“Before your time as Commander you were a plague. A blight of violence, war, and terror who spread that plague throughout the Soul Society. You placed no man or law in your eye, your thirst for violence and power was...insatiable. It would appear that, despite your calm demeanor, your twisted ambitions had not been quelled during your time in Muken.”
The Commander remains as he was, composed. Like before, there is no indication that Shobatsu is listening, nor what his thoughts or intentions are. However, it would not matter, as this sentencing holds the same meaning as the introduction, to confirm the concerns of the corrupted Central Forty Six, and bolster their confidence. Though incompetent in many regards, the Central Forty Six were still wise enough to know that insulting Shobatsu is a fruitless endeavor. Anyone who has met the Commander would know that he is more an aspect of justice than a man. Unlike the trembling Misaki, he is above petty emotion.
“Shobatsu Murasaki..your plans, your deception runs deep. Months ago you were attacked and betrayed by one of your own Captains, Captain Mukuro of the Second Division as well as the Commander and Chief of the Onmitsukidō. Yet, not only does the man live, he still remains as a Captain no less! Who among us
“Why do you tolerate this?”
A guttural voice claws its way out from the deepest reaches of the Commander’s mind. Primal, it is a voice which has not been heard for over three hundred years. Speaking for the first time since Shobatsu claimed the title of Captain Commander, it resonates from within his very soul. Yet, outwardly, his composure remains the same, providing no response to either party that now questions him.
SLAM SLAM SLAM
“Tenzen Oda, another man of tainted blood, hailing from the demented clan of barbarians. Where reason dictates he is to be suppressed, you instead allow the man to not only hold a seated position, but promoted him to Captain, allowed this sleeping maniac to command the Kido Corps giving him and his clan unlimited access toall
“They send an assassin to die by your hand, and rather than praise your mercy, they question it. They should be begging for your forgiveness, they should be prostrating themselves before you. Yet here they are, casting judgment...and you allow it.”
The prosecutor continues his list of accusations, citing now two of the Captains directly under Shobatsu’s Command. It is a foolish line of reasoning, to question why Shobatsu, the Commander of the greatest military force, would seek out a Captain from such a renown clan of deadly warriors. Even if they were ostracised for the extremity of their actions, was this not the same story as Shobatsu himself? The Central Forty Six had decided it necessary to forgive an enemy of the Seireitei in order to increase its strength, when they released Shobatsu from the Muken. He had done the same, by allowing the Oda to send their sons to the academy, and allowing Tenzen to earn his title as Captain. It is for this very same reason that Captain Mukuro was spared. A soul of great talent in the art of killing, from a clan of assassins who sought to increase their own renown. This clan had made themselves enemies of the Seireitei by accepting the Central Forty Six’s contract to kill Shobatsu. In turn, Shobatsu had rid this clan of its leadership by harnessing the very weapon they sent to kill them. Yet, none of this need be explained, as the great Judicator’s judgment is absolute, there is no soul whom he must justify himself to.
SLAM SLAM SLAM
“Shirogane Kuchiki, it is a name you should remember.
“Shirogane was a proud man, who placed duty,
“Knowing that Shirogane who felt his failure was a stain on his clan
“Is this your perfect world, Shoba?”
“Is it coincidence that when the Kōtotsu
“Is it also mere coincidence, simple happenstance
“Where the Weak rule over the Strong?”
SLAM
The elected persecutor of the Central Forty Six continues his accusations, while the mysterious voice within the Commander’s head continues his interrogation. Yet, both are ignored, taking a back seat to the priority that Shobatsu notices before anyone else. The entrance to the great compound is opened some distance away. The smell of perspiration, the echoing sounds of rushed footsteps, the rapid thumping of a beating heart, all growing closer. A messenger, their spiritual pressure weak, and therefore not a Shinigami, but an agent of the Forty Six. They rush forth with news, running down the very hall that Shobatsu walked. Until finally, the doors creak open, and the prosecutor is interrupted.
“WHO DARES?!”
The Commander can feel that the agent is looking upon him. The subtle vibrations of muscles tensing, the sudden lack of sound at breath being held, the hesitation before utilizing shunpo, all indications that the agent’s fear consumed him upon witnessing exactly whos trial he interrupted. The Commander however, does not return this acknowledgement, rather, it is as though the agent does not exist, as though the interruption had not happened. Those astute, would realize that the Commander has not moved at all since the course of this trial. His chest did not heave nor his nostrils flair, as he did not breathe a single breath. Not even a single strand of hair upon his head had fluttered at the opening of the great doors. He was as absolute as the very pillars that held this foundation up around them. Though this does not mean that the Commander has done nothing at all, quite the opposite, as what he continues to do, is listen.
