The Gate of The End

[Storyteller]

Akito Akiyama, Fourth Seat of the lauded—beloved, some said—Fourth Division, stood amidst canvas of white Sekkiseki stone now painted in strokes of crimson. It all happened quickly: He began his day on his way through the streets of the Seireitei to report for duty at the Sixth Division. They were, under orders from their leadership, to spend all their off-hours completing countless drills, training sessions, practices, studies, and more. This meant more exhaustion among their ranks, more injuries, and more need for healers to get them right back to it without lengthy recovery times.

A job well-suited for a capable and high-ranked Fourth Seat.

He watched, like almost all others within the Gotei, as Gillian appeared in the Sixth Division headquarters still some distance ahead of him. He could only stare in disbelief as their turned their white-masked heads upwards and loosed a series of Cero that crashed into the very summit of the Shakonmaku and revealed it to all below.

He felt an explosion shake the sky—and the distant walls of the Seireitei—as the barrier above floated away and burned into steam.

The Shakonmaku: destroyed entirely.

That was when, right in front of him, the air ripple as if by heat mirage, and a Hollow tore out of it, tackled another Shinigami man to the street, and bit him clean in half. More and more appeared around him, common Hollows all, while Huge Hollows appeared around the borders of the Sixth Division and drew nearer as they spread out into the Seireitei.

It mattered not, as he summoned steel or spell, which direction he turned his spiritual sense: he felt countless more presences, more of these Hollows no-doubt, within his mind. As far as his senses could reach, and then further yet.

But in the cacophony that followed, a presence stuck out to him, a soul that proved hard to forget: the presence of Hazuki Tsukimiya, lost in the flowing river of Hollows that surrounded him, descended upon his comrades, and descended upon him.

Yet, through it all, he saw something else in the grounds of the Sixth Division. Through the various buildings, he only saw the top half: a gateway in the air, shaped vaguely like a jaw, with a row of teeth along the top, and a swirling mass of grey within. The Void Between Worlds, he knew.

But from the angle he stood, over the Hollows around him, the men that fought and purified, fought and died, he saw something else within that gate: it appeared to be the smallest glint of shimmering white.

He needed to get closer, right before it, in order to see more.

 

[Akito Akiyama]

“Not my lucky day,” Akito muttered, already regretting the trip to Sixth. Too many drills, too many injuries, and—inevitably—too much work.

His footsteps were slow; there was no point in rushing toward more noise, more screams. But when the sky tore open, he came to a complete stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, eyes flickering up to where the barrier once was—now just steam and memory. This had to be an illusion. This was impossible. If he had walked faster -

The noise snapped him back. The sounds of bones breaking, flesh tearing and buildings crumbling. He thought he smelled smoke. Then the screams. Dull at first. Drowned out by his own heartbeat before it all became one cacophony.

Chaos. In a place that was supposed to be ordered. Safe. Akito instinctively stepped back, slipping between the fallen bodies, unsure even where to begin. The wounded? The dying? It didn’t matter. Whichever way he turned, there were just more Hollows, more screams, more bodies. He drew his blade—not out of hope, but habit.

Yet, he had to do something.

“Not my lucky day.”

He hadn't wanted to say it. Akito’s mouth opened again —and for a moment, nothing came out. He almost let it stay that way. But the word slipped past anyway, unbidden and unwanted.

“Regroup!”

His voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. He wasn’t even sure if anyone had heard him.

He needed someone to take charge. Organize a defense. Someone who stood out. One presence stood out, indeed, her Reiatsu floating atop the chaos, unmoving and cold like a glacier: Hazuki Tsukimiya. First time he was glad to have her around. She would take charge. Her voice would carry. Her parents wouldn’t let her die. She wasn’t far off either, but in this madness, they might as well have been leagues apart.

That’s when he saw it — a crack in the air itself, flickering with pale light. Akito cocked his head, eyes narrowing. Despite the chaos, the screams, the rising reek of iron, that fracture stood out. It needed to be seen. It needed to be stitched together—or torn wider.

He took one step. Then another. The rooftop was a single leap away—muscle memory over hesitation—and he moved. Up. Forward. Eyes locked on that glint.

If he survived, maybe it would make sense.

 

[Hazuki Tsukimiya]

Something in the air had made the hairs on the back of Hazuki’s neck stand up. Her off hand had gone reflexively for the sword tucked into her obi, her eyes narrowing without really knowing why as she stopped mid-stride, and then—Shouting. Chaos. Hollows.

