Bleach: Ashes of Rebirth

Morning light filtered in through the cracked window panes of Urahara's underground shop. Shinichi's eyes fluttered open slowly, pain shooting through every limb. His vision was blurred. His body wrapped in thick white bandages. This wasn't his home.

He sat up abruptly—only to wince as a sharp pain lanced through his stomach.

The door creaked open. Urahara entered with Yoruichi behind him, both carrying quiet tension in their steps.

"Morning, Kisaragi-san," Urahara said with an uneasy smile, pushing up his hat. "Feeling... alive?"

Shinichi rubbed his head. "What the hell happened last night...? I remember fighting you, dodging Benihime, getting my blood used as interior paint... then—blackout."

Urahara scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… about that... I might've stabbed you. Through the gut."

"You WHAT?!" Shinichi shouted, nearly jumping up—but then immediately doubled over from the sharp pain in his torso.

"Relax, relax!" Urahara said, waving his hands. "Look, check your wound. Trust me."

Still gritting his teeth, Shinichi peeled back the bandages over his midsection.

What he saw made him freeze.

The hole wasn't just closed. It was almost gone. Smooth new skin already coated over half the wound.

"What the... fuck..."

Yoruichi stepped forward, arms crossed. "We've been watching it since you passed out. Your regeneration—it's not just fast. It's evolving."

Urahara nodded. "Likely tied to your Demon Queen. Her reiatsu is fundamentally unnatural. It's not healing. It's reconstruction."

Then Urahara added casually, "Also... check your hand."

Shinichi looked down—then screamed.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY FINGERS?!"

"I didn't cut them off," Urahara said calmly. "I cut off the whole wrist."

There was a beat of silence. Then Shinichi looked at his fully reformed hand—trembling.

"I regrew a goddamn hand..."

Urahara sat beside him, serious now. "The more of her you access, the faster you recover. But there's a ceiling—and consequences we don't yet understand."

Shinichi's gaze dropped to his hand.

"How much... have I accessed?"

Urahara didn't answer. Just looked him in the eye and said:

"Only she can answer that."

Shinichi nodded and closed his eyes. His breath steadied. He reached inside himself—down through the darkness—calling to her.

And then he was gone.

The air shifted. Torches ignited in sequence.

He stood at the base of a colossal throne carved from obsidian and blood-veined stone. Atop it sat the Demon Queen of Ruin, her legs crossed, her gaze bored but sharp as knives.

"Yo, Demon Mommy," Shinichi greeted with a smirk. "How ya been?"

She sighed. "Do you want to die, darling?"

Shinichi swallowed. How can someone sound seductive and homicidal at the same time? he thought.

"I just wanted to ask," he said, scratching his head, "how much of your power I've tapped into?"

Her lips curled into a sly smirk.

"Four percent. Five if I'm generous. Push to six... and your body will start tearing itself apart. Anything more, and you'll die."

Shinichi stared.

"Four percent? And I'm already doing this?"

She laughed darkly. "There's a reason.. they sealed me into a Zanpakuto.."

"Okay... so what do I have to do to access more?"

She leaned forward, crimson eyes glowing.

"You don't have to do anything," she said. "I'll do everything."

Shinichi blinked. "Wait—what does that even mean—?"

But the world snapped shut.

Shinichi opened his eyes, gasping. Urahara and Yoruichi were staring at him.

"Well?" Urahara asked.

Shinichi looked at them, pale.

"She said... four percent."

Silence. Yoruichi's arms dropped to her sides.

Urahara gave a nervous laugh. "Four percent... and I had to use my Shikai already.."

He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

Shinichi stood slowly, his joints crackling like rusted bolts under strain. His bandaged body throbbed with every movement, but he gritted his teeth and steadied himself. A deep exhale left his lungs as he muttered, "Well... that just means I'll have to work harder."

Urahara, leaning lazily against the doorframe, flashed a grin beneath the brim of his hat. "We barely have 72 hours left before we breach into Soul Society, Kisaragi-san," he said. "You all need to give it everything you've got... and I've got just the idea to push you."

He slid open the door with a sharp swish, motioning for Shinichi to follow with a wave. Yoruichi stepped in beside them, arms folded, her golden eyes flicking between them without a word. Shinichi sighed and trudged along behind, each step still heavy from the beating he'd taken the night before.