“S-sir...Captain Kojima, he’s…..he’s been murdered Sir, ambushed by Akarui Gekkō outside the Captain’s Hall.”
Shobatsu can hear the whispers of the new informant, whose voice quivers still with shock and fear.
“Wha- are..you POSITIVE?”
The Prosecutor whispers back, struggling to keep his voice from being audible. In his surprise, he turns away from Shobatsu to look at the informant, and when he turns back the distant look in the Commander’s gaze is gone. Pupiless, his purple eyes somehow appear to look directly into those of his prosecutor, even from behind the wooden plank that hides the man’s identity. Being sightless, this stare can be meant only as a message between the man and the Commander.
THUD
Shobatsu’s gaze acknowledges that he has heard the news, accompanied by a remorseless look upon his face. This moment is shared between the two, imperceptible to the dozens of souls who look upon them with scrutinization. A Captain is dead, and his Commander feels nothing.
”Y-you...y-y-you…”
The prosecutor raises a shaking hand, his body succumbing to the overload of terror and rage that he now experiences, and yet still, he is given no response by the Commander. His words, caught in his throat to choke upon, are forced out through sheer willpower.
”You FIEND. TREACHEROUS VILLAIN! Does your thirst for power, violence, conquest and bloodshed know no end?! To achieve your goals is no life sacred?! Not even that of a Captain?!”
The death of Captain Kojima at the hands of Sixth Seat Gekkō meant only one thing, that Maho Kojima had defied the orders of Commander Murasaki. When Shobatsu left the hall, his final order issued to the Captains was purposefully audible to Akarui. He had not dismissed her from her post at the Captain’s Meeting, meaning that as a guard her duty was to prevent anyone from entering the hall. However, as First Division is meant to maintain the sanctity of the Seireitei, which means obeying the orders of their Military Commander, this also meant that Akarui’s duty was to prevent anyone from exiting the hall as well, unless meeting the requirements of Shobatsu’s order.
“Maho Kojima, Captain of the Ninth Division and..perhaps the only Captain not subservient to Commander Murasaki...is dead. He was ambushed by Akarui Gekkō, Sixth Seat of the First Division after he came out of the meeting hall. It is also outside of it...where he was slain, by another Shobatsu loyalist. One of YOUR direct subordinates Commander Murasaki!”
Though Shobatsu’s attention was on the Central Forty Six at this time, preventing him from witnessing events play out, it does not require much effort to deduce what had happened. Captain Kojima was a proud man after all, and a loud one. During the meeting, his peers had warned him of the price for even questioning the Commander, yet still he ignored them. Maho thought himself above the other Captains, perhaps above even his Commander. He mistook his inaction as competence, and thought himself to be past ridicule. When given the chance to prove such things, when given the opportunity to face those he looked down upon, his pride dictated that he flee. Like the Central Forty Six, he forgot that the word of Shobatsu Murasaki is absolute.
“They quake before you, their greed crumbles against their fear, which lodges itself in their little bodies, in their little minds, these little people.”
Upon hearing the news, the courtroom erupts with murmurs and whispers. The forty Six judges were not comfortable before, but they were confident. Now, the effort the prosecutor put into bolstering their confidence has been undone. The death of a Captain reminding them just how insignificant their own lives were compared to Commander Murasaki’s sense of justice and duty. They are depending upon the Commander complying with them and their system, but if even one his own Captains is not deserving of his mercy or patience, then what hope do they have? In their own minds now, they likely question why the Commander is willing to endure this, his own fate is clearly on the line and yet he does not run or respond to violence. Only the wisest of them might be able to look past their hatred and fear, and see that Shobatsu Murasaki does not invoke a sentence before judgment has been cast.
“Yes, it's clear to me as it is to everyone present here...
“Feeble-bodied, feeble-minded, weak-willed. This is who you would submit to? They are the blemish upon your perfect world. They will run it into the ground as they have before. Why do these insects have your audience? Why do you permit them to spew their insolence?”
...SixthSeat Akarui Gekkō will also stand trial for her hand in this most recent of many crimes.”
SLAM SLAM SLAM
The pounding of fists in support is replaced now by the resonating clash of gavels against wood, casting out their sentence, their judgment, delivering their vote in support of the prosecutor, a united front against the Captain Commander. The introduction, the trial, and now the sentencing, all meaningless, all a show of solidarity between those with no authority outside of closed doors. Who were they, to cast judgment down upon he who is the embodiment of such a thing? There was only a single soul within this room that had the power to invoke true justice.
