Bleach: Kishou Arima

You got only half of it but i trust you giys shall fulfill the promise while I'm asleep.

Had a fascinating talk with a fellow author Bobainox.

The author there is convinced to quit his story lol..Can you guys help me and Bomb his story with comments asking to continue it'll be pretty funny...

Its called -> Henrik Legacies

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Soi Fon's POV

Yoruichi was no longer the woman Soi Fon had once revered.

The mentor who had once been a beacon of strength and kindness, the playful soul who laughed even in the darkest moments, was gone.

What had returned in her place was someone colder, harder, and utterly unrecognizable.

Day after day, Soi Fon watched Yoruichi from the edges of the training grounds, unable to interfere.

The training was nothing like what they had once done together.

This wasn't honing skills or pushing limits—it was destruction, pure and simple.

Yoruichi had ordered Mayuri Kurotsuchi to create the deadliest poisons he could design.

They weren't meant to kill her but to cripple her body, to weaken her to the point of collapse.

She drank them like water, her face impassive even as the venom ravaged her insides, leaving her pale and trembling.

Her body was weighed down by enormous shackles—weights hundreds of times heavier than anything a normal Soul Reaper should bear.

Even with her immense strength, every movement was a battle against gravity.

She pushed through forms that left her muscles tearing apart, her bones creaking under the strain.

When the weights weren't enough, Yoruichi turned to brutal, mindless punishment.

Her fists slammed against thick metal posts, the sound of flesh splitting and bones cracking echoing in the air.

Blood coated the ground beneath her as the skin on her hands was stripped away, leaving raw, exposed muscle and broken fingers. Still, she didn't stop.

She wrapped her hands in torn cloth and continued striking, over and over, until her body gave out.

Trips to the Fourth Division became routine.

The healers grew frustrated, their concern masked by annoyance at her recklessness.

Yoruichi silenced their protests by demanding a permanent healer to remain by her side, someone to repair her wounds as she inflicted them.

This was no longer training—it was a punishment she inflicted on herself.

And through it all, she barely spoke. Orders were delivered in curt tones.

There were no smiles, no laughter, no warmth.

Yoruichi had become a ghost of the person Soi Fon had once loved.

Soi Fon's heart broke a little more each day, but it was when Yoruichi began using high-level kido on herself that she finally snapped.

One evening, as Yoruichi collapsed in a pool of her own blood after casting a particularly destructive Kido, Soi Fon ran to her side.

Falling to her knees, tears streaming down her face, she cried out, "Lady Yoruichi, stop! Please stop! You're going to kill yourself. Just... talk to me. Please, say something!"

For a moment, Yoruichi froze.

She turned her head, her golden eyes dull and distant.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft but cold.

"It's not your fault, Soi Fon. It's mine."

She didn't offer an explanation.

She didn't stay to comfort Soi Fon.

She simply stood, her body swaying from exhaustion, and walked away, leaving bloody footprints in her wake.

The next day, Soi Fon was transferred to the prisoner camp as a caretaker, far from Yoruichi's reach.

She hadn't requested the transfer, but she understood.

Yoruichi didn't want her around, didn't want her to interfere.

Now, as Soi Fon sat in the cold, barren quarters of the camp, her mind was filled with memories of the woman she loved and idolized.

The sight of Yoruichi, standing tall and laughing under the sun, seemed like a dream now—a vision from a time that felt impossibly far away.

"I'll bring you back," Soi Fon whispered into the silence.

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "No matter what it takes, I'll bring you back."

But deep down, she couldn't silence the doubt.

What if the Yoruichi she remembered was gone forever? What if the woman who had returned was all that remained?

The thought sent a chill through her heart, but she pushed it aside.

For now, all she had was the hope—fragile as it was—that somewhere within the bloodied, broken shell, her Lady still existed.

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Time passed like a wave—unstoppable and indifferent.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into two months.

The carefree rhythm of life enveloped Yachiru and Arima as they settled into a quiet routine.

Yachiru's belly now showed a subtle but undeniable change, a reminder of the life growing within her.

Their days were filled with simplicity, the stillness occasionally broken by soft conversations or Yachiru's teasing remarks that Arima always met with his usual calm.

Life seemed peaceful, but the arrival of an unexpected development shifted their focus entirely.

Nokotan, the deer who bore the symbiosis with Arima, began to show unusual signs.

At first, her behavior was peculiar but harmless—nuzzling closer to Arima, lying at his feet more often than usual.

It was as though she sensed a change, an instinctual awareness of her situation.

But what began as a quiet concern soon turned into something far more alarming.

Nokotan's health began to deteriorate rapidly.

Her vibrant energy dimmed, and her graceful movements turned sluggish. She would eat little, her breaths growing shallow and labored.

Arima noticed the change immediately.

His usual stoicism gave way to a quiet urgency as he dedicated himself to her care.

He spent hours by her side, ensuring she was comfortable, feeding her carefully, and monitoring every change.

The bond they shared through symbiosis meant that her condition reflected something deeper—a strain neither of them could entirely control.

