Demanding the Truth

“…No.”

Schultz had spent all night, as he did most nights, continuing his never-ending research for the unknown information that he called the Truth. Every night that he did manage to sleep reminded him of that knowledge he had briefly seen on the cusp of death in his human form, the knowledge he had been unable to claim for himself. As a result, Schultz had followed after it, researching and studying almost constantly when he wasn’t on a mission assigned to him by Kouhai, but still he had found nothing. Now, after years in Las Noches, the Septima Espada realized just why he was unable to discover this truth, and what had held him back for so long. And now, as a result of finding a lead on his desired information… he was furious. And it showed in the surge of Reiatsu that filled Las Noches.

“DAMNIT! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!”

The doors to the Septima’s rooms were slammed open as the scholar stormed out, intent on his destination. His face was twisted with rage, and he was already notorious for blowing up at others for no apparent reason. As a result, everyone stayed out of his way as he made his way through Las Noches, making his way towards the Primera’s quarters. That made people stay doubly out of the way; if Schultz was going to attack Adalo, then not only was he going to get slaughtered, but there was bound to be quite a mess after all was said and done. The Primera would make short work of Schultz, but the scholar was known for his temper, and would likely cause plenty of collateral damage in being killed.

To the relief of all watching, Schultz stopped before entering the Primera’s wing, though he grabbed a nearby Arrancar and slammed him into the wall. Despite his lack of strength, his fury drained all backbone out of the lesser Arrancar and allowed him to keep his grip. “Go into the Primera’s quarters and inform Myzaraphiston Synderfell that I am leaving, and I do not plan to return. Tell her that she is the new Septima.” With that, Schultz opened a Gargantua and vanished into its depths, leaving the Arrancar stunned and confused.

The portal soon opened into Soul Society, though it was on the outskirts; Schultz had not taken the time to research an entrance into Seireitei itself. It didn’t matter, though; the scholar could bring the Shinigami to him quite easily. Raising a hand, the Espada felt his Reiatsu flow into it, forming an orb of pure energy, a Cero easily held in his palm. With a thought, he released it; the orb shot forward, tearing through several houses. With the sheer Reiatsu Strength that Schultz possessed, the walls were like paper, folding beneath the power of his attack, destroying several buildings and the souls within them. Another one was released in a second direction, causing more explosions as the Cero rocketed through the structures. Smoke began to fill the air, as did the screams of the dying. And in the middle of it all, Schultz stood waiting.

Come to me, Shinigami… I will have my Truth from you, the Truth you’ve hidden for so long!

Where are they!? Where are those foul scum that call themselves Shinigami!?” Flames licked the buildings that had been mostly devastated under Schultz’s Cero, causing plumes of smoke to begin rising into the sky. Another structure collapsed under its own weight as the damaged foundation fell through, causing a cloud of dust to further darken the skies. Bloody, torn bodies littered the ground around Schultz as the scholar’s temper flared up, the scholar simply cutting down any souls that came within his reach. Though it seemed comical that such a small blade could be so devastating, the pen-sized weapon slashed through bodies and ripped apart flesh as the Septima released his fury, hoping to draw out a Shinigami.

“WHERE ARE YOU, SHINIGAMI!? COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU CURS!” Schultz let his anger out in the form of a desperate scream, hoping to draw the Shinigami out from hiding; he didn’t just seek their presence; he demanded it. Hands clenched into fists as nails dug into the scholar’s palms so deeply that they nearly drew blood, shaking in impotent fury. Crimson splashes streaked the former Septima’s arms and clothing, remnants of the lives he had ended with his own hands rather than the burst of a Cero. Even as he spoke, another soul died, the small blade connected to Schultz’s grimoire stabbing through their chest and into their heart. More blood erupted from the wound as the scholar’s swing came so hard that his hand sunk into the young female’s chest before he pulled it free, dripping with her life’s essence.

All this could be avoided if the Shinigami would come out to face me…

Suddenly, the scholar felt that his prey was near; Schultz could sense the man’s presence with ease thanks to his strong ability to detect another’s energy. Crimson eyes turned angrily towards the man who arrived on the scene, fire still burning in their gaze as the scholar took in his adversary. It was a Shinigami, no doubt, and a powerful one by his presence and garb. In fact, it had to be a Captain; no other Shinigami dared wear the white haori that announced such a presence. Black robes made up the rest of the man’s outfit, the standard for Shinigami, though these were well-kept and decorated, a symbol of wealth as much as style. A weapon hung at the man’s side, no doubt his Zanpaktou; it was further proof that this was one of the people Schultz wanted. At least, that’s what the scholar thought before his eyes took in the man’s face, and subsequently widened.

It’s…! It’s Sozen Kuchiki…! Every Esapda knew of Sozen Kuchiki, one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful Captain in Soul Society. Most had a healthy wariness of the man, even knowing only as much about his powers as they did. Schultz knew that he man’s power manipulated red in some way; the only way in which he had done so was to form blades, to the scholar’s knowledge, but even so that made him deadly. The scholar was soaked in blood, meaning that he was already covered in several bright bulls-eyes all over his form. As long as that was true, Sozen’s Zanpaktou would dice him to ribbons, and the Captain was well-known for his strength even against some of the stronger Espada.

Quickly pulling off his jacket and scrubbing the blood from his face as best as he could, Schultz tossed it aside as he prepared for battle. It would be a quick affair likely, as the scholar was at a disadvantage on a number of levels. The first was that Sozen was strong enough to go up against Kuroi Naito, and even though he had lost Schultz had heard rumors that Sozen had pushed the Segunda further than any other Shinigami had before. The scholar had been unable to even get his superior to use his Resurrection back then, and though he had grown stronger in time, it still made for quite the gap in skill and strength. To make matters worse, Schultz’s own Resurrection was named the Blood-Soaked Truth for a reason; it coated his skin in crimson, which was obviously a shade of red. That simply gave Sozen one more point to manipulate. However, his Resurrection was his only chance; in it, Schultz could alter the playing field to render his opponent useless, in theory.