As they moved through the corridors and down into the cavernous depths of the training area, Shinichi felt something strange stir inside him. He'd seen this place before—once from a TV screen in a dark bedroom, long before all of this started. Now, standing inside it, feeling the pulse of reiatsu thick in the air, the reality of it made his heart pound.

The sheer scale of the underground space was overwhelming—stone terrain littered with scars from countless battles, towering rock spires and debris like broken teeth jutting from the ground. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering light over the battle-worn ground. This was no training arena. This was a war zone.

In the distance, Ichigo swung his zanpakuto in wide arcs, fluid and fast. The blade carved the air with practiced ease, each swing followed by a sharp exhale of breath. It wasn't wild anymore. It was refined—controlled. The fire in his eyes said it all.

But it was the sight on the far boulder that made Shinichi pause.

Tatsuki sat cross-legged, motionless, sweat dripping from her chin. Her hair clung to her face, but her eyes were closed, her posture eerily still. It wasn't the rage-fueled beast he remembered from the first few training days. This was different. This was dangerous calm.

Shinichi nudged Yoruichi with his elbow. "Wait... why is Tatsuki here?"

Yoruichi exhaled. "She's a special case," she said plainly. "Kisuke and I figured we'd be better off training her together. Her powers are... not easy to manage. And Ichigo? He's already past the critical points. He just needs sharpening."

Shinichi raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but why am I here?"

Urahara turned, raising a finger. "Excellent question. You're going to train with them."

Shinichi blinked. "What?"

"It'll benefit all of you," Urahara continued, tapping his fan against his chin. "Besides, I'll still let you use your special barrier as part of your little deal. Don't worry."

Shinichi stared at his hand—or rather, where fingers were supposed to be. "I literally don't have any fingers right now."

"They'll grow back," Urahara said casually. "Two to three hours, tops. Besides, why does the great Shinichi Kisaragi need two hands to fight a substitute Shinigami and a furry, am I right?"

Shinichi squinted at him with visible malice. "I hope one day I'm strong enough to kill you."

Urahara chuckled. "I look forward to it."

He clapped his hands loudly, drawing the attention of both Ichigo and Tatsuki. They stopped mid-training, walking over toward the group. Ichigo's eyes locked onto Shinichi's battered state.

"What the hell, Shinichi? What happened to your fingers? You look like you fought a bear and lost."

Shinichi scratched his temple with his remaining knuckle. "Eh... long story."

Tatsuki glanced at Urahara. "So? What's going on?"

Urahara's voice turned serious. "We'll spend today and tomorrow pushing past your limits. The day after, we rest before the infiltration."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly does 'pushing past our limits' mean?"

Urahara drew his cane, twisting the shaft until the hidden blade inside glinted. "It means... a Battle Royale."

Shinichi blinked. "A what?"

Urahara smirked. "Exactly what it sounds like. Yoruichi-san, me, Kisaragi-san, Kurosaki-san, and Arisawa-chan—five warriors, one battlefield. No rules. You can attack anyone. You can form alliances. Or betray them. It's going to be fun."

"Wait, but—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

A flash of steel. A glint of red. The sharp sting of metal.

Shinichi barely twisted his body in time as Urahara's blade grazed his cheek, a thin line of blood trailing down.

Urahara's voice rang out gleefully: "And it starts now!"

In a heartbeat, the underground cavern lit up with sparks and bloodlust. Ichigo's blade was drawn, Tatsuki's claws extended, Yoruichi cracked her knuckles, and Shinichi, already transforming mid-air into his Shinigami form, landed in a crouch with his zanpakuto clutched in one hand.

The battlefield was set.

The air was still.

The moment hung in perfect, unnerving silence — not one breath wasted, not one heartbeat skipped. Then—

BOOM.

Ichigo moved first, the tension snapping like a wire pulled too tight. Zangetsu cut the air with a roaring hiss as he dashed toward Urahara, his reiatsu flaring like wildfire. His feet cracked the stone floor under him, dust spiraling in his wake.

Urahara, smiling behind his fan, tilted his head with that maddening calm. Clang! The cane-sword met Zangetsu in a single fluid block, sparks flying.

"Not bad, Kurosaki-san," he said, pressing their blades together. "But if this is your best—"

"I'm just warming up!" Ichigo snapped, swinging again with raw fury.

