Chapter Text
Would he now end the golden age they went through so much together to build?
As centuries moved on, other taichou were appointed but they came and went, leaving Shunsui and Jyuushirou to continue leading the good fight with Yachiru and himself to keep stability and ultimately, preserve the balance. Together, they shaped and led Soul Society into a new era of peace, balance and prosperity. The four of them remained the steadfast cornerstones of the Gotei Thirteen, but it was Shunsui and Jyuushirou who had driven real progress and development. Much more than their incredible reiryoku and mastery of their powers and martial prowess, their characters, emotional intelligence and humanity had augmented him and the Gotei Thirteen in ways none had unexpected. They had achieved far more than they could have with than without his two prodigious wards and disciples. They were gifts from kami, and Yamamoto had staunchly cherished his gifts. In the last year of their mission with the Shinigami Academy, the accomplishments of his two sons and the values they had come to symbolise won them unanimous support for their appointments as the first taichous of the third generation of the Gotei Thirteen. They were the first graduates of the Shinigami Academy to achieve that respect and honour.
Would he now end their millennia old bonds?
Yet the alternative was not an option.
Their enemies had sought to seed sedition for centuries. Yamamoto knew exactly who they were, for he had Jyuushirou at his side to fight that secret fight. He had expected that like any other government, there would always be those who would be disgruntled for one reason or another, and in the case of Soul Society, he had expected malcontents from those who had either been born without reiryoku or failed the entrance examinations of the Academy or for personal reasons, disagreed with the laws of the realm. But he had not expected sedition from those whom he had entrusted with the very system of governance he had created for the sake of Soul Society. And against such malfeasance, he must continue to resist. He, and his two disciples, must carry on the fight.
But the moment Jyuushirou had hurled the rope of the Shihouin Shield into the heavens and tethered the Kikou’ou with the immense strength of his reiatsu, the moment Shunsui had joined him, the moment the youngest pillars of the Gotei Thirteen unleashed their combined reiatsu that shook Soukyoku Hill and exploded the Kikou’ou into a rain of flaming debris, Yamamoto realised that his disciples had drawn a clear line.
Had the erosion now spread to even the two souls he had raised, instructed and been as proud of as if they were his own sons?
Yamamoto stared through the glimmering superheated air at Shunsui and Jyuushirou, his soul throbbing with what he had to do. The inferno of Ryuujin Jakka roared around them in an impenetrable ring ensuring that there would be no escape from his punishment. He had meant it when he said it would not be a usual beating.
Pain biting through his entire soul, he gave his former disciples his final command.
“Release your swords already. Surely you do not wish to be burned to ashes without a fight.”
Through the wafting ashes, the broad shoulders of Shunsui’s tall form visibly drooped, the usual flamboyance of his flowered pink silk kimono suddenly pallid in face of imminent execution at the hands of his long-time sensei and adoptive father. Though his stance was calm and relaxed, sweat dampened his lean tanned face as his reiatsu swelled in roiling shadowy layers against Yamamoto’s fiery pressure, his tachi and wakizashi held in deceptively relaxed grips. The regret in his sigh was palpable even from this distance and through the roar of the inferno.
“I guess it can’t be helped, ne,” he said wearily to his soul brother, his low languorous voice tinged with a hint of helplessness. When no answer was forthcoming, he cast a glance to his side.
Jyuushirou stood stock still beside him, his tall slender frame wreathed by his wildly blowing white mane strobed with fiery hues from the light of the raging flames, his alabaster skin aglow and glistening with beads of sweat. His dark eyes were no longer beseeching, for as Yamamoto had stood staring at them in silence, Jyuushirou had understood without words the turmoil that had passed through Yamamoto. Those deep-set mahogany gaze now burned with injustice, anger and fear, as those angular noble features tensed and creased with determination. His knuckles whitened on the crimson silk-bound hilt of his tachi.
Shunsui’s next words to him were a steely query.
“Shall we, Ukitake?”
The dark gaze of Jyuushirou, intense with fatal resolution, narrowed. Then accepting the inevitable, he softly rasped, “Yes”, closing his eyes and lowering his face in silent anguish. Yamamoto momentarily saw a flash of a young, unmarred Jyuushirou on that long ago late winter morning tea, of how his gentle eldest son had closed his eyes in agonised silence as he received the news of his mother’s passing. The memory faded as Jyuushiro lifted his dark-lashed eyes and held his stare.
Then simultaneously unleashed reiatsu and shikai.
Salt and ozone-tinged reiatsu tidal wave exploded. Jyuushirou’s tachi glowed blue. “All waves, rise now and become my shield! Lightning, strike now and become my blade!” A second shockwave followed as the weapon slid apart into two identical swords, now longer and slimmer, each bearing a secondary backward cutting blade on its back, accompanied by the silvery ringing of five metal talismans on a crimson reishi rope materializing between the twin crimson hilts. “Sougyo no Kotowari!”
Upon the ebb of the tidal waves came pummelling, tearing, blunt dark force. “Flower Wind rage and Flower God roar! Heavenly Wind rage and Heavenly Demon sneer!” Crossing the tsuba of his wakizashi before the tsuba of his tachi, Shunsui, with a heavy finality, stroked his wakizashi blade down the length of his longer tachi blade, the air pulsed once, and then both weapons sprang into a pair of large, lethal black scimitars gleaming with menacing intent. “Katen Kyoukotsu!”
Both shikai rocked the ground and very air.
Their sheer powers cut a deep pang into Yamamoto’s heart, for he knew neither he nor Soul Society would ever again witness their equals. Despite having been sealed for so long, neither zanpakuto had changed one bit, both still the only dual manifestations in all of Soul Society, their raw magnificence reflecting the complex natures of their masters.
Long past being boys terrified of their own powers, they now stood tall, indomitable and powerful, unperturbed in the heart of Ryuujin Jakka’s fiery reiatsu inferno that seared the heavens and vaporised the clouds.
Shunsui cut a broad, colourful silhouette whose flamboyance hid a simmering threat, his lazy languor tinged with dark-edged danger, Katen Kyoukotsu in his hands thrumming watchful and deadly.
Jyuushirou a lithe white figure whose willowy slenderness concealed an intensely raging lightning ocean storm, Sougyo no Kotowari in his grasp glinting mysterious and lethal.
The sight of them stole Yamamoto’s breath and his resolve nearly faltered.
His sons.
Where one went, the other always followed. Sooner or later.
No one, not even Shunsui and Jyuushiro themselves, knew the truth Yamamoto had discovered long ago.
They were two conjoined souls, born of the same depthless and unfathomable black force. Though one was momentarily allowed to live in the light, ultimately, they returned to the same source. There were scarcely any precedents for them. Despite his extensive research over millennia, much still remained unknown about their souls, but what little he had accumulated pointed to one inevitable conclusion: when a reiryoku was too vast for one soul, it would manifest as two distinct souls with distinct personalities and zanpakutou. This was the only possible explanation for the way that Yamamoto discovered Shunsui and Jyuushirou, separately yet so inexplicably tied to the fallen forgotten god of that derelict shrine. It meant that where one went, the other would eventually follow. Wherever and whatever the ultimate destination would be.
The execution of one was as good as the execution of the other.
Shunsui and Jyuushirou were themselves the founders and enforcers of many of their laws. And they had drawn the line. Against him. Against all they knew.
There was no way Yamamoto could honourably pardon them to save their lives.
He had to proceed.
He had to honour Shunsui and Jyuushirou themselves.
“Are you ready?” Yamamoto asked for the final time, his heart shattering into a million pieces.
“Anytime!” Shunsui returned with jaunty confidence.
Yamamoto charged.