“Commander-no...Shobatsu Murasaki. Your crimes against the Seireitei are as grievous as they are many. No longer can we abide your existence and reign, no longer will we allow your evil to spill into the world and continue to danger all that we have built…
“For Three Hundred Years you have brought balance to the lives of those whom you should have conquered. You stand here facing accusations by the fools responsible for the very actions they seek to blame you for. You repay them for your release a thousand times over, a payment that they do not deserve! Do you not recall the way it used to be? The way you used to be? What has your high road brought you, what has your self righteousness wrought upon you? You bring balance and peace to be repaid with deception and betrayal. Your Captains run from your orders openly into their own demise. Your jurors manipulate and scheme, damaging the very Society they tasked you with protecting. Who is the insect, to be so bold as to challenge the Lion? I’ve had enough of this Shobatsu Murasaki…”
“Step forward to receive your judgement!”
“Step forward and end this!”
“Enough.”
Suddenly, the Great Judicator is swept from the Courtroom of the Central Forty Six Compound. He is transported to a place both foreign and familiar, a distant world, an
Inner world, one in which he spent four millenia, and yet hasn’t seen in over three centuries.
Beneath him, his sandals press upon purple sand, which spreads as dunes for as far as the eye can see. Above him, skies of black are cut through by the purple twilight of a rising sun, just out of reach, just of sight, eternally on the cusp of rising above an infinite mountain range, an infinite distance away. Before him, a massive structure of sandstone towers into the sky, piercing into the very heavens, a pyramid, and one of thousands that dot this skyline. From a distance, it appears as though these pyramids are what compose the desert floor, yet, from the perspective of a soul, a single one reaches incalculable heights. Around him, the air weighs heavier than the greatest burdens of the outside world, the gravity of this place inflicting itself down upon the realm ten thousand fold. It is this gravity that compresses the sand into stone, and the stone into pyramids.
Standing at the base of one such pyramid, there is no mistaking his location. When first Shobatsu arrived in this place, a young man by Shinigami standards, he was incapable of resisting its weight. His bones broke under the pressure, until he learned to resist the pain. His chest would not heave with air, until he learned not to breath. His body was incapable of taking a step, until he learned how to move the world around him. Now, he is the master of this domain. Wisened, conditioned by experience, the mere presence of the inner world is not enough to deter him. However, there is one that dwells within this realm that surpasses the title of master. A beast that prowls this territory, having conquered it long ago, the King of this realm. It is he who brought Shobatsu to this place, and it is he whom Shobatsu turns to face.
Back within the great hall, Shobatsu steps forward to address his persecutors, the corrupted Central Forty Six. They hope to ease their fears and save themselves from guilt and ridicule by sentencing the man they freed, to death. However, the Captain Commander has heard their case, it is now his turn to cast judgment upon them.
“Genkoku Tsunayashiro, Misaki Kuchiki, Ogawa Toshio, Mizouchi Shihōin, Toshiei Fēng, Wakamatsu Kaneshige, Takeya Omaeda, Kitomaru Tsuneo, Toshiko Kira, Nankanashi Yusuke, Yoshikawa Ise, Yumi Tsunayashiro, Mayama Kasumiōji, Yuichi Shiba, Tanabu Masayo, Makiyama Hiroe, Furukawa Toshiharu, Kaneko Genjiro, Nakagawa Masaharu, Kawada Ryuhei, Matsumari Kyōraku, Yoshifumi Fēng, Muroi Shihōin, Kunihiko sugi, Hisatake Shihōin, Suzuki Muneo, Yamatani Eriko, Marukawa Ukitake, Tamayo Kira, Yamamato Shihōin, Junzo Tsunayashiro, Sato Shihōin, Nobuaki Ōmaeda, Aoki Ai, Tsuruho Tsunayashiro, Yosuke Ukitake, Haku Shinkun, Miazawa Kiyoshi, Yoichi Shunkan, Hayashi Yoshimasa, Nakasone Hirofumi, Arimura Haruko, Okamura Kiyoshi, Takashi Shihōin, Ikkamaru Fēng, Eisaku Aikawa.”
Despite their identities being the most protected secret of the Central Forty Six, the Great Judicator lists the names of each and every one of its members. Their wooden planks, infused with kido to keep their faces well guarded, serve to mask them from any subject that would look upon within this hall. However, what purpose is there in obscuring the sight of a blind man? Even with their reiatsu sealed away by the suppressing threads of their white uniforms, the members of the Central Forty Six were still physical beings.