“These souls have nothing to do with our war. Let them go. Do not harm them, or I will cut you down where you stand in a single instant.” Schultz wanted to laugh at that line, and in fact he did; a wide grin spread across his face as he tried his hardest to stifle it, but the madness within him would not let him off so easily. “Oh, that is rich coming from one of the most merciless Shinigami in Seireitei. Even if I were to spare them, you would still attempt to slay me simply for being who I am.” One hand would be raised to point at a fleeing soul. “Which one should I kill? The young woman with the ponytail? That man bearing a small child? The elderly stumbling along?” Schultz shook his head. “But no… I’m not here for them. I have no reason to kill them, not even for the pleasure of it. I’m here for you, Shinigami.”

“Reveal your knowledge, Chimamire no Shinjutsu!”

“Raze… Akai Birido…”

Both releases came at the same time, a powerful surge of Reiatsu blasting outwards from the two combatants, toppling already-weakened structures and sending clouds of dust and smoke in all directions. Schultz didn’t take the time to see his opponent’s release, to see the weapon that would in all likelihood claim his life; instead he acted immediately. The first illusion was laid using his Observation technique while the dust was still settling, altering the appearance of Schultz’s body so that his skin did not appear to be a crimson color, but rather a dark black with the layer of dust atop it, giving it a gray-brown coat. Atop that, his eyes were now black as well, so that there was no red upon his body. Sozen had never seen the Septima before, let alone his release, and thus would not know the appearance of his Resurrection; he had no reason to suspect that this was an illusion, and so it would be unlikely that he would attempt to break it.

The trick behind this illusion was only a theory; if Sozen didn’t know or couldn’t tell if something was red, he shouldn’t be able to form a weapon from it. However, it was a gamble, as Schultz had only read basic documents pertaining to the man’s abilities, as there wasn’t much intelligence on him. There was a possibility that if the Captain knew something was red, despite its appearance, he could still form blades from it, and thus still be a threat. And of course, this was only a way to potentially negate his Zanpaktou; as a Captain-level Shinigami, there were surely many tools at his disposal. Schultz knew that he was in for a deadly fight, but if he could at least neutralize one aspect of Sozen’s arsenal, it was that much less disadvantage.

“Shinigami. Answer me one question.” Sozen wouldn’t be able to feel it due to his lack of ability to sense energy, but the scholar’s Reiatsu Strength was steadily rising as he turned his Spiritual Pressure into new strength. The air was practically throbbing with the power that Schultz began to build up, further strengthening his Hierro and his overall power. “You Shinigami… you are the guardians of the cycle of life, no…?” His eyes would meet Sozen’s, and the rage behind them was hotter than the fires surrounding them. “Thus you would know more about it, know its secrets… know its Truth. So tell me, Shinigami…”

Beneath a second illusion of inactivity, one that made it appear he hadn’t moved, Schultz raised his hand and pointed it towards Sozen, a Cero charging up in the palm. “WHAT IS THE TRUTH YOU’VE KEPT FROM ME FOR SO LONG!?” With that last shriek of rage, the Cero was released. It was a standard Cero, nothing special about it, but with the Espada’s increased spiritual strength, it would carve through anything that got in its path. Atop that, it too was cloaked in an illusion of invisibility, making it impossible to detect with the ordinary senses, only the spiritual ones. Schultz always masked his Reiatsu out of habit, keeping it concealed, but it was difficult to do with Reiatsu released from the body as a projectile.

“TELL ME NOW! TELL ME THE TRUTH I’VE WANTED FOR ALL THIS TIME!”

Remaining Reiatsu: 4000/4000 (-400 from first post Ceros, forgot those; -400 from Resurrection, -300 from converting SpPr into RS, then drop down to 4000 from conversion to only 400 SpPr)

Resurrection: 1/16

Reiatsu Subtraction After Resurrection: -200

He’s fast…!

In the reports on Sozen Kuchiki, there were only a few pieces of essential information. The first was the man’s physical appearance, which allowed Schultz to identify the man on sight. This also gave him a general idea of the man’s physical abilities, though in the spiritual worlds, appearances were often deceptive. However, said reports also included a general observation on the Shinigami’s combat abilities, limited as they were. Short and simple, Sozen was said to be fast, as well as strong on a spiritual level with a uniquely powerful Zanpaktou, whose properties were barely touched upon. However, general descriptions were hardly a match for the real thing, as Schultz quickly learned; the man was gone before the cloaked Cero could strike, able to easily avoid the attack. “Fast” was not a word to describe Sozen; he had made that jump without a Shunpo, judging by the lack of spiritual energy released during the movement.

“What ‘Truth’?” Sozen began to speak of the many truths that the Shinigami possessed within the cycle of life and death, drawing out more and more of Schultz’s anger. There was more than just the singular Truth that Schultz himself sought; the Shinigami bore many of the cycle’s secrets and revelations, kept them jealously guarded and under lock and key. The infinite knowledge of existence and its meanings, all kept away from the world by Soul Society? They were worse fiends than their claims of the Espada, by far! The scholar’s temper was drawing into an even hotter boil as Sozen continued to talk, ignorant of the effect he was having on his opponent.

How… how dare he…!

Suddenly Sozen moved at an even more impossible speed. Once more it wasn’t Shunpo; there was no burst of Reiatsu to signify the spiritual step technique. However, in less than a moment, the two were in melee range, one of Schultz’s weak spots. The Kuchiki’s sword swept upwards, digging into the dirt with the swing. What was the point of that move? Schultz’s observational skills and quick mental reflexes allowed him to notice the strike and avoid it, though to do so was not easy; he was forced to dance to the side wielding the sword so as to avoid the diagonal cut-across that came from Sozen’s upward sweep. He felt that his Hierro could have withstood the attack, but Schultz preferred to leave that card hidden until necessary, and dodged anyway. Doing so also put him out of range of the dirt that was thrown up, though it was an unintentional move; all the scholar had been able to do was avoid the attack.

