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"Yhwach, remember this…"
"The world you're about to witness is destined to be dyed completely black…"
The massive, ancient brush shaft swung with all the monk's strength. With each movement, waves of pitch-black ink surged outward, accompanied by a release chant that seemed to pierce through endless ages.
"Stain it black—Ichimonji!"
In that instant,
the tip of the enormous brush was no longer soft felt soaked in ink.
It transformed into an incomparably sharp, heavy blade.
Its edge gleamed with lethal brilliance, reflecting a dead, light-devouring black. Even the stone ground of the Omotesando grew visibly darker beneath its shadow.
"Hm?!"
Standing still and watching it all unfold,
Yhwach frowned. Clear confusion surfaced on his ferocious face. "Am I imagining things? The tip of the brush has clearly turned into a blade, but the inky haze in the air is more than ten times thicker than before!"
As if deliberately proving his words true,
the moment Yhwach finished speaking,
the video's perspective suddenly pulled far back. The camera snapped into an extreme wide shot, capturing most of the Soul King Palace's space in a single frame.
Yes.
Yhwach wasn't wrong.
Before, what the viewers had seen was only the tip of the iceberg.
As the field of view expanded,
the space behind Hyōsube Ichibē had already been completely swallowed by drifting ink. It was true, absolute darkness, as though the sky itself had collapsed.
Even more exaggerated,
the very dome of the Soul King Palace, thousands upon thousands of meters above, was being steadily devoured by the vast sea of black.
"This world…"
"Will eventually be dyed entirely black."
The words the big-eyed monk had spoken before his release now sounded like a prophecy of the world's end, spoken far too early.
"What the hell is this?! This is getting more and more ridiculous!" In Squad Eleven, Kenpachi Zaraki's brows were practically twisted into a knot, showing just how hard he was frowning. "This is way beyond normal Shinigami combat!"
When other people release their swords,
either their presence skyrockets, spiritual pressure explodes into pillars of light, or massive shockwaves and clouds of dust erupt.
In short, the intimidation factor goes through the roof. You feel it instantly.
Or else,
they cause the air itself to riot. Reishi in the atmosphere vibrates and screams under pressure it can't endure.
That's another clear sign of a powerful Zanpakutō.
But this?
This white-eyed, sinister monk didn't produce any of that.
After releasing his blade, he just kept swinging a brush and splashing ink everywhere.
What kind of divine nonsense was this supposed to be?
So what if everything turned black?
Wouldn't spiritual pressure just shatter those ugly stains?
Kenpachi couldn't understand it.
Or maybe his mortal brain simply couldn't grasp the power of someone who stood beyond him.
In fact, even after watching for so long, even now,
he still didn't understand what the hell that giant brush in the monk's hands actually was.
Of course,
Kenpachi wasn't the only one.
Watching the ink swirl through the air, feeling the darkness and weight it carried, many people subconsciously shrank back, putting more distance between themselves and the transparent screen. They were half-afraid the ink might splash out of the video at any moment.
After all…
After witnessing so many mind-blowing scenes already,
if something even stranger happened, no one would really be surprised anymore.
At this point,
when nearly three-quarters of the screen had been painted over in black, Hyōsube Ichibē finally stopped swinging Ichimonji.
The corners of his mouth curled upward slightly.
His eyes rolled as he stared at Yhwach, asking with a half-smile,
"Well? Being surrounded by black feels pretty stifling, doesn't it?"
Across from him,
Yhwach's expression didn't change.
He replied coldly, meeting him head-on. "I'll admit it. After your release, I can no longer sense any spiritual pressure coming from you."
"But…"
"Mindlessly splashing ink around like this is nothing more than a farce. It only makes me doubt whether you even deserve the title of 'leader of the Shinigami'… and whether Shinigami as a whole have any real strength at all."
The implication was obvious.
To Yhwach, every Shinigami in this world was just like the big-eyed monk: bizarre clowns, ridiculous and laughable.
And yes,
with a single sentence, Yhwach unleashed a full map-wide insult.
Naturally, it ignited a wave of fury.
"What the hell does Yhwach mean by that?!"
"A guy who was beaten to death by the Captain-Commander not long ago thinks he gets to look down on Shinigami?"
"Eyepatch monk, smash him! Better yet, seal his damn mouth shut!"
"Kill the King of the Quincy! Seal him away for another thousand years!"
…
Inside the Seireitei,
rage and curses filled the air.
Yhwach's hate meter skyrocketed without anyone even noticing.
Now,
faced with Yhwach's provocation,
Hyōsube Ichibē didn't bother arguing further.
Instead, he let out a savage grin and swung Ichimonji with all his might.
"Shraaash—!!!"
The tip, part felt and part blade,
sprayed out a sea of thick, viscous ink as the brush swung down, threatening to drown Yhwach whole.
"Hmph. Playing tricks…"
Yhwach sneered.
As arrogant as ever, he didn't even try to dodge. He simply raised his massive broadsword in front of him, blocking the oncoming black ink.
However…
that single action caused his sword to be completely stained black, stripping it of its former cold gleam and sharp luster.
"Seriously? That's it?!"
Seeing Yhwach emerge completely unharmed,
the spectators, especially the Shinigami, instantly panicked.
What the hell?!
After all that buildup, all that mysterious black ink and dramatic atmosphere, this was the result when things got serious?
Come on!
Eyepatch monk, put some muscle into it!
This is a fight, not an ink-wash painting session!
Please get that through your head!
Deeply disappointed, many Shinigami stomped their feet in frustration.
That all-out strike had completely failed to meet their expectations.
However—
"Hyōsube Ichibē, if that ink has no special properties and still only 'cuts names, not flesh,' then there's no way you can defeat me…"
"On the other hand, against someone this weak, all I need to do is swing my—"
"Hm?!"
As if struck by some forbidden spell,
the words he was about to say, the phrase "my sword," vanished mid-sentence. No matter how many times his throat moved, his vocal cords refused to produce those sounds.
The sensation was… indescribable.
It was as if the fully blackened blade in Yhwach's hand had been stripped of its "name" and "nature."
It was no longer a sword.
It had become nothing more than a lump of black ink, barely holding the shape of a blade.
"???"
"What's going on? Why did Yhwach suddenly go mute?"
The powerhouses of the Shinigami world were stunned.
In the video, Yhwach's mouth was clearly wide open, forming a perfect "O," yet no sound came out.
He wasn't injured. He wasn't corrupted by the black.
And yet, without warning, he'd been forcibly silenced.
A sharp intake of breath echoed everywhere once more.
Goosebumps rose across the crowd as the sheer eeriness of the scene sent chills down their spines.
And what made it even more terrifying,
was Hyōsube Ichibē in the video tilting his head, cupping a hand to his ear. He wore a chilling grin as he deliberately asked,
"Can't figure it out?"
"Why can't you speak the name of your spirit weapon?"
In his pale, ghastly eyes,
it was as though Yhwach's death was already reflected.
Holding Ichimonji level with both hands, the big-eyed monk spoke coldly, revealing the truth.
"That's because…"
"Once it's stained by my ink, that sword has completely lost its name."
"To lose one's name is to lose everything. Permanently. It's total collapse and utter ruin."
"A name, once erased, cannot be restored, nor can it ever be given again."
"That is the power of Ichimonji!"
"..."
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