Within the hall they were anonymous, but these jurors did not exist solely within these walls. When not congregated, each of them returned to the safety and comfort of their lavish homes. In particular those of noble decent, who proudly display their family name within the Central Forty Six as a sign of prestige, believing it to elevate their status. How many times, within the past Three Hundred Years, had each of these members come and gone through this building, returning home to their lives seemingly inconspicuous. How many nights, had Shobatsu, upon his throne, sensed each of their Forty Six signatures, and mentally followed them through their routine? That’s right. The Commander was intimately familiar with the daily rituals and habits of every single one of these men and women. Every deal, plot, scheme, every closed door meeting, every sentencing, Shobatsu had witnessed, and in silence, judged.
The Seireitei is Shobatsu’s domain. Outside its walls is a lawless land of wayward souls, cared only for as the jurisdiction of the Seventh Division. However, everything within its walls was Shobatsu’s to observe. Passively, his senses reach out for these hundreds of miles, actively, his attention searches to observe those he estimates will need sentencing. No souls have garnered Shobatsu’s attention more than those of the Central Forty Six. Easily swayed by noble influence, easily succumbing to paranoia to make foolish judgments, which put innocent souls into danger. Forty six individuals, who hold the fate of all realms within their hands, forty six mistakes to be made.
“You have failed me.”
A gust of wind blows from a distance away, to some, inconspicuous, however, to Shobatsu Murasaki, who is familiar with this strange terrain, such a thing is nothing but an omen of death. There is no wind that can withstand the gravitational force of this place, it is not a natural occurrence, and so can only mean one thing. He turns now to face the invisible threat, though he is incapable of sensing the creature that prowls here, he is familiar with its tactics.
When he begins his turn, he is Captain Commander Murasaki, aged four thousand three hundred and fifteen years, however, when he reaches the end of his motion, he is a different man altogether. Outside, Shobatsu is perhaps the greatest authority of all the realms, commanding the most powerful military force to ever exist. Here, he is the one subjected, a victim of the whims of the being that calls this place home.
The white Haori of the Captain Commander, emblazoned with the insignia of the First Division fades from him mid motion, as his hand clasps around the hilt of his Zanpakutō. Using this momentum, he wastes no energy, there was no room for error in this deadly place. As he draws his Zanpakutō, the years fade from him, the wrinkles of his face disappearing. By the time the blade exits the sheath, his titanic stature has all but faded too. When the judicial blade reaches the end of its deadly swing, he is four thousand three hundred years younger. With his Zanpakutō thrusted outwards protectively before him, he is but a boy.
“Shihōken.”
Within the Hall of the Central Forty Six, Shobatsu’s Reiatsu emanates. Previously, when the Forty Six Members felt threatened by the Commander’s presence, they had raised their hands. This seemed to ease their fear somewhat, but also served as a clear assurance to Shobatsu that they had a contingency plan in place. As such, he deemed to release a sliver of his Reiatsu, enough that its subjugating effect would fall upon the jurors present. Upon feeling its weight, their complacent bodies would crumble. In unison their heads slam against their desks with enough force to crack the wood. Mimicking the sound of their call of solidarity, they are each subjugated with a resounding
SLAM
“I have served my purpose. To the flow of souls I brought balance, to the Soul Society I brought peace, and to its people prosperity. To you Forty Six, who are accustomed to success through the suffering of others, I have brought equality. Discontent with this, you seek to undo what I have done. You fail to see that you are the cause of all that I have done. By releasing me from imprisonment, you took responsibility for my actions, for the wellbeing of the Seireitei. Pursuing the wellbeing of only yourselves, you have failed this responsibility.”
Shobatsu’s voice shatters the silence of his inner world. The only word he speaks is the name of his Zanpakutō, both an acknowledgement and a greeting. He had swung his sword defensively, anticipating the arrival of his Zanpakutō spirit behind him. In this way it was successful in staving off the attack, aimed for the spinal column along the back of Shobatsu’s neck. Where Shobatsu’s swing failed however, was in establishing distance. Just as the spirit was predictable to Shobatsu, who had faced it countless times before, so too was Shobatsu easily anticipated by the Zanpakutō spirit.
Shobatsu’s sword strike, which is capable of outpacing the fastest soul alive, of deflecting attacks moving at the speed of light, of halving an entire dimension’s population, is not only blocked, but negated. The steel length of the silver blade is caught, casually, between the fingers of a monster, rendering the most powerful soul in existence into nothing but a mouse caught in the paw of a lion.
A young Shobatsu now faces down the very source of the inciting voice within his mind. The legendary Zanpakutō spirit known as Shihōken. The massive beast now crouches before him, having manifested from thin air at eye level, so that its glowing purple eyes could look directly upon the blinded Shobatsu’s. Its lips curl into a snarl, exposing the massive fangs of its maw into a twisted smile. It twirls its fingers in mockery, keeping Shobatsu’s blade wedged between them. Even with the titanic caliber of his strength, Shobatsu is incapable of dislodging his blade from the grip of his spirit. The two stay locked in this way, a stand off of wills, ideals, and strengths. It in turn both greets and acknowledges Shobatsu. When it speaks, its voice shakes the very sand, kicking up dust in a cloud between them.
