Weißer Sensenmann.
Aye everyone i wanted to say a few things.
Well mostly one but this is to help a fellow author.
A fellow author _Nia as many might know from reading the genshin impact fic about the villain simulator which was deleted in the recent sweep of fics that used bots.
Among them the algorithm deleted it assuming it to be in the same bracket given it had considerable traction achieving number 1 in rankings.
If you have time or previously read it and left somewhere _Nia is uploading the fic once again from chapter 1 help her by giving the book a read or a review..
Its available for free on patreon too and is now back with 8 Chapters..
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Arima stepped through the doorway of his home, Eto following close behind with all the sweets she wanted.
The quiet was unusual, but he didn't comment on it.
His sharp senses spread throughout the house, searching for the one person who was always present: Unohana.She wasn't in the living room.
His gaze sharpened. He could sense her presence in the basement, specifically in her study room. Turning to Eto, he spoke in a low voice, "Stay quiet."
Eto nodded, curiosity gleaming in her eyes, but she didn't protest.
Descending the stairs with silent precision, Arima moved toward the study.
The heavy door was ajar, allowing a sliver of light to illuminate the hallway.
As he stepped inside, the sight that met him was both stunning and humbling.
Unohana sat amidst her research materials, her Bankai active.
Vines and flora intertwined around her form, creating an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance.
[REFRENCE]
Her skin had taken on the texture of wood, glowing faintly with an inner vitality.
The air was thick with the power of her Bankai—dangerous, versatile, and utterly terrifying.
Arima paused to observe.
Her Bankai was a truly unparalleled ability even more robust at killing than Zanka no tachi or his own third stage that was designed specefically for fighting.
Since it didn't rely on her strength to kill but used the target's own power against them its effect of sure kill was unquestionable.
With spores, seeds, or creatures that ged from her flora, she could trigger a chain reaction that ended in inevitable death.
It was a perfect, unrelenting mechanism, effective even against someone like him.
She was deep in thought, her delicate fingers brushing over notes and samples, her expression one of quiet determination.
She was working on something personal—something important.
It didn't take long for Arima to realize she was researching a way to heal him.
The sight was breathtaking, not because of her ethereal visage but because of her care and concern.
For a moment, he stood there, silently appreciating her efforts.
Deciding not to disturb her, he turned and left, his steps as silent as they had been when he entered.
When he returned upstairs, he found Eto in the courtyard, her laughter ringing through the air.
She was talking animatedly with Nokotan.
Nokotan, with its calm and ancient aura, seemed happy to indulge Eto's enthusiasm.
The old deer stood with quiet dignity as Eto clambered onto its back, giggling like a child.
Eto grinned, holding onto its antlers gently. "You're more comfortable than I expected!"
Arima leaned against the doorway, observing the scene with a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Watching the two gallop around.
---
Arima moved with practiced efficiency in the kitchen, his hands skillfully preparing dinner.
The rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the simmering of broth filled the quiet home, a soothing melody of domestic life.
As the meal neared completion, he stepped to the base of the stairs leading to the basement.
His voice called out:
"Yachiru."
The sound of her name broke through her hyperfocused state, pulling her from the depths of her study.
Unohana emerged moments later, her expression carrying faint surprise as she registered that he was back.
"You're back," she said softly, stepping fully into the light.
"I've been back for a while," Arima replied, turning back toward the dining area.
As she entered the dining hall, her gaze shifted to Eto, who was seated at the table, humming an unfamiliar tune and swinging her legs lightly.
Unohana's sharp eyes immediately recognized her.
The armor, the hollow-like presence, the playful demeanor—it was unmistakable.
"A spirit that manifests independently," Unohana murmured, her voice thoughtful.
"Though with you, I suppose it's more of a forced manifestation than anything natural."
Eto grinned at the comment, clearly unfazed by the observation. "He's very demanding, you know. But I don't mind. At least I get sweets out of it."
Arima set the plates on the table, glancing briefly at Eto before taking a seat.
The three of them sat quietly, the atmosphere oddly serene despite the unusual circumstances.
For a while, the only sound was the faint clinking of utensils as they began their meal.
Then, Arima's gaze drifted faintly into the distance, his expression turning serious.
Breaking the silence, he addressed Unohana.
"I'm going somewhere tonight," he said, his tone calm but firm.
Unohana looked at him, her chopsticks pausing mid-air. "For what purpose?"
"It might take some time," he continued, ignoring her question for a moment.
"Until then, Eto will stay here."
Her sharp eyes studied him carefully, catching the weight in his words. "Old business?" she asked quietly.
He nodded, meeting her gaze with an intensity that made it clear there was more than he was willing to say. "I'm going to see where I stand now."
The room fell silent again, the gravity of his words hanging in the air.
Unohana didn't press further, though her expression betrayed her concern.
Eto, for once, didn't interject with a playful comment, simply humming amd concentrating on eating.
Arima finished his meal, standing up and placing his utensils neatly on his plate.
"I'll be back,"
---
The streets of Seireitei were alive with the mundane rhythms of the evening.
Insects chirped in hidden corners, their constant hum blending with the occasional rustle of leaves in the faint breeze.
Nearby, families gathered for dinner, their laughter and casual chatter spilling into the night.
The world carried on in its quiet beauty, each sound sharp and clear in Arima's ears, yet none of it touched him.
His steps were unhurried, a measured cadence that resonated faintly against the stone-paved streets.
The light from the lanterns flickered, casting long shadows that danced across his path.