Across the field, Shinichi saw the opening.

He didn't waste it.

He vanished in a burst of speed — a crack of black and red lightning trailing behind him — and reappeared near Yoruichi, blade swinging low. She dodged effortlessly, her body blurring just out of range.

"Too slow," she said, twisting mid-air and kicking Shinichi in the shoulder, launching him backward.

Before he could land, Tatsuki was already coming for him.

She dashed across the ground on all fours like a beast unleashed, her nails now long, curved, and shining. Her movements were swift — but precise. This wasn't the feral chaos from before. This was a warrior who had found focus within her fury.

"You again!?" Shinichi shouted, bracing.

Tatsuki leapt — claws out.

He raised his sword just in time. Her claws scraped across the blade, creating an ungodly screech of metal. The force of her leap knocked him clean off his feet.

He crashed into the ground, skidding through rock and dirt, one arm still useless, fingers regrowing painfully slow.

Shinichi groaned. "Seriously, the furry again?"

Tatsuki landed, crouched, her golden slit-pupils gleaming under her messy bangs. She growled low. Then—

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

Her voice cracked the air like thunder. A sonic shockwave burst outward, a pulse of beastly force that forced even Yoruichi to stop for a moment. Shinichi clutched his head, his ears ringing violently.

Yoruichi turned, her golden eyes narrowing. "You're learning control," she muttered. "Let's see how far it goes."

In a flash, she was gone.

Then appeared behind Tatsuki, faster than the eye could follow.

Her palm struck Tatsuki's back. The werewolf girl stumbled, surprised — but not broken. She whirled around with her claws, aiming for Yoruichi's face, and the two engaged in a dizzying exchange of martial strikes, dodges, and swipes.

The sounds of impact filled the air like drums in a war march.

Back on the field, Ichigo was panting hard, sweat dripping from his chin. He'd just blocked another Benihime blast with Zangetsu, but it had scorched his arms and thrown him off-balance.

"You holdin' up, Ichigo?" Shinichi called from the side, voice rough.

"Shut up and focus!" Ichigo barked, dashing at Urahara again.

Their swords met once more in the center of the battlefield — Ichigo's raw, unrefined power against Urahara's smooth, precise technique. Ichigo ducked under a slice, swung upward — Urahara sidestepped, slashing low across Ichigo's thigh, drawing blood.

Ichigo winced, but didn't stop.

CLANG. SLASH. SWOOSH.

Meanwhile, Shinichi had had enough.

His reiatsu exploded — a storm of black and red spiraling outward. The air grew heavy, the ground cracked, and even Yoruichi paused mid-battle to glance toward him.

"Damn it," Shinichi muttered, channeling energy into his legs. "Only got one hand… Guess that's all I'll need."

His eyes locked onto Urahara. Go.

In a literal blink, Shinichi vanished.

Then—BANG!

He reappeared behind Urahara, punching straight into his ribs.

BOOM.

Both of them were launched backward, crashing through a stone boulder in an explosion of dust.

Shinichi rolled to his feet. Blood dripped from his nose. His legs shook from strain.

But he grinned.

"Ohhhhhh man that felt good," he laughed. "Ten thousand yen, bitch."

Urahara emerged from the rubble, shirt torn open around a massive bruise forming on his side. He wiped blood from his lip with a casual motion.

"Well… that brings back memories..." he chuckled. "Guess I owe you."

Yoruichi reappeared behind Shinichi again.

CRACK!

Her elbow crashed into the side of his neck.

He dropped, eyes rolling back for a second — but caught himself mid-fall, landing on one knee. He was too stubborn to go down without a fight.

"You're... relentless," he said.

She smiled softly. "You're already injured and still doing all this, impressive."

He didn't respond — only surged forward again.

But he was slower now. His stamina almost gone. His fingers half-regrown. His muscles screamed at him.

Yoruichi dodged his swing, swept his legs from under him, and kicked him across the ribs mid-air.

CRACK.

He coughed blood and collapsed onto the field, unmoving.

Yoruichi stood over him, eyes narrowed. "You've come far, Shinichi. But this fight's over."

The battlefield had fallen quiet.

Ichigo lay down, bruised and barely breathing.

Tatsuki, unconscious, her body twitching in sleep.

Shinichi, defeated, blood trailing from his mouth.