“Murasaki.”
The Commander addresses the Central Forty Six, his voice echoing off of the massive stone walls throughout the Great Hall like thunder between mountains. The very air shakes, rendered palpable by the spiritual energy that permeates through it. Despite this display however, the Captain Commander appears to remain calm. His tone, as always, radiates with absolute authority, leaving no room for questions or doubt. He does not speak in anger, but fact, delivering the truth to these Forty Six defendants, who have lived with the wool of greed, wealth, and fear over their eyes for three hundred years now.
“Rendered incompetent in the face of a power you cannot control, you succumb to fear. You have utilized your wealth of resources to seek the aid of forces outside of the Seireitei, commissioning the Mukuro Clan to utilize their puppet Captain in order to sabotage the hierarchy of the Gotei Thirteen. Once again, you tasked me with correcting your mistake. I freed a Captain under my command from the influence of a force who would actively conspire against us for the profit you hold in your pocket. You were within your authority to act as you did, but the price you paid to hire Captain Mukuro was not one of material wealth. In conspiring with assassins outside the purview of the Gotei Thirteen, you relinquished your hold over the title of Captain Commander. You concede that you possess no power, no authority yourselves to act upon my position.”
“You’ve gotten old. You look tired, Shoba. I don’t blame you. It can’t be easy to sit atop the hill without trampling a single ant. Those creatures outside are exhausting, toddlers playing with swords, fighting little monsters. They don’t know what a true battle is, they don’t know what a true monster is.”
The beastial spirit, Shihōken, speaks to its wielder directly now, within its own realm. Here it is king above all, a vicious conqueror who looks down upon the Seireitei’s strongest soul. Shihōken represents a life that Shobatsu has long since left behind, serving as a reflection of the Commander’s past self, the antithesis to his balanced nature. The spirit seeks a return to the glory days of conquest and violence, serving as a reminder for Shobatsu to repress such emotions in his pursuit of a just and balanced world.
“Why don’t you show them?”
To Shihōken, a balanced world is a foolish ideal, as justice is defined not by what is right or virtuous but by the strong. After all, as experienced by Shobatsu himself, history is written by the victor. While Shobatsu remains the embodiment of balance, Shihōken embodies all that Shobatsu used to be. Rage, violence, power, the spirit is a conqueror by nature whose only pleasantry is the subjugation of the masses. It is for this reason that it revealed its name to Shobatsu within the moment of its creation. The spirit, as is its nature, wishes to conquer the ideals of its wielder, and return Shobatsu to his formerly glory.
“For centuries now you have deprived me, deprived yourself. Withholding your power from your subjects, succumbing to restrictions of your body, obeying the will of fools. In the pursuit of balance? No. You are aware as much as I, that balance can be achieved without peace. It is Genryūsai and the Noble House’s peace that upset the balance of souls. They betrayed the Soul King, and took matters into their own hands. They failed. Look at what peace has done, spawning summer children incapable of imagining the horrors of war, let alone winning one.”
Shihōken continues to present his point of view, having its wielder at its mercy. Just as Shobatsu knows, with utmost mastery, how to manipulate the blade in his hand. So too has the blade learned to manipulate its wielder. Shihōken has spent these years biding his time for the proper moment to state his case, knowing that Shobatsu of the Scales will balance it equally against his own values, until he reaches a verdict of his own. Even still, Shihōken realizes that Shobatsu Murasaki is not easily convinced.
“Genryūsai is dead. His Gotei Thirteen is yours. Only the Nobles and their Forty Six remain. Their power is weak, immaterial, they have no hold over you. There is no one to oppose us.”
The Zanpakutō Spirit can feel it’s wielder’s grip upon his sword loosen. Entranced by his words, Shihōken has Shobatsu’s full attention. The King of Zanpakutō knows that it is impossible to deceive his wielder, and so relies on honesty for his arsenal. He speaks only the truth, having presented his argument with the utmost sincerity. Now, with Shobatsu of the Scales seemingly weighing these truths, Shihōken presents a verdict.
“Correct the mistake of peace. Undo the Soul Society that you fought to prevent. Return the flow of souls to its natural order. Restore balance.”
“Like you Forty Six, Shirogane Kuchiki failed in every regard. The nephew of a Captain who failed her position, raised by a mother who failed to take her sister's throne. He failed his son when he failed to remove the weakness that dwelled in him. He failed his division when he failed to reach Captaincy. He failed his noble clan when he failed to earn the title of Lord. It is only expected that you would relate so heavily, as he was a man incapable of standing on his own.”