Around her, the air surged; spiritual pressure laced with surprise, and hunger, and in an instant her sword was in her hand, drawn with a rasp that she could feel in the grip but couldn’t hear over the commotion. Something came at her from the left and she twisted past it with a flourish, instinct taking over as she tried to gauge the extent of this freshest incursion in the heart of Seireitei. Whatever process in her brain that would have led, eventually, to the disbelief of it happening once more—in broad daylight no less—was thoroughly drowned out by the very acute alarm bells going off from deep in her subconscious:

Four left. And now, all in one place.

Someone jostled past her, trying to escape something behind them, but she paid them no mind. She had already fixed her eyes in the direction of the Sixth Division, hoping that her suspicion was unfounded but her eyes widened at the gaping maw that was opening up above the Sixth’s grounds. Not so lucky, then. Whatever she had been up to, wherever she had been headed, was now suddenly very unimportant: she had to get to the Sixth, and fast.

The rooftop route would be most direct, and would leave her exposed, but she didn’t have time to dawdle: an instant later she was dashing across the terracotta tiles, her sixth sense spreading its tendrils out in front of her as she tried to plot a course that would avoid most of the Hollows. Somewhere ahead of her, she recognized Akiyama and adjusted accordingly; if the last time was anything to go by, he would be needed at her destination.

 

[Akito Akiyama]

Landing on the rooftop Akito stared up at the tear in the sky, squinting at the glint that shimmered beyond reach. His breath hung in the air, caught between fascination and disbelief.

He didn’t hear the first Hollow. Not really. There was just a flicker of movement in his periphery, and then pain. Sharp and immediate as claws raked through flesh and fabric, sending him staggering forward. His expression shifted - concentration giving way to mild confusion. He looked down at the blood on his sleeve, blinked, and then -

The second Hollow hit like a freight train, barreling into him from the side, ribs creaking under the force, air spilling from his lungs. Its fangs scraped across his ribs, showering the beast and the tiles in a spray of crimson. As his sandals dug grooves into the rooftop Akito reversed his grip, blade flashing up and then down - sharp, surgical, final - embedding the weapon to its hilt in the head of his assailant. It shuddered, convulsed. Tore out a chunk of his flesh in its death throes before sinking to the ground.

Akito sucked in a breath. His body trembled from the pain and adrenaline. But his hand was steady when he placed it on the wound. Green energy knitting flesh just enough to keep him on his feet.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulder. Blood trickled down his side, but he didn't so much as glance at it. “If it is still bleeding, it is still alive,” he murmured, flicking the Hollow’s ichor from his blade.

The remaining Hollow circled him like sharks, now that blood was in the water. Akito took a step forward, the monster retreated, but its companion saw a chance. Deflecting the first wild swing and the second with an expression of cold concentration he took half step back to gauge the distance before darting forward.

Dodging underneath the swing he pivoted, one hand on top of its mask, jerking the head up so his knife could cut across the throat. Simple. Clean. An act without malice, just doing what had to be done.

Then Akito’s body convulsed, he regurgitated a mouthful of blood, buckling over as the Hollow slipped from his grap. Only now he realized that in its final act, it had pierced through its own torso to get to him.

One almost had to applaud the dedication to the cause. A slight smile played across Akito’s face as the edges of his vision began to blur. Then he grit his teeth and placed his hand in the wound. The pain shot through his body like lightning, but it cleared his vision, gave him the precious heartbeats to perform first aid on himself, the traces of Kaido flickering.

Centering his blade on the remaining Hollow he steadied his breath. It was time to put on the finishing touches.

Or so he had thought. Two hulking monstrosities crashed onto the roof, splintering tiles and making the stone frame groan beneath them. Their masks were jagged, more angular. One snorted, sending up plumes of ash, the other clicked its talons rhythmically, a steady drumbeat of violence yet to come.

Akito raised an eyebrow. “Bigger, huh?” His voice was light, but his fingers tightened around his tantou. Blood dripped from his side, pattering onto the cracked tiles. He gave it a sidelong glance, then sighed. "Could’ve been my day off."

The two Hollows roared in tandem, a low guttural sound that shook the roof beneath his feet. Akito squared his shoulders, blade tip lowering as he adjusted his stance. "I know," he called back to them, voice dry as autumn leaves. "I’m not happy about this either."