However, as he did so, Schultz’s keen senses and sharp mind noted the color of the dirt that flew up from the impact. Red…? There shouldn’t have been any clay in the ground, and it wasn’t the same as if it were blood-flecked soil; the color would be uneven and probably darkened to something more black. Not only that, but with such a uniform, solid color, it was unlikely to be natural. That meant that there was an outside influence altering the appearance of the dirt, making it red. Sozen’s power used red; whatever source was changing the color was working in the Captain’s favor, meaning that he either had an accomplice that had the power to alter the appearance of objects… or that Sozen’s Zanpaktou itself could create red. The latter seemed more likely; whether it was through the sword’s contact or the simple ability to make anything red through willpower Schultz did not know. Either way, it made the even the environment potentially deadly should the Captain’s ability extend beyond that of his sword. Caution was required.

The shock of understanding the depths Sozen’s power a bit more was like a splash of cold water to the face; Schultz began to finally rein in his anger, began to realize what he had gotten himself into. As much as he hated the Shinigami and wanted his Truth from them, he knew that if he died there would be no Truth, no understanding or enlightenment. Instead, death would be final, the end of his research as Hell claimed his damned soul. The former Septima would have to do everything in his power just to survive this battle with one of the strongest Captains within Soul Society, and he didn’t know if even that would keep him from his eternal torment. This would be a desperate fight indeed.

Schultz believed he had the abilities to deal with what he knew about Sozen, however; all it would take was a single physical touch and he would be able to negate the man’s incredible speed and melee abilities as well as prevent the effects of his Zanpaktou by banishing red with visual illusions. This only left whatever Kido the Shinigami knew, to Schultz’s knowledge, though as a Captain, Sozen potentially possessed a larger range of skills than the average Shinigami. That was why the former Septima was unsure of his victory: he could deal with the things that he knew about, but when it came to the unknown, the scholar was at a disadvantage. All he could do was act on the abilities that were able to be countered; until more became known, Schultz would have to play defensively.

All of these thoughts passed through his head quickly as he acted, sending an illusion of himself out in the direction he was moving, nearly twenty feet away. Atop that, he cloaked himself in non-existence, invisible and without the odor of blood even to himself, and he concealed his footprints this time, keeping the ground somewhat level, though still seemingly disturbed by the passage of his movement. Schultz also created the illusion of touch; though it wouldn’t fool the muscles, it would trick the nerves into believing a brief sensation, which was that of moving air against Sozen’s body. This would further the belief that the former Septima had moved quickly; whether it was from a Sonido or not would be up to Sozen’s imagination. Either way, the overall effect was to make him seemingly dart away in a sudden burst of speed, putting about twenty feet between the two of them and keeping himself out of melee range. Finally, mixed into all of that was the scent of blood that followed the image, in case Sozen’s senses were particularly refined. It was a believable illusion, if a complex one, complete with visual, olfactory, and tactile stimulus in order to create a particularly lifelike deception.

Once the illusion was sent out to draw Sozen’s attention, Schultz himself moved in the opposite direction, directly towards the Captain. It was a tricky move, especially if the Kuchiki attempted to follow the illusion. This would lead to a collision between the two combatants, destroying the verisimilitude of the deception and exposing more of the scholar’s abilities. However, it would also work in Schultz’s advantage; as soon as he made contact with Sozen, the former Septima would be able to use his Sense technique. This would allow him to go beyond fooling the Captain’s senses and allow him to fool the muscles as well, defeating him on a physical level. All that would be necessary afterwards would be his Believe technique, which would deceive the mind, and Sozen would be completely at his mercy.

I’ve got you now…! Schultz’s hand would out, still concealed in its illusion, and attempt to press itself palm-first against the man’s chest. It was a sudden, lashing movement, making use of the scholar’s impressive speed. The technique didn’t necessarily require hand contact, though it was a preference, so if it missed but Sozen still collided with Schultz during pursuit of his illusion, then the Sense technique would still take effect. All that was needed was that first touch, and Schultz believed he had the tools to make it.

Remaining Reiatsu: 4000/4000

Resurrection: 2/16

Genius Retrictions: 2/4 (Fatigue) – 2/8 (Exhaustion)

Reiatsu Subtraction After Resurrection: -200

It was perfect. It was too perfect. Schultz could only watch in horror as all of his efforts were defeated in mere seconds, his illusions penetrated and his body pierced a thousand times by various blades wrought from his own skin. There were no words to describe what had just happened, except to say that it had been the perfect attack. There was no defense for what had just transpired; there was no strategy, no amount of planning that could have had him ready for fighting a demon like Sozen. There was no guesswork, no alternatives; it was a fact that the Shinigami had just slain Schultz Silverhult, the former Septima Espada who had just thrown away his life for the sake of obtaining the ultimate Truth, only to find the gates of Hell waiting for him as blood flowed from his body, darkening the already crimson tone of his skin.

No...

The world seemed to fall in slow motion, tilting at odd angles as Schultz just collapsed in on himself from the severe damage to his body. He didn’t need any knowledge of the human anatomy or the medical arts to know that just about every internal organ in his body had been brutally eviscerated, torn to shreds by the blades that had penetrated his skin and muscles. There was nothing left of his nerves, and that much was a blessing; Schultz hardly felt any pain as he sank down into the blood-soaked soil, feeling his weight mix the crimson mush into mud. He thought he tasted the crimson tang of iron on his tongue, but as that had been pierced as thoroughly as the rest of his body, it was likely just his imagination. It was funny what the mind imagined on the cusp of death.