The wounds of that fateful day remain fresh. Only three months ago, did Shirogane Kuchiki betray the Seireitei that he swore to protect. He massacred the most powerful members of the most prestigious noble house within the Soul Society. Having failed in every regard, his noble upbringing prevented him from any form of humility. Rather than acknowledge his faults, his ego twisted events, corrupting his perception, until he believed it is the Soul Society that was inadequate, and not himself.
Weak, he lusted for power, and possessed every tool within his privileged world to obtain it. Maddened by his failures, he destroyed the very clan he wanted to protect. He deceived the division he wanted to lead. His actions obtained him the power he sought, at the cost of many innocent lives. The only survivors of the encounter turned victims, their souls forever mutilated. Shirogane became an atrocity, and wished to spread this to not only the Gotei Thirteen, but the Soul Society itself. If Shobatsu had not anticipated the every move of those involved, then Shirogane would have hollowfied the entirety of the Rukongai. The Soul Society would be transformed into a dimension of Hollows, no different than Hueco Mundo. If not for Shobatsu Murasaki, and the brave Vizards that put their lives on the line, Shirogane and his supporters would have destroyed the balance of souls. Shirogane is dead. His supporters remain. Here, in this Great Hall, they will face punishment.
Having said his piece, the time for words between Shihōken and Shobatsu has come to an end. The massive Zanpakutō spirit watches his wielder closely with luminescent eyes. A snarling smile still exposed upon its lionesque maw. As always, the world is still, not even a breeze between them. The Zanpakutō spirit, though he does not realize it, has become too comfortable. Having felt Shobatsu’s grip on his Zanpakutō loosen, Shihōken imagined that his words had gotten through. To him, Shobatsu’s inaction was a sign of his contemplation.
It is true, that Shobatsu’s mind, within his inner world, now thought of what his spirit had proposed. Prior to the betrayal of the Soul King by the Noble Families, the Soul Society was no different than the dimension of Hueco Mundo. At the start, the after life was an infinite battlefield. Souls, whether living or born, were spawned into a wasteland of lawlessness and disorder. Even the most pure of souls had to resort to violence and thievery, or else be murdered at the hands of another who did. That is, if they weren’t devoured by a Hollow first.
From this chaos, only the strongest souls were able to rise. Factions began to follow the most skilled warriors, the most efficient killers, who were able to fend off the violent world by murdering those who did not fall in line. Warriors such as Genryūsai Yamamoto, Shobatsu Murasaki, and Retsu Unohana. Though this Soul Society was one that drowned in blood, its function was absolute. The amount of souls that died were in such high number that it was impossible for an imbalance to form. A human soul would die, and either be feasted on or become a hollow, or enter Soul Society, and be killed by or become a warrior. Regardless, a violent death awaited anyone who entered the afterlife, before reincarnation. In a way, this death was sought, as Reincarnation into the world of the living was the only guarantee of escape to peaceful life.
However, this was put to an end by the pride of the Nobles. Discontent with losing their lineage to the machinations of the Soul King’s plan, they decided to rebel, and take the flow of souls into their own hands. Their crusader was the Seireitei’s greatest swordsman, Genryūsai Yamamoto, who united twelve other warriors to his cause. Shobatsu was one such candidate, but Yamamoto’s aim was to bring peace to the Soul Society, and therefore an end to the battlefield where Shobatsu reigned supreme. At the time, blinded by ignorance and a lust for blood, the great warlord could not foresee a future where the regulation of the flow of souls fell into anyone's hands but the Soul King.
Shihōken, who is the spiritual embodiment of all Shobatsu used to be, is still unable to see such a world. The Zanpakutō spirit yearns for blood and violence, for the cycle of souls to be one of death and conflict eternal. Shobatsu felt this way once, but now he feels nothing at all. After millenia of isolation, he had time to reflect on the errors of his thinking. When he was free to do as he pleased, he was blinded by mortal pleasure. He believed that he had taken fate into his own hands by rising above the masses, and forming an army that would conquer the Soul Society under him. What he did not realize, was this was not liberation from the cycle of death. He had been fighting the wrong enemy. He had been playing his part in the Soul King’s plan. The true enemy was the flow of souls itself. Yamamoto united an army to defy fate, to fight the ultimate opponent, while Shobatsu played into its hand. No longer.
