted effort, no unnecessary aggression.

Efficient, Arima thought.

The incapacitated Shinigami scattered across the ground were another matter.

There was something tainted in their reiatsu—unstable, warped.

It was clear Aizen's work had extended beyond just Shinji.

Arima's expression remained unreadable as he cataloged the information.

Reckless, he concluded silently, his grip shifting slightly on the four-bladed Narukami resting on his shoulder.

Arima didn't react as the battle raged on below, the ringing clash of Shinji's zanpakuto against Aizen's echoing in the night air.

He remained concealed, his presence utterly suppressed, and merely watched.

This fight will end in Aizen's favor, he thought, indifferent.

It was a matter of inevitability.

Arima remained motionless, an unshakable observer in the vast darkness above, as if he were part of the night itself.

His crimson gaze pierced through everything, observing the battlefield and its players.

Whatever Aizen was planning would reveal itself soon enough.

Until then, Arima saw no reason to act.

---

The end of battle was interrupted by Kisuke Urahara and soon Aizen left.

The scene by blocking his companion's Hado 88 with a danku.

While impressive Arima preffered using IXA and his physical strengthfor such things.

Far enough from the scene, Aizen's group moved through the shadows of Rukongai, the moonlit night offering little reprieve from the silence that stretched between them.

Gin's usual smug expression was subdued, and Tōsen remained as wordless as ever.

Then, without warning—

The air around them grew heavy.

Aizen stopped walking, his sharp instincts kicking in as an unfamiliar weight pressed against his very soul.

Aizen became tense, Kyōka Suigetsu already halfway drawn.

A cold breeze passed through the area as space itself seemed to ripple.

And then, from nowhere, Arima appeared.

His imposing figure emerged as though stepping out of thin air his white coat swaying, the four-bladed sword Narukami loosely gripped in his hand.

Moonlight framed his silhouette, highlighting his detached yet unnervingly calm expression.

For the first time in years, Aizen's confident smirk faltered.

His sharp eyes widened ever so slightly as recognition passed through his mind.

He did not know this man—no, this entity by face but his attire was unmistakable of the white reaper.

Gin's knees buckled instantly.

Tōsen dropped to one knee, his breathing ragged as if the very presence of Arima was crushing him into the ground.

The passive killing intent emanating from Arima was unlike anything they had experienced ever..

Aizen tightened his grip on Kyōka Suigetsu as sweat formed along his brow.

Arima tilted his head ever so slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly as they met Aizen's gaze.

His voice, though soft, cut through the silence like a blade.

"No need to be afraid," he said, his tone flat and emotionless. "I have no interest in whatever political or personal motivations led you to that."

The sheer nonchalance in his words was almost insulting, as though he viewed Aizen's schemes as nothing more than an afterthought.

Arima's gaze then sharpened, his voice dropping to an unsettling quiet.

"There is, however, something I am deeply intrigued about."

He took a step forward, his presence intensifying as the pressure around them spiked.

Gin and Tōsen were forced lower, their bodies trembling.

"Why?"

The single word cut through Aizen like a knife, devoid of any visible judgment yet carrying an unbearable weight.

Aizen clenched his jaw, his usual composure now a mask barely holding together.

For the first time , Sosuke Aizen felt uncertainty creeping into his mind.

Arima stood silently, his figure bathed in moonlight, Narukami glinting faintly as though it, too, awaited an answer.

The quiet stretched, suffocating and still, as the night seemed to hold its breath in the face of the unknown.

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Stones and Reviews please