Bleach: My Zanpakutō Is the Entire Underworld

T/N: Sorry, got sick, now back.

Silver blades crossed each other's bodies, leaving behind wounds of bone and blood intertwined.

Under the searing sunlight, the two young men slashed at each other relentlessly. On the high platform, the watching crowd was like vultures craving carrion — circling, staring, sneering.

This was a carnival of death.

The Blade Mountain and Sword Prison twisted around them endlessly. Asano Kiyoshi had lost count of how many times he'd swung his sword. He looked at Tsunayashiro Kojiro before him — his organs half-exposed — and coughed up blood. Without a word, he pulled another ink-black sword from the prison and cleaved it down on Kojiro's shoulder.

Kojiro was on the brink of collapse. Unlike Kiyoshi, he had no buffs to dull pain or strengthen his mind. From beginning to end, he had endured the agony raw. Blow after blow had shredded his body to its limits.

Even so, he refused to fall. His eyes half-open and unfocused, his body moved like a machine — swing, cut, again and again.

With every slash, his blood fed the Blade Mountain and made the field of flowers even more vivid.

From the stands, Unohana Retsu trembled as she watched this most primal slaughter — the glint of blades, the spray of blood, the sound of flesh being carved apart, the smell of warm iron. Her arms were wrapped tight around herself, nails digging so deep they pierced her skin. Fresh blood ran down her fingers, and the pain made her shudder with delight. Her lips bled where she bit them, the taste of rust filling her mouth as low, feral sounds rumbled in her throat.

Behind her, Nanao and Isane were frozen in terror. They had never witnessed such savage combat — like wild beasts tearing into each other's flesh, drinking each other's blood, chewing each other's bones into pulp. It awakened a primal fear deep in their hearts.

Shunsui tipped his hat low, hiding his eyes.Ukitake clenched his fists, eyes full of helplessness and frustration.Yamamoto opened his eyes slightly, and in those ancient pupils swirled countless emotions.Aizen looked up at the clear blue sky, a cold smile playing at his lips.Kenpachi, for once, was utterly silent — the reflection of this battle frozen in his eyes.

At the far edge of the stands, a woman who could no longer walk dragged herself forward with her arms. In the stunned, indifferent stares of the crowd, she crawled, inch by inch, toward the high platform. Her fingernails split open against the rough ground; her elbows scraped raw on jagged rocks. But she didn't seem to feel any of it. Her hair hung in disarray, her face wet with tears as she crawled on, so slowly, so painfully.

"Kojiro! That's enough! It's enough! Please, stop!"

On the platform, Kojiro seemed to hear her heartbroken cry. His eyes, muddied and on the edge of unconsciousness, instinctively turned to find her. On his blood-smeared face, two clear tears rolled down.

Voices from old memories echoed in his mind — warm, tipsy afternoons:

"Kojiro, from now on your name will be Kojiro, okay? You're the most important person in the whole world to me.""Kojiro! Dinner time! Remember to wash your hands — chew every bite twenty times! Come on, I'm counting for you, no cheating!""Fifth-grade spiritual pressure! Such talent! You'll become an amazing Shinigami one day! Then I'll brag to everyone — who said you weren't gifted? I'll scold them! Did you wear your warm pants today? The weather's gotten cold — don't forget!""Kojiro, I made your favorite grilled mackerel tonight. Hurry and wash your hands!""Kojiro, your father is gone now... but don't cry, okay? I'll love you twice as much, enough for him too. The love you have will be no less than any child's in the world.""Kojiro, remember to eat well — cough, cough... Mom's fine, really..."

Those memories shimmered like soap bubbles in the sun — beautiful, but fragile, fleeting like a dream.

He had fought so desperately to hold onto that fragile warmth. He had never been a genius, nor a boy of indomitable will. He was just an ordinary young man — a noble's child with a bit of pride, nothing more. He wasn't a bad person, just proud. When the other nobles wanted to scheme against Kiyoshi in secret, he'd stopped them — because his mother had taught him: if you want to defeat someone, do it honorably, not like a cur snapping at scraps.

He didn't have much. He didn't want much. He just wanted to stay with his mother, marry a woman neither too pretty nor too plain, have two children — a boy and a girl — and care for his mother in old age, watch his children grow up, love his wife gently, and selfishly hope to die before her, because he knew he couldn't bear that kind of longing alone.

In the Tsunayashiro family's private Asauchi trials, Kojiro awakened his Zanpakutō, Key Seal. By some twist of fate, an ancestor of the Tsunayashiro family had wielded the same blade — a "key" said to unlock something important. So the clan chose to nurture him specially.

He'd been so happy then — finally, he could give his mother a good life. Since his father's death, their branch family had struggled. They hadn't eaten meat in forever. His mother's hands were cracked from washing clothes for others. Her coat had been patched too many times to count. That night when he told her, she'd smiled so hard she cried, cupping his face:

"Having you is the greatest luck of my life. Well, one of the two greatest — the other was meeting your father!"

But maybe the heavens were cruel. That warmth didn't last long. His mother fell sick soon after.

To save her, he did anything he could — but the money was never enough. He went to the clan for help. The clan head told him: if you bring something back from the Grand Spirit Book Archive, I'll save your mother.

He hadn't hesitated. Thanks to the clan head's help, his mother's condition stabilized. And under the clan's guidance, he pushed his Zanpakutō to its limit.

Until that night — summoned to the clan head's room, shown a video that nearly crushed him with its pressure. Then he learned the true secret of his blade: Key Seal could force his soul to burn, overdrawing his spiritual power.

But to save his mother, he hadn't cared.

Yet now — hearing her cry, her voice breaking in pain — why did it still tear his heart apart?

Through the blood covering his face, two clean tracks of tears shone. He turned to her, voice faint and hoarse:

"I'm sorry... Mother. I... in the end, I couldn't be... your good luck."

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