Yoruichi stood tall.

Then turned to Urahara.

"Your turn?"

Urahara rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Fight you? Me? Nah, I like living."

He raised both hands in surrender. "I'm out."

She rolled her eyes. "Coward."

He gave a sheepish grin. "Strategist."

Yoruichi looked around at the battlefield.

This wasn't just training anymore.

This was the sharpening of blades before a war.

And every one of them would need to be stronger still for what was coming.

---

The soft glow of paper lanterns flickered against the walls of Urahara's study, casting elongated shadows that danced with the occasional creak of wood from the old shop. The table before him was cluttered with scrolls, soul-forged instruments, and a bubbling vial or two—another night of endless tinkering and subtle paranoia.

Knock knock.

Urahara raised his head lazily, brushing a strand of blond hair behind his ear. "Come in!" he chimed, his voice smooth as ever.

The door slid open.

Shinichi stepped inside slowly, each step marked by a slight limp — his body still recovering from the Battle Royale earlier that day. His clothes were disheveled, a fresh bandage wrapped around his torso, and the exhaustion in his eyes didn't go unnoticed.

Urahara blinked. "Oh! Kisaragi-san!" he said cheerfully. "Looks like your fingers finally grew back!"

Shinichi lifted his hand, flexing his newly regenerated fingers. They twitched awkwardly, like limbs trying to remember how to move. He exhaled and muttered, "Yeah… they did. But it still feels very weird."

Urahara chuckled lightly and leaned back in his seat. "I'm sure you'll get used to it. Regeneration always leaves behind some phantom echoes. Sometimes it takes your brain a while to catch up with the body."

Shinichi didn't laugh.

He walked closer, stopping just shy of the table. The usual fire in his tone simmered down into something heavier—something colder.

"Urahara," he said.

The sudden shift in tone made Urahara's smile falter slightly.

"I need you to help me with something," Shinichi continued. "And I need it done in two days."

Urahara folded his fan with a quiet snap, placing it on the table beside him. His eyes, now focused and unreadable, studied the boy in front of him. The mood in the room shifted entirely.

"Oh?" he said at last, voice low and cautious. "What kind of something?"

---

The next day had come and gone in a blur of clashes and sweat, but Urahara had been conspicuously absent from the day's training. Only Yoruichi was present, and she alone sparred with the trio.

Tatsuki, Ichigo, and Shinichi found a rhythm. Yoruichi's instruction was precise and unrelenting, but it allowed each of them to push further than ever before.

Tatsuki's control over the beast within her had sharpened significantly. Her movements were still wild, but no longer erratic. Her roars could stun, her claws sliced with clean precision, and her speed—it was on another level now. She wasn't just transforming anymore. She was adapting.

Ichigo, meanwhile, was finally addressing his biggest flaw. That overflowing reiatsu of his—the constantly leaking bucket—was slowly being sealed. Each swing of his zanpakuto was cleaner than the last, more focused. And while he hadn't fully unlocked Getsuga Tenshō yet, he was closer than he'd ever been—even more than in the original timeline.

And Shinichi? Well, today was his turn to rest.

For the first time in nine brutal days, he wasn't throwing punches, dodging blades, or sprinting headfirst into boulders. Instead, he slept like a cow—sprawled across his bed, snoring softly, surrounded by a silence his barrier ensured.

Ever since his first Hollow encounter, that barrier had remained active around his house—sealing off his spiritual pressure, keeping threats away, and making sure he didn't draw in any more uninvited visitors. A smart move, one that had slowly become second nature.

The clock hit 4:00 PM.

Shinichi finally stirred.

His eyes opened lazily, greeted by the familiar hum of the ceiling fan above. He blinked slowly, muttering to himself, "Damn… what time is it…"

The clock answered for him.

"…Oh."

Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbled into his routine. Brush. Wash. Shower. Hair. By the time he stepped outside for a jog, the sun was already starting to dip.

Still, he ran. Not for training, not for a quest—just out of habit. His muscles moved before his thoughts could catch up.

Then came the chime.

[Well, at least my quests made you a better man.]

He chuckled mid-run. "Well… you aren't wrong. I can't even refute that. It's true."

[See? Growth.]

The system's chime had a strange warmth to it today. Not annoying. Not sarcastic. Just present.

[Well, all the best for tomorrow.]