Yachiru watched as Arima, a man known for his unyielding strength and composure, showed a softer side she rarely saw.

He spoke to Nokotan in low, steady tones, as though willing her to fight.

His hands, usually so firm and unyielding, moved gently as he tended to her.

The nights grew longer as Nokotan's condition worsened.

Arima worked tirelessly, often refusing to rest.

"She's been with me for so long, longer than all her predecessor " he finally said one night, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I won't let her go without a fight."

Despite his efforts, Nokotan grew weaker.

Her once-bright eyes lost their luster, and the connection through their symbiosis began to weigh heavily on Arima as well.

Yachiru placed a comforting hand on his shoulder one evening as he sat by Nokotan's side. "You've done everything you can," she said softly.

Arima didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the deer, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but laced with a quiet resolve.

"She's not a simple companion," he said. "She's a part of me. I owe her this."

Time passed, but Nokotan's condition grew graver.

Her once-majestic figure now trembled with weakness, her breaths labored as though the air itself had turned against her.

Arima remained steadfast, never leaving her side.

He tended to her with a tenderness that seemed at odds with his unyielding demeanor.

Yachiru watched him, her heart aching at the sight.

Nokotan's children gathered around her, their soft spinds filling the stillness of their home.

They huddled close, their bodies pressing into her side as if willing her to stay.

The sight pierced Arima's heart, but he held his composure, though his clenched fists betrayed the storm within.

Finally, as the weight of inevitability loomed over them, Arima made a decision.

Kneeling beside her frail form, he closed his eyes and reached out through their shared bond.

His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a deep sorrow.

"Nokotan," he projected, his emotions laced with regret and urgency, "Lift the contract. If you do, you might gain a few more years. You deserve that much."

For a moment, there was silence, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the quiet breathing of her children.

Then, through their bond, came a response—faint, fragmented, but unmistakably hers.

"No... Arima," she answered, her words halting and broken but resolute. "Longer life... not ...what .. want."

Arima stiffened, his jaw tightening as the meaning of her words settled over him.

Nokotan, who had always been a creature of instinct and grace, now spoke with an understanding far beyond what he had expected.

Years of shared battles, had forged a bond deeper than words.

She had learned to shape projected emotions into her own voice.

"I... wish..." her voice faltered, but she pressed on, "I could die... in battle... beside you. But this... not so bad."

Her words struck him harder than any blade ever could.

Arima, found himself unable to respond. He bowed his head, his silver hair falling forward to shadow his face.

"You're a fool," he whispered, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained emotion.

As the words left his lips, Arima's mind wandered back to the cause of Nokotan's sudden decline.

The realization cut through him like a jagged blade.

His brief interaction with the Soul King's burden—a moment that had pushed his strength beyond known limits—had been the catalyst.

The surge in his power , while minimal, had strained the symbiosis contract.

Nokotan's already aging body, burdened by years of loyalty and sacrifice, could not withstand the shock.

The spike in their shared strength had accelerated her deterioration, shortening the time she had left.

And he, in his arrogance or perhaps ignorance, had failed to consider the toll it would take on her.

"Ha..ha..ha" She laughed softly, her voice faint but filled with warmth, as if mocking his self-blame.

Her antlers, once grand and radiant, the very crystallization of her power, had almost entirely faded now.

They dissolved like fragile glass, leaving nothing but the memory of their brilliance.

Her head rested in his lap, her breaths shallow and labored.

Time seemed to stretch and contract as the minutes crawled by.

Arima despised this part the most—the inevitability of mortality, the cruel truth that no matter how many companions he had, they would all leave him eventually.

It was the only enemy he had never been able to defeat.

He wrapped his arms around Nokotan, holding her close as he had the day she was born.

His grip was firm yet gentle, as if trying to anchor her to the world for just a moment longer.

He kissed her head, the gesture silent but heavy with emotion.

Her reiatsu flared briefly, burning with an intensity that belied her frail body, like a candle's final, defiant glow before extinguishing.

"... I'm... I'm.. scared, Arima..." her voice trembled, her words halting as her heartbeat slowed with each passing second.

Arima's hands tightened around her, his head lowering until his forehead rested against hers.

His voice, when it came, was soft and steady.

"I'm here," he whispered. "You have nothing to fear."

And then, as her heartbeat faded into silence, her reiatsu flickered and vanished.

"Thank... you..." Her voice was like the wind, faint and lingering, before disappearing into the ether.

"... I'm sorry," Arima murmured, his apology barely audible.

The world around him seemed muted, his thoughts heavy with the weight of loss.

It was then, in the stillness of the moment, that a painful truth crystallized in his mind: he had not changed since that day huh.

Perhaps he never would.

He stared at her lifeless form, the remnants of her warmth fading in his arms.

In that moment, he was not the Invincible White Reaper, the indomitable force of nature that struck fear into all that cared about their own life.

Or perhaps he never was...

He was just a man, mourning yet another irreplaceable piece of his soul.

" Goodbye Old Friend "

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Stones and Reviews please