N-no…

Mercifully enough, one of his eyes had been spared in the assault, damaged but still able to see while the other was just a bloody mess in its socket. His vision swam with crimson, and faded to black as often as not as Schultz tried to keep his only good eye open, an instinct and reflex rather than any desire to see his own death. Objects seemed to blur, twisting in his damaged sight, and the scholar could have sworn that he was seeing double when two books were visible in his sight. But they were different; the first was the leather-bound grimoire that was the manifestation of his true form: Chimamire no Shinjutsu, the Blood-Soaked Truth. That book was a symbol of Schultz’s life more than anything else, the answers always hidden behind a veil of blood and death.

…N-n… no…

He could feel himself fading, but still the scholar attempted to reach his ruined hand forward, twisted, shattered fingers reaching aimlessly for the second book that lay near his fallen grimoire. Bound by wrapped sheets of paper, the second book was a notebook that Schultz carried on his person at all times, usually tucked away out of sight and out of danger. This notebook bore no name, bore no significance to anyone but Schultz, who rarely let it out of his sight. It contained all of his research notes and the stories of his endeavors to find the Truth, as well as numerous theories, both objective and subjective, that all involved this same Truth. It was the ultimate sum of his many years spent as an Arrancar, and it lay in a pool of the scholar’s blood only a foot ahead of his grasping fingers.

…N…o…

He couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t; it was just out of his range. His last treasure, his last testament to the life that he lived, was just out of his reach. Schultz couldn’t force his body forward another inch; his fingers couldn’t get enough purchase in the damp soil to provide any leverage for even his slight weight. It was so close, yet so far; every step that he had taken to reach his Truth now seemed to stretch out once more before him, mocking his efforts. The book that was his body’s true form was closer, within sight; it was the easy way out, the way of blood and death for the sake of knowledge. Yet where had it gotten him? His illusions, his powers had failed him, and only the Truth remained, just as far out of his reach as his notebook was from his hand.

……

The flames of life flickered out, and the hand fell to the ground, cold and lifeless. Schultz’s only eye began to grow dim, the light within it fading as life fled the scholar’s body. Coldness was spreading where the numbness hadn’t overtaken his nerves already, and slowly he felt himself slipping away. It was like sliding backwards down a long tunnel; though he knew he wasn’t moving, it felt like the distance between him and his notebook was growing more and more even as the tunnel-like light between them grew darker. This was the end, and he could almost see the gates of Hell opening up to receive their newest damned soul.



The gates rose before him. Grinning, flame-eyed skulls, the sentinels of Hell’s Gate, stared down at him in silent judgment. Schultz found himself backing away in horror as it began to crack open. Waves of heat seared the scholar’s skin, turning it to black ash even as it blistered and burned. Gasping in pain with soundless words that wouldn’t come through heat-seared lungs, the former Septima found himself trying to shield his face with his arms, only to feel his eyes still being cooked in his socket as the fluids within began to boil, making him cry out once more. There was nothing he could do as his body began to be torn apart in blistering heat, the flesh crackling as his internals began to cease their functioning.

Then the chains came. Searing metal wrapped around Schultz’s body as the bonds secured themselves about his frame, dragging the scholar to the ground as he attempted to flee. They wrapped around his head, his body, one of his arms; wherever the molten metal touched, it burned further, the agony a thousand times worse than the flames that had nearly consumed Schultz initially. This time he did scream, blood flowing from his lips as his seared throat attempted to force sound through his torn windpipe. The sound was inhuman, broken as the body that was slowly being dragged into the confines of Hell.

Crimson eyes darted around as Schultz’s one free arm scrabbled at the dirt, attempting to stop his descent into Hell. They fell upon the notebook that seemed to be growing faint in the distant, and the scholar’s mind immediately focused on it. The Truth! Here at the cusp of death, removed from the cycle of life and death to be dragged into Hell itself, he should be able to see it, to see the flow of existence even as he himself was torn from it. Frantically Schultz searched around, holding himself away from Hell by sheer willpower, though his body was slowly being dragged backwards. It had to be there, it just had to! Somewhere, in this hallucinated space between life and death, the Truth was there!

And then he saw it. There were no words to describe what it was, no way to put it into human terms. Schultz knew, however, that without a doubt this was the Truth he had been searching for all his life. His free hand reached for it, struggling across the distance between them. It was only a foot away, yet it seemed to be miles in the distance as well, and every attempt ended in failure as the chains of Hell continued to drag Schultz backwards. Slowly he felt his strength slipping away, but still the scholar strained with everything he had, even managing to pull away from Hell for an inch or two. For a moment, it seemed that he would fail, but then his fingers made contact, even if only for a split moment. Knowledge filled him even as more chains came and dragged him backwards into the depths of his own personal Hell.

He knew now. He knew the Truth.



……

……No.



A blood-smeared hand suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the fallen grimoire, gripping it in a death-like hold that dragged its once snow-white pages across the ground. Now they were as tarnished and tattered as the Arrancar that wielded the book even as he attempted to push himself up. It was impossible, though, with how torn up the muscles in his body were. It was a miracle he had been able to grab the book, but that was enough. It was pulled backwards the barest few inches that were needed, and then Schultz collapsed on it, his chest falling across the spine and binding of the book. The scholar felt it press against his bare chest, felt every inch of the leather binding more intimately than his own skin… and then became one with it.

Sozen wouldn’t be able to sense the sudden wave of spiritual energy that washed over the area, but he would feel its force from the body that lay on the ground, soaked in its own blood. It was immense, it was powerful, and then it completely vanished. Anyone who could sense energy would discover that there was none to be detected there; the scholar’s body suddenly was without any spiritual force. Had he died? It certainly would seem so for a moment. There was no movement from the fallen Schultz, who still laid face-down in the muck, stained red with the remains of his life. There was no energy, no seeming pulse. Yet without a doubt, there had been that moment of sheer power that had simply vanished in an instant.

Sozen’s keen senses would suddenly note a flicker of movement, before suddenly the body before him was coated in a substance darker than night, an ebony black liquid coursing across his skin without soaking the ground beneath him. In an instant the scholar was completely covered in the substance, his every feature hidden from view as it sheathed his body in a second skin. In a moment he began to move; arms pressed into the ground as the scholar pushed himself onto his feet without a sound, his body not even causing the mud to squelch around his feet. It was eerily silent, without a trace of life to this new alien being.