He has been reborn into a world of peace and comfort. Where innocent souls are permitted to be weak, and still thrive, to be kind, and still continue, where existence does not need to be earned. Captain Commander Shobatsu Murasaki is no longer blind to the future. He sees a perfect world, where the war against suffering has been won, and the concept of pain is all but lost. A universe where all existence is equal and just, a soul weighed against a soul, perfectly balanced. It is this perfect world that Shobatsu Murasaki fights for. With reality itself as his opponent, he cannot afford such weaknesses as this.
It’s true that his grip loosens upon his Zanpakutō. However, it is not the consequence of a mindless action, but a deliberate movement. The intent was to trick his Zanpakutō Spirit into a state of comfort, no matter how slight the relaxation of the beast’s muscles, it is enough for Shobatsu to capitalize on the complacency. His free hand smacks against the back of the blade, thrusting it forward like a hammer against a nail. Caught between Shihōken’s fingers, it thrusts deep into the meat of his hand.
“GAAAAH!”
In retaliation, the Zanpakutō spirit smacks Shobatsu aside. The force of the blow sends the young man flying through the air, crashing through three neighboring pyramids. As they collapse, the debris obscurs the two from sight of each other. Shihōken waits idly, the shock of his wound worn off, the damage incredibly minor. However, the anger in its eyes persists. The sand around the beast begins to flatten into glass as its rage permeates through its body.
When the wreckage ends its fall, and all things are settled. Shobatsu stands ten miles away. The debris of the pyramid around him has been turned to sand, crushed beneath the overbearing weight of his reiatsu. In his hand, is the silver blade of his Zanpakutō, ripped from the beast when Shihōken dared to strike him. They were one for one, the time for words was over. Shobatsu had casted his verdict, and there was no only one final way for Shihōken to change his mind.
They stare at each other, the hues of their eyes glowing purple against the black of the night sky. Their muscles tense, and the glass beneath them both shatters. Then just like that, they disappear from sight. Their bodies move to strike, as they collide in a final death charge.
The inner walls of the Central Forty Six compound begin to crack under the pressure. The heat of Shobatsu’s flames drowning the darkness out with purple light. To an innocent man, the hall would be temperate. To the Central Forty Six, it is an inferno. The heat of the black fire burns proportionate to the doubts and uncertainty in people's minds, a self flaguence for the unjust actions they committed, for the unbalanced nature of their souls. None are more susceptible to this than the forty six souls who dared to try and escape their penance this evening.
Terror encroaches the hearts of those who were already corrupted by fear. Bound by the subjugation effects of Murasaki’s reiatsu, each individual member would feel a great weight bearing down on them. For every ounce of force they attempt to push back, the reiatsu only doubles down, ensuring that their already meager strength remains meaningless. The sensation was as though the claw of a massive creature was forcing them to bow their heads. Even as their desks creak beneath their skulls, under stress from the force of their heads pressing down, the subjugation would only increase as Shobatsu went on. At this rate, the only amount of resistance their bodies could offer, with all of their strength and might, is to beg for the Commander’s mercy. Their calls would fall upon death ears, as he continued to recite his verdict, uninterrupted.
“You are all that I am not. Weak. Cowardly. Easily swayed. Easily manipulated. You exist in the highest status, and live your lives in fear of losing this. Your flaws are imperceptible to you, but not to me. Shirogane Kuchiki used you, as his mother does now, because you live under the thumb of nobility. You allowed a single noble to put you each into your place. Living in fear of me, you followed the whims of the Kuchiki like dogs. You forget that it was you who tasked me with the protection of the Seireitei, with guarding the Aku Hachi Hakkō from the wrong hands. You, who fear its power, who seek it locked away, sold your judgment for coin. Mine cannot be bought, nor threatened. Presented with two options, I chose the one that spared your lives. I obeyed your orders, as is my duty, and manipulated events so that the outcome would result in the least amount of deaths. You believe I seek a loyal army of Vizards to march against you? I need no army.”
The force of their collision once again renders the surrounding pyramids into ruin and rubble. Their reiatsu unleashes at full force, creating a torrent of purple and black flame that launches towards the sky in a beam of pure incinerating light. Flashes of lightning commultate within this, spawned by the pure energy that has been released. The explosion of their competing powers forms an apocalyptic cloud of black fire, which swallows the sky.
However, this lasts only but a moment. Only long enough for Wielder and Zanpakutō to exchange blows. Both Shobatsu and Shihōken knew that they were evenly matched. They knew that there would be no prolonged fight, and so both decided to gamble their lives on a single blow. The outcome of such a battle reveals itself upon the dissipation of spiritual energy in the air, the very fate of Seireitei hanging in the balance.