As he turned a corner, the air shifted. A narrow alley near him transformed, the entrance swallowed by an unnatural darkness.
It wasn't the absence of light, but a consuming, living shadow.
The noise of the world around him seemed to fade, muffled as if the shadows devoured not only light but sound itself.
Without hesitation, Arima stepped into the void.
The shadows enveloped him, the chill of their touch sharp against his skin, though he paid it no mind.
The air inside was dense, heavy with reiatsu.
The space beyond was a stark contrast to the lively streets he'd left behind.
The darkness twisted and shifted, forming an arena of pale, glowing blueground beneath his feet. Ahead, a figure stood tall, waiting.
Jugram Haschwalth.
The Quincy's golden hair gleamed faintly in the ghostly light, his piercing eyes fixed on Arima.
His posture was rigid, every line of his form taut with tension.
His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but it was his eyes that held the true edge—sharp, furious, unyielding.
"You," Jugram said, his voice slicing through the silence.
It was low, but every syllable carried a venomous weight. "What brings you here, Weißer Sensenmann? What game do you play now? Calling out to me..."
Arima's eyes met his, unwavering and calm.
His presence was a storm held in check, a quiet yet insurmountable force. "No game," he replied, his voice steady, a stark contrast to Jugram's barely restrained rage.
"I projected my thoughts so you would find me. That you have is enough."
Jugram's jaw tightened, his grip on his blade tightening ever so slightly emotions overcoming the rationale.
"Enough?" he spat. "You think this is enough? After all you've done—after all the blood you've spilled—you think you can summon me like a dog and expect me to obey?"
Arima's gaze remained unflinching, his tone devoid of malice yet heavy with finality.
"Do not overestimate ,"Summoning" implies I required your compliance. I did not. I came because it was what i chose."
Jugram took a step forward, his reiatsu flaring for a moment, like a spark threatening to ignite into an inferno.
"Arrogant to the last," he growled. "Do you even comprehend the depths of your crimes? You annihilated us—our families, innocent children—and you speak to me as if I should thank you for allowing a handful of us to survive your slaughter."
Arima stepped forward, closing the distance with a deliberate calm that belied the storm beneath his skin.
"Survival is not a gift, Jugram Haschwalth. "
"It is a consequence."
" Your people live because I allowed them to.I cose to hold my hand. Hate me if you will, but know this—if I had wanted to erase you entirely, there would be no trace left to hate."
Jugram's reiatsu surged, his voice rising with it, a mixture of fury and despair. "You think that absolves you? That your whims dictate life and death, and we are merely pawns in your hands?"
Arima halted, his expression untouched by the tempest before him. "Absolution? I seek none. "
"Your hatred does not alter the truth. The Quincy endured because I chose to stay my hand. "
"That is not arrogance—it is fact."
Jugram's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, his fury like a caged beast straining against its chains. "You dare speak of truth to me? You, the harbinger of our ruin?"
Arima tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, almost contemplative tone. "I did what was necessary. You, Jugram, stand here now because I deemed it so. "
"Question my choices if you wish, but understand this—I do not answer to you, nor to the weight of your anger. Your existence is not my burden to carry."
The two stood in silence, the tension between them thick as the darkness surrounding them.
Arima's neutrality, his unshakable confidence, was an affront to Jugram's seething emotions.
"This was not a meeting to debate morality," Arima said finally, his voice steady as stone.
Arima stepped forward, his steps soundless on the blackened ground,.
Stopping a few feet away, his posture relaxed but unyielding, his now crimson eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.
"I came," he said, his voice a calm and even timbre, "to see Yhwach's body."
The simplicity of his statement was like a spark to dry tinder.
Jugram's reiatsu flared violently, the shadows of the dimension responding to his anger.
His teeth clenched as his hand tightened on his blade. "How dare you," he snarled, his voice filled with venom. "You desecrate this space with your presence, and now you seek the remains of His Majesty?!"
Arima regarded him with unshaken neutrality, his tone utterly devoid of concern. "It is not a request, Haschwalth. It is a statement of intent."
That was the breaking point.
Jugram's anger boiled over, and with a roar, he drew his blade, lunging at Arima with all the fury of a wounded beast.
But the moment his weapon neared Arima, the air around him hissed and burned.
Jugram's hands recoiled, flesh seared by the mere proximity to Arima's passive aura.
Stumbling back, Jugram clutched his hands, the smell of burning flesh acrid in the air.
Arima stepped forward, the faintest hum of power emanating from his being.
"Hollow nature," he said simply. "To you Quincy, it is the ultimate poison. Your very essence rebels against mine. A pity, truly."
Jugram gritted his teeth, his pride demanding he stand firm even as his body screamed otherwise.
He raised his blade again, the trembling in his arm betraying the struggle within.
Arima's gaze shifted to the weapon, and with an almost bored motion, he reached out, catching the blade between two fingers.
The metal groaned in protest before snapping like brittle glass.
He let the shards fall to the ground, his expression utterly dispassionate. "How unfortunate," he said mocking the ability of Jugaram, his tone cutting deeper than any blade.
Arima turned away, raising his hand and slicing through the oppressive shadows with a single motion.
The isolated space tore open like paper, revealing the entrance to the shadow dimension, where the remnants of the first-generation Quincy had retreated after Yhwach's fall.
Without a glance back at Jugram, Arima stepped through the rift.
The oppressive air shifted, and the remnants of the past awaited him.
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Stones and Reviews please