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7th March 1867 A.D

The Seiretei is Currently Under Attack

The smoke was thick, weighing down on all who dared linger within its toxic haze. It seemed never ending; it blotted out the sun, and accompanied the burning inferno that engulfed all in sight, forcing the wooden frames to crackle and splinter the flames. All around, once strong buildings gave a groan before crashing into rubble; spilling out onto the streets, or collapsing in on themselves, and causing sparks to fly upwards, catching the wind and creating new fires throughout the Seiretei, painting the sky behind the smoke orange.

A sharp clang of metal against metal rang out above the roar of the blaze, bloodshed and fighting war came hand in hand with such destruction, and while the sound of battle rang out, screams of Shinigami followed, Zanpakuto tore through flesh and bone, causing blood to paint the nearby ground and walls. For a moment, if one closed their eyes, that was all they heard; there was no peace to be found in such a place, and shutting it out for a moment of silence was impossible. However, if one made the mistake of shutting their eyes long enough, they’d surely find silence in the sweet embrace of death, for the enemy were everywhere. Friends fought friends, family stabbed one another in the back, comrades turned on comrades, all for what they thought was right.

But what good could come from such bloodshed.

How had such a grim scene come to be?

How could Shinigami turn on their own? Divisions fighting within themselves, Captain against Captain… and for what? For what reason was blood shed so needlessly.

It was for a single man his mission.

His mission to become the new King.