When the smoke clears, the calm stillness of this world’s eternal night returns. For one hundred miles, every structure within the vicinity is reduced to ash, the purple sand turning into a reflective mirror for as far as the eye can see. Shobatsu, in his blindness, is unable to witness his own reflection. He is incapable of seeing what has become of him, and this is perhaps for the best. Unfortunately what Shobatsu’s senses are capable of feeling, is pain.
Shihōken had obtained the upper hand. Where Shobatsu fought as a man, Shihōken did so as a beast. The all-piercing thrust of Shobatsu’s Zanpakutō was thwarted by the deceptive tactics of the Zanpakutō spirit. Shihōken had not responded in any attempt to disway the strike. Rather, he let it continue, directly into his open maw. Taking Shobatsu's entire arm between his teeth, Shihōken had pinned his wielder, and swallowed the Zanpakutō.
With his wielder at his mercy, and the Zanpakutō at his control, Shihōken has won. However, lacking the patience but thriving in pride, it wishes to gloat, to break its wielder and cement its reign.
“Witness, Shobatsu Murasaki, as I undo all that you are.”
Within the Captains hall, the flames of Shobatsu’s Zanpakutō flare. The Captain’s had seen to their own fates. Three rising above the rest as the true disciples of Murasaki. One, a healer, left without causing harm, true to his nature. Another, a dragon, left and was melted by the flame of pride. Now, there is no soul left within the hall to see what is to occur.
Shobatsu’s Zanpakutō rises from the stone floor that it is embedded in. The flames around it spiral and swirl, as it lifts into the air. It hovers there, illuminating the Captain’s Hall with the same purple light that floods the Central Forty Six Compound, that looms over Shobatsu’s inner world. Then, it rotates, falling horizontal, with its blade pointed towards the door.
What is seen next, is seen by those who would be outside the hall. Lieutenant Oki, Shobatsu’s most trusted advisor. Akarui Gekkō, who should the Central forty Six have their way, will suffer the same fate as Shobatsu. Kiku Shunkan, holding Captain Oda around his arms. Higen Kagayaki, the strongest of the Captains, and Shobatsu’s first true ally. These souls, all of the First Division, witness Shobatsu’s Zanpakutō, Shihōken, pierce through the doors to the Captain's Hall. Like a missile, it flies through the air towards the Central Forty Six Compound, towards its wielder. Its speed is such that it is but a purple blur of light, perceptible only to those familiar with the blade of their Commander. Its destination can mean only one thing.
“Central Forty Six, for committing the ultimate crime, and placing the balance of souls at risk. I sentence you to-”
THUD
Suddenly the Commander falls to his knees. He drops his wooden cane, which functions as the sheath to his Zanpakutō. As it rolls before him, it becomes clear that the case is no longer empty. Nestled within its sheath, is the blade of Shihōken. Where had it come from? The Commander did not summon it, let alone sheath it. Rather, it is as though it manifests from nothing. Before the Commander can react to this sudden development, the situation around him becomes clear. He realizes that the Great Hall, previously housing Forty Six reiatsu signatures, has gone completely dark.
Shobatsu’s persecutor, Genkoku Tsunayashiro, has been slain. Though Shobatsu is unable to see the man, the scent of his wounds, which bleed across his table and chair, makes his fate apparent. The smell of blood strikes like iron against the Commander’s nostrils. The utmost silence that fills the hall, as well as the lack of vibration from heartbeats or quaking of bodies, allows the Commander to take in all that has happened.
The Central Forty Six are dead. Their wounds indicate that each of them were killed in unison by a single sword strike. When had this occurred? It was not of Shobatsu’s own doing. His intent was to send them each to the Muken for three hundred years, not to prematurely end their life. This is a crippling blow to the structure of the Seireitei, this was a heinous crime. Shobatsu of the Scales is no criminal, and yet, it is his Zanpakutō alone that is the only weapon in the room. When had it arrived?
It is now that the Commander feels the connection to his inner world is severed. He can no longer hear the voice of Shihōken. The internal battle had reached its end, but Shobatsu had not expected the conflict to affect the material world. Never had his blade acted in such a way before.
He attempts to rise, but feels his chest concave within him. To save his own life he flexes the muscles of his core. Their strength and condition is such that they are like steel cables. They tense, and seal the open wound only enough to prevent his vital organs from hemorrhaging. Yet still, it is not enough to negate the damage done to his body. Blood rushes from an open wound, pouring from his chest like a waterfall. A sacrifice of lives, a penance of blood, Shobatsu’s lifesource pours out from him onto his vicious blade as though in tribute. It had entered from his back, and pierced through his chest to deliver the incriminating strike. Even now, he can feel his life force depleting, he can feel the memories slipping away, the years of experience being lost. He can feel the part of himself that restrains who he once was, start to dwindle. He can feel his life being cut in half.