And then it moved. Slipping away at impossible speeds, faster than even Sozen’s current rapidity, the creature simply vanished from sight. Without the ability to sense spiritual energies, the Captain wouldn’t be able to track him. Of course, Schultz’s lack of spiritual presence made that a moot point. He was simply gone, disappearing far ahead of even Sozen’s impressive mental tracking before reappearing immediately behind the man. Fingers that were now tipped by razor-sharp claws made of the same black substance would tear into the Shinigami’s back, leaving deep gouges that didn’t require much strength to be cut into the weak layer of skin. Blood would erupt from the wounds after a short delay due to the speed at which the attack was delivered should Sozen not react in time. And would he even be able to? Schultz’s new speed was far beyond the normal, and though Sozen’s reflexes were far above the par, he was dealing with something far more superhuman.

Immediately after the first attack, the black-coated figure vanished again, this time in a step technique whose sheer speed and force, nearly twenty one and a half times faster than Sozen’s normal speed, would be enough to knock the man down should he not plant his feet immediately. It was more than a single step, however; Schultz only moved a dozen feet to the side, and then a second step had him moving past Sozen’s front with his claws lashing out once more. It was easy to time, with the scholar’s greatly enhanced mental skills, but for the Shinigami there wouldn’t even be a flash of warning; both attacks came in a fraction of a second. Even if the Kuchiki managed to attempt a counterattack with his blades, it was futile; Schultz’s reflexes and speed together made him nearly untouchable to the point of being a ghost against the barrage of Sozen’s blades.

After the sudden lancing attacks, Sozen would find himself face-to-face with the black-shrouded figure. It was a skin-tight coating, clinging to his body like a wetsuit, though it was altered from its initial appearance as a mere layer over Schultz’s frame. Ridges formed patterns that resembled armor formed over the torso, rising up and adding to the slight frame’s overall mass. Greaves and bracers formed on the arms, still part of the overall whole rather than individual components of the armor, as if they were fused to the black substance that coated Schultz’s body. The only part that didn’t resemble armor was the raised outline of a book embedded in the scholar’s chest, glowing words visible but unreadable, even if there was time to do so. Even a glance would make Sozen feel dizzy, like the words were pressing into his skull and threaten to burst it from the inside.

“…I have found my Truth…” Glowing eyes from behind a mask of black would meet Sozen’s, and there was peace in them, mixed with the hatred from before. Schultz had truly found what he was looking for, in that cusp of death and his rebellious insistence not to lose his life. He had obtained the Truth he had sought after so long, and clawed his way from before the Gates of Hell in the process. Whether or not it was a hallucination caused by his near-death, it didn’t matter. Schultz had his Truth. His life was fulfilled, his thirst satiated. He was content now… for all but one thing. The Shinigami. Schultz’s belief in their insistence on keeping this Truth from everyone was enough to draw forth his fury, and he would use that same knowledge to show them the grievous crime they had committed.

“...Your time here is at an end, Sozen Kuchiki. You have lost your right to exist.”

Saigo No Houmen Stage 1: 1/6

Sozen proved his nigh-perfection once more as he began working to counter the power of Schultz’s final attack with a determination that the scholar had to respect despite his hatred of Shinigami. The Captain was faced with a being whose speed and reflexes were far superior to his, a faceless creature that was far beyond the measures that the man would have faced in the past, and yet he didn’t back down. Truly he was worth his position as a sentinel, throwing his all into a battle that promised likely death, and doing so only for the reason that it was his duty. If there was another reason for the man’s actions, an ulterior motive, perhaps it would explain Sozen’s determination. But Schultz didn’t pretend to know the Shinigami’s reasons, nor did he feel it concerned him; all that mattered was that Sozen would die today.

He leapt into the air, darting towards the Shinigami with his impressive speed, attempting to attack him from above. What he didn’t expect, however, was the wall of red blades that aimed to intercept him. Though his mental reflexes were strong, Schultz was unable to halt his action once it had been started, and his clawed arm tore through the sharp edges that rose up from Sozen’s sword and sheath. The sound of metal snapping and shattering like so many shards of glass filled the air as they were simply torn apart, broken into small pieces to fall to the ground below, but they were not without effect even as they were destroyed. Dozens of small cuts marred and tore into Schultz’s clawed hand, leaving small signs of injury upon impact. It was a small price to pay for the ability to thwart Sozen’s counterattack, or so Schultz thought.

But then, as he was about to pursue the Kuchiki Captain towards the ground, the scholar noticed the color red creeping along his arm. It wasn’t spreading blood, he knew that much; the cuts had been superficial, shallow enough to avoid drawing blood thanks to the speed at which he had been moving. Yet red was still moving up his limb, changing its color. The scholar realized what this meant: Sozen’s power wasn’t limited to only turning things red by cutting through them with his blade, but also by hitting them with the razor edges that formed from his mastery of the color. It was obvious that his attack was like a virus, spreading even as it attacked the victim, growing more and more deadly as it was allowed to infect the area, both in terms of the body or the environment, with red.

Sozen had miscalculated, though. What was coating Schultz’s body wasn’t simply a part of him despite its appearance; it was armor, and armor was meant to be removed. More precisely, it was black ink, frozen into a hard shell over his body, but one that was easily able to be stripped away. A swipe of the scholar’s untainted hand would impact the other wrist, and the ink would crack like brittle glass before crumbling away in large chunks, falling to the ground below. Revealed was a human hand, though it was not covered in red skin like before, when Schultz’s Resurrection had been active. Instead it was a pale white, completely human at a glance, until one noticed the ink-formed extensions on it.