[Remember, I'm always going to be there to help you. Even when no one else is around. That's what I've been designed for.]

Shinichi raised an eyebrow, grinning faintly. "Wow… you're actually not being an asshole for once."

[Oh, fuck you.]

He laughed. Loud and genuine. "Hahaha—kidding, kidding. Thanks. Really."

Then, without warning—

[Also… the thing you told me to do… it's done.]

Shinichi stopped running.

His body froze as the wind brushed past him. His breath caught for a second, his thoughts aligning with purpose.

"…Appreciate it," he said quietly.

He turned on his heel.

"I'll go to Urahara right away."

---

The air was heavy that morning—still and almost unnaturally silent, as if Karakura Town itself understood the magnitude of what was about to happen.

It was finally the day.

The Rukia Kuchiki rescue operation was about to begin.

Inside the courtyard of Urahara's shop, the group had already assembled.

Ichigo Kurosaki, gripping the hilt of his zanpakuto as if it were an extension of his soul.

Orihime Inoue, nervous but determined, her hands clutched tightly in front of her.

Chad stood quietly, his hulking frame more solemn than ever.

Ishida adjusted his glasses with surgical precision, his Quincy pride radiating.

Tatsuki stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes sharp and predatory—more confident than ever.

And in the center of it all, perched atop a rock in her small feline form, was Yoruichi.

Everyone was here.

Well... almost everyone.

"Oof! Sorry guys! I lost my way on the path of life!"

That voice.

Everyone turned.

Shinichi Kisaragi jogged in, out of breath, waving lazily with one hand. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He stopped in front of them, grinning sheepishly.

Tatsuki didn't say a word.

She just walked up and punched him square in the gut.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR?!"

Shinichi doubled over. "F-Fuck! I apologized, didn't I?!"

Orihime immediately stepped forward, flailing her hands in panic. "T-Tatsuki-chan! He's sorry! Let's all breathe, okay?"

"I don't breathe when I'm mad," Tatsuki hissed, walking back to the group with clenched fists.

"I'm surrounded by amateurs," Ishida muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Why must I associate with such clowns…"

Before another argument could start, the wooden door slid open.

"Alright! Everyone inside!" Urahara's voice rang from below.

They all turned and began moving, following the winding stairs down into the underground training field.

And there, amidst the scattered debris and heavy spiritual residue, stood Kisuke Urahara.

Hands folded behind his back.

Hat low over his face.

But even then, the sharpness in his gaze cut through the room.

"Welcome," he said.

Everyone stood still.

"It's ready," he continued. "In thirteen days, Rukia Kuchiki will be executed. Your mission is to stop that from happening."

There was no witty tone in his voice now. No smugness. Just gravity.

"That's our main goal. No side quests. No distractions. We move fast, we move quiet, and we get her out."

And then he stepped forward and raised his hand.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he dragged his cane across the air—and the space in front of them split open with a deafening sound.

The Senkaimon.

A white void tore through reality like a blade through silk, shimmering and alive. The crack widened slowly, revealing an ethereal gateway lined with paper walls of spirit energy. The very air changed.

A deep, ancient pressure surged outward from the opening, crashing against their skin and making the ground vibrate.

Orihime took a step back instinctively.

Chad narrowed his eyes.

Ichigo's grip tightened.

Even Tatsuki gulped.

Shinichi? He just stared—frozen.

Because this was it.

This was the gateway.

The very doorway that marked the beginning of one of the greatest arcs in shounen history. He was about to live the Soul Society arc.

His mouth opened slightly. A drop of sweat slid down his cheek as he whispered—

"Fuck… this is amazing…"

But his awe was short-lived.

"HEY!"

Urahara's voice boomed behind him.

"When I said I can't hold it for long—I meant it, Kisaragi-san!"

"Shit!"

Shinichi snapped back to reality.

The others had already jumped into the gate, one after another disappearing into the light.

He turned to Urahara.

They locked eyes.

Just for a second, neither said a word.

Then—

A nod.

A shared, silent understanding between mentor and student.

Shinichi turned back and sprinted, his feet slamming against the ground as the white light grew larger and larger in front of him.

And just like that—he jumped through the gate.

And so it began.

The arc that defined Bleach. The arc that made history.

But what Shinichi didn't know—

Was that this time, everything was going to change.