The armor had broken to about halfway up the forearm, revealing a web of extending black lines that traced along the skin almost like tattoos; it looked like several straight lines moving down the scholar’s arm and randomly connected with lines flowing between any adjacent markings. At the wrist, the lines converged, making a band of the same substance. From there, more marks moved down Schultz’s fingers, and then beyond them, as if the ink skeleton atop them was a part of the skin and yet something separate. They formed clawed fingers that extended far past the tips, adding an additional six inches in length and tipped with deadly-looking hooked edges.

Where the shards of ink-formed armor fell, they didn’t crash; rather, they splashed, forming liquid puddles rather than remaining solid. They were no longer red, as well; instead, they resumed their black color, and remained so. This would be notable, as they had been touched by Sozen’s blades, and thus should have been corrupted with his control of red. Was it the fact that the shards had turned to liquid, or was there something more to it? Regardless, they were harmless puddles of ink at the moment, doing nothing. And the ink puddles continued to be created as Schultz’s armor continued to slowly crack up along his arm, only a fraction of an inch at a time, but as it continued to crumble, more small drops and pools of ink were left behind. It didn’t seem to bother the scholar, who had destroyed that part of his armor himself.

Landing on the ground, Schultz realized that he wouldn’t be able to attack Sozen directly, due to the man’s deadly defenses. But there was more than one way to kill a bird, and in fact, the scholar intended to kill one bird with as many stones as it took. First he noted the placement of the shards and fragments from Sozen’s blades and sheath, his skilled memory easily able to keep track of each, while his senses and mental acuity would allow him to keep track of them as he moved, avoiding them with ease. It was like moving through a minefield, but Schultz was confident he could dodge each and every one without risking his body to more of Sozen’s red. He would have to move quickly to make use of his enhanced state, though; the breaking of his armor was already halfway up his bicep, revealing most of the scholar’s left arm, and it would only continue to get worse as the battle progressed.

Quickly Schultz picked up a hand-sized stone from the mass of rubble that had once been part of the 23rd District of the Rukongai, and launched it in a quick throw towards Sozen’s face. The Shinigami would see it coming; Schultz had minimal strength in his transformed state, and as a result it wouldn’t be particularly fast. It was a distraction, however, enough to draw Sozen’s attention even as another powerful step had Schultz appear behind the man. The scholar had noticed the Shinigami’s red robe, suggesting that he could simply create blade-ridden armor at a thought to protect him from direct melee attacks. What was worse, it was easily possible for Sozen to turn himself into a living porcupine of red death regardless of what direction he was attacked from. Schultz still needed much more information.

Thus the first attack after the stone throw was a feint; Schultz made a lunge at Sozen from behind, expecting the man to retaliate. The steps were measured, and his senses were focused forward; Schultz’s other armored arm lunged forward, claws aimed to plunge into the Shinigami’s back and out his chest should he not move, letting the shock kill him before he could retaliate. However, his movements were careful; he was ready to pull back should Sozen’s robes turn into a wall of blades, avoiding the attack. Schultz was also wary of any red features of the environment, letting his considerable senses and mental acuity warn him of other threats.

The point of this strike was to determine the potential length and speed of the blades, figure out just how fast they moved and how far they could extend from a source of red. Schultz was ready to move away in an instant, body braced for another step technique should he even suspect blades were coming his way. Sozen was craftier than that, however; it was likely there was still more to his power that he had not revealed. Atop that, he had yet to reveal his Bankai, instead trusting in the defense that his Shikai gave him. Schultz had very little information on the man’s higher state of release, and as such he had to be wary of what hidden powers remained to be revealed.

Meanwhile, a trail of ink was starting to form from the crumbling armor. Trailing about in a clockwise half-circle around Sozen, the puddles and pools were steadily growing thicker as larger fragments of the ink shell continued to break off. Schultz’s entire left arm was revealed, as well as part of the left side of his torso. The latter had lines covering it completely, looking like it formed armor of its own with nearly no space between the various lines coating it. Part of the grimoire that was embedded in his chest was visible, the lines originating from the book and tracing around the scholar’s body. The decay of the black coating was continuing at the same pace as before, and at this rate it wouldn’t take long for it to completely vanish, revealing the figure beneath.

Saigo No Houmen Stage 1: 2/6

The world moved in slow motion. Schultz’s heightened senses, his incredible speed, and his augmented mental reflexes all enabled this, enabled the scholar to see what was happening around him at a snail’s pace. The world was suddenly red, a cloud of it forming in the instant he hesitated. It didn’t take much to deduce its purpose, a mass of red that could only be a catalyst for Sozen’s blades. The man’s attack would only be a moment behind, but even so, it was not fast enough to catch Schultz once the scholar had noticed the red. A Sonido at blinding speeds would have him out of the cloud before the blades could form, and they closed in together on a figure that was no longer there, blades hitting blades while the scholar vanished to reappear outside of the cloud.

That was a dangerous technique, the cloud of red sand. It covered a fairly small area, but its potential to create blades from anywhere made it a threat. Atop that, Sozen still seemed to possess his natural power over red; his Zanpaktou had seemingly vanished, yet his robes created the ultimate bladed defense around him thanks to being stained red. There were no openings for a direct attack, no way to get in close; it seemed that between his impervious physical defense and Schultz’s lack of ranged techniques with his nonexistent spiritual powers, the scholar could not win. In his current state, the former Septima was confident that he could not even get close. That didn’t mean he was giving up, however; it just meant that other measures had to be taken.

More of the armor broke off in the flight, half of Schultz’s torso revealed now. Fragments littered the ground in pools around Sozen, forming a half-circle to his right, and a straight line behind him where Schultz had quickly fled from the cloud of red. Now that he was out of range of the cloud again, the scholar performed another step, appearing on Sozen’s side opposite the first movement, which would put him to the man’s left. His armor continued to fragment and break as the scholar made another feinting lunge, stopping short as he tested the cloud’s speed. Would it be fast, like Sozen was? Or would he have another defense ready? Schultz was confident that he could dodge anything thrown at him. He wanted to see how his opponent reacted, however.

After feinting towards Sozen, Schultz immediately jumped back, the coating on his legs starting to break off into more ink fragments. His armor was degrading more quickly than he had expected, but that wasn’t exactly problematic; beneath the ink was the true power of his final release, the cumulative power that the knowledge of his Truth gave him. However, Schultz didn’t like to think of himself besmirching the purity of that knowledge by wasting it on a Shinigami. There was no point in doing so if he didn’t need it, but at the same time he was running out of ideas. He couldn’t feint in towards the Captain’s armor, because he had the blades to protect him, and remaining at a distance only allowed the Shinigami’s cloud of red to follow him.

Fine… he can taste the Truth for himself…

Schultz suddenly stopped, standing before Sozen again. His armor continued to crack and crumble more quickly, revealing more of his body, until all but his head was exposed. The neck and face were still hidden beneath the black mask, but the Captain would now be able to see the rest of Schultz’s new body beneath the armor. The arms were covered in long lines that connected at random, a spider web of black that coated his limbs down to the hands. Each hand was outlined in a skeleton of ink whose fingers extended beyond where the flesh ended. This repeated on the legs, whose feet were now outlined by a black clawed foot whose wicked talons stabbed into the ink-encrusted dirt. The remaining lines wrapped firmly around his torso, covering it in a new coating of black that was made of hundreds of lines with no space between them. Finally, emerging from his back was more of the black skeleton, this time taking the form of wings, but without the membranes or feathers that would normally allow flight. This meant nothing, of course, as the scholar demonstrated by taking off and hovering a few feet off of the ground.

“You told me to erase you, Shinigami. I think it’s about time I did just that.” With that, Schultz reached up to the mask covering his face, gripping his head with one taloned hand. Squeezing quickly, he dug the pointed claws into his mask, causing it to break apart between the pressure and fracture points. Ink fell to the ground in large chunks, once more forming large pools of dark ebony as they made contact. Schultz’s face began to be revealed; white hair took the place of brown, and his glasses were completely gone. Instead, two unnatural eyes stared back at Sozen, one black and one white. Each had their pupils replaced by a kanji, ones that the Shinigami would easily recognize; one stated “life” and the other stated “death.” Through these eyes, Schultz saw far more than the average person, viewing life and death itself along with the processes that drove them. He could see the cells that made up Sozen’s skin dying and being recreated, the tiniest of degradations in the man’s clothing; everything was visible to those eyes.

“I said this before, Sozen Kuchiki. You have lost your right to exist.”

With that, everything exploded into action. The ink that had coated the ground suddenly rose up and surged towards Sozen, forming a circular wall that came at him from all directions. As the wave came, hands of ink suddenly shot forward, grabbing at the Captain. Should he attempt to Shunpo away, the hands would reach up and track him as he reached the top of his jump, grabbing at his robes and legs. Even if his blades came up to stab into the arms, they would go through; the masses were made of ink, and despite their ability to cling, they were still liquid and thus were impervious to the blades. They wouldn’t even turn red; Schultz’s power had all pooled into his spiritual powers, and thus his spiritual strength would overthrow Sozen’s should it attempt to take hold.

In less than a second, should the Kuchiki not figure a way out, Sozen would be buried in ink-formed arms that would grab at his legs and robes. More and more hands would come from the ink and grab more of the man’s robe, moving up his torso and soon ensnaring his arms. Blades and Kido would have limited effect on the ink; though the later would destroy several, there were dozens upon dozens coming from multiple directions. They would keep forming too, no matter how many were destroyed; should even a handful latch on, the Kuchiki Captain was doomed. He had only a second to react, a second to flee, and if he did not take it immediately, he would begin to be dragged downwards, towards the slowly-forming lake of ink beneath him. If he did not avoid it, he would be dragged beneath it, and into a world of nothing but black.

“Consider yourself erased, Sozen Kuchiki. I would say goodbye, but from this point, you have ceased to be. I will not even remember your departure.”

Saigo No Houman Stage 2 Reiatsu Strength: 3200

The world went red as Sozen released his Bankai. Schultz, caught up in the power of his second stage Saigo no Houmen, noticed the spike of power in a heartbeat. He could feel the Captain’s strength growing, and growing… but then it stopped, hitting a plateau far below the level that the former Septima now stood upon. He sneered down at Sozen Kuchiki; did the man really think that he could compete with the power of the Truth? Did he really believe he stood a chance? There was no hope for the man now that Schultz had determined he would erase his opposition, remove him from existence and destroy any scrap of memory that would remain. Erasure went far beyond simply destroying him physically; no one would even remember the man or his accomplishments. History itself would be rewritten to make him nonexistent.

“I shouldn’t be here. I’ve had many failures. I’ve let a great many people die.”

Schultz didn’t care about the man’s failures, the blood on his hands. None of that mattered to the scholar. As an Arrancar, his life had been about survival of the fittest; you did not struggle to protect others, nor did you care about their well-being. You simply tore down those who were in your way, and if you killed them, you were worthy you live. If you died, then every thought of you died as well. There were no memories or regret among the Arrancar; they survived, and struggled for it every day. That was why Schultz was merciless as he released his power upon Sozen Kuchiki; the man’s regrets meant nothing to him. He could have been the strongest Captain or the lowest commoner; his inability to survive made him unfit to be around any longer.

And that was why Schultz was completely shocked when Sozen simply vanished, the ink closing in on nothing. The scholar’s eyes could see the man’s body break down as it vanished into the red, allowing him to see the processes of each cell being absorbed into the color, but there was nothing he could do about it! A shriek of rage accompanied his attempts to stop the man anyway, his clawed hands lashing out as he struck at the vanishing Kuchiki. Even with it being nearly instantaneous, his senses and mental acuity allowed him to see it in slow motion… and he still could not do anything about it. His claws ripped through the area in which Sozen had been half a second before, catching onto nothing, and the questing hands of in could not contact anything either.

“SOZEN KUCHIKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” A scream of impotent rage filled the air, echoing through the ruined district as the world of red faded. Sozen had escaped despite Schultz’s power, actually fleeing from the battle rather than even attempting to face his fate. It was one of the most cowardly, despicable acts that any Shinigami could have performed, and that was saying something! They were all trash, all dirt to be destroyed by the Arrancar, the rightful rulers of all and the strongest race in existence. And yet this wretched Shinigami, this honorless cur, had lowered the bar even further for his pathetic race.

In Schultz’s rage, thousands of ink-formed hands came up, grabbing rubble, bodies, tools; everything within the former district was dragged down into the depths of the black lake that the scholar had created. Memories were snuffed out one by one, and soon the 23rd District of the Rukongai ceased to be. No one would remember it; those who had lived there and survived were suddenly now homeless, unable to remember their former residence. All those who had died were forgotten, their actions removed and replaced. The temporal wildfire that was the ultimate result of Schultz’s attainment of the Truth would simply obliterate it all, making it so that none of it ever existed.

And then the grimoire that had been embedded in Schultz’s chest suddenly fell to the ground, freed from his flesh. The scholar let out a gasp as he collapsed too, suddenly feeling weak. His head began to hurt as his mind suddenly found an inability to wrap around the Truth he had claimed as his own. The grimoire, with its infinite depths and its ability to filter the information to Schultz’s mind, had caught fire as a result of its final power. The information was being torn away, the Truth ripped from the scholar’s mind, and he let out another scream of agony as he clutched at his head, trying to retain it. He had come so far, attained the knowledge he desired, and now it was being taken away once more. There would be no coming back after this loss either, he could feel it; without his grimoire, there was no way his mind could handle everything that made up the cycle of existence. Only a god could retain that much information while remaining sane.

Still Schultz clung to it, fighting the fires that seared through his brain, attempting to eradicate the Truth. He could feel other memories slipping away, being caught in the flames as collateral damage, but still he refused to let go of the information he had spent two centuries putting together. He could feel his knowledge slipping away; memories of the Espada went, and then of Shinigami. Hollows, Heuco Mundo, Quincy, his past, his death; all of it started to be burned away as he attempted to cling to the Truth. Slowly, more and more was torn from him, and yet he refused to let go of everything he had held onto until this moment.

Adrenaline started to kick in as the memory of where he was burned in the wildfire. Panicking, suddenly lost, the scholar looked around in fear. He spotted his notebook, which still remained in his memory as long as he had the Truth; it was one of the few bastions of memory he still had left. Quickly he grabbed the notebook, clutching it to his chest even as he opened a Gargantua. Schultz didn’t know how he did it, and was daunted by the suddenly-appearing hole of darkness. Still, he knew he couldn’t remain, though he couldn’t remember why. All the scholar knew was that he had to escape with his Truth. It was the only thing he had left. He would escape, run away, take his Truth with him.

His Truth…

---

An unknown time later, a black hole opened before a church on the outskirts of Karakura, Japan. A figure stumbled out of it, eyes wide with fear. He had just spent hours upon hours within an inky blackness, lost and unsure where to go. He had no idea how he had managed to open another doorway like the first, but he had, and that was important. It was warm out, thankfully, as it was mid-summer, and the young man who had traveled into what he had considered Hell may look like was relieved as he collapsed in the grass in front of a large stain-glassed window set above a massive oak door. His vision swam, blurring as the waves of green seemed to unfold before him. Then darkness overcame him, and the figure passed out.

He awoke in a bed some time later, confused and disoriented. Sitting up, the young man was greeted by another person who had been sitting by his bedside, watching him worriedly. The stranger was far older, easily in his late forties, with gray-streaked black hair and wrinkles visible around his eyes. He wore a long robe that was tied at the waist, apparently worn over a more casual t-shirt and jeans. A cross hung from a chain around his neck, the piece made of solid gold with several glittering rubies in it, a sign of prosperity or a symbol of power; who knew? Either way, it was impressive, and drew the eye.

Startled, the young man flinched and moved back against the far wall. “W-who are you?”

“Relax, relax, my son.” The man raised his hands and gently signaled for the boy to relax, to calm himself. Though the younger man did settle slightly, he still was wary, and so the older of the two stayed a short distance back to give him space to breathe. “My name is Father Alan; I am the head priest here at the church. I found you outside our main chapel, passed out on the ground with that book in your hands.” It was only then that the young man noticed he was clutching a small notebook in a death-like grip. “Even in your sleep, you wouldn’t let it go. I wasn’t going to try and take it, either.” The last bit was spoken with a kindly smile.

“So, tell me, young one: where did you come from?”

The young man frowned, easing his grip on his notebook as he tried to think. The book was untitled, unlabeled; it was just a plain notebook. Yet for some reason it felt important to him. He couldn’t remember why; of course, as he tried to answer Father Alan, he realized he didn’t remember anything. Where did he come from? Where was he now? How had he gotten here? He couldn’t even remember anything before waking up; it was just gone, as if it were never there. Where were his memories? “I… I don’t remember…”

Father Alan raised his eyebrows at that, but patiently nodded. “I see… you seem to have amnesia of some kind. Well, let’s try again; why were you so badly wounded? You were covered in cuts and blood, and you seemed to have a few minor fractures.”

The young man shook his head again. “I don’t remember…”

Father Alan let out a soft sigh, but nodded again. “I understand. If you’ll forgive me for being so inquisitive, I just have one more question for you: what is your name, young one?”

“My name…?” A spark of recognition lit in the young man’s eyes, and he realized that there was still something he remembered. It was the only thing he had from before awakening just now. Even in the void that was his memory, the lonely emptiness that stretched for who knew how long, there was at least one thing there. It was like a candle in a vast cavern; it didn’t illuminate anything, but it gave some meaning within the darkness.

“My name… my name is… Schultz Silverhult.”

End of Thread