Burdens Unexpressed: Silver-Hairs vs the God Flame

Absolute whiteness surrounded the silver-haired man known as Seireitou, standing up straight as his soft gaze extended outwards onto the vastness; though not without a sense of slight confusion mixed with a strange sense of unjustified anticipation, tinged with some small degree of... was this excitement? Why? There should be no reason for this feeling at all, this is no different than all the other times Seireitou had visited the inner depths of his soul, searching for peace and spiritual solitude for self-assessment.

But the reason soon appeared. There, in the distance, stood a familiar figure to Seireitou. An elder man with a magnificent flowing white beard, adorned with a matching white coat and the character for "one" etched onto its back, returned the gaze as well. This man was undoubtedly the same one that took Seireitou from his mentor all those years ago, with a method that could best be described as blackmail, and the one that the soul reapers call their general. Shigekuni Yamamoto, the "Genryūsai". A title that reflected the vast depths of skill and power this man possesses, similar in principle to Seireitou's own war-earned title "Shiroyasha".

"Yama-jii... But why?" Seireitou called out softly.

The old Shinigami general kept his eyes at their usually half-opened state, but the strength of their sight was not to be mistaken, even in this position. "You should know the answer to that, boy. For someone to appear in another's soul in such a manner can only mean there is something deep down in this soul of yours that persists my existence, despite the fact that I have already passed on." he explained, raising his wooden walking stick and slamming the bottom edge onto the ground, producing a thunderous sound. "The Sōkyoku, which was born from Ryūjin Jakka, carries a small piece of my soul. I left behind three significant pieces of it, to three individuals, and the blade which carries its destructive force was left to you. But even so, boy, for me to appear in such a manner... What is it that persists?"

Seireitou kept quiet, his gaze fixated on the wizened Yamamoto.

"Is it still anger and hatred from back then? When I ripped you away from your beloved teacher, Shōyō?" he continued asking.

Again, Seireitou remained silent.

"Regret? Do you regret something because of my passing, foolish boy?" the old man questioned further.

But once more, Seireitou did not respond.

With this, Yamamoto shut his eyes for a brief moment, before re-opening them. A faint hue of what appeared to be an intense fire, hidden behind these misleadingly peaceful eyes, was evident. And with it, a glow of spiritual energy aligned to the element of fire began to form around the Shinigami general.

"Warriors need not talk with words! If you have something that needs to be expressed, then let it be done so with our blades!" Yamamoto bellowed, the flames that composed his reiatsu exploded outwards, as the walking stick he was wielding shed its flimsy wooden exterior and revealed the truth: the strongest and most powerful Zanpakutō in all of Soul Society's history, Ryūjin Jakka, now took the stage.

Seireitou, at the sight of this, could not help but crack a small smile. "So we're skipping the warm-up then, Yama-jii? I suppose, since we're aware of one another's stature, it would be a meaningless gesture." Placing his right hand along the hilt of his sword, Seireitou drew his own Zanpakutō with a swift motion: the fearsome Hanullim. And with it, an equally impressive burst of white spiritual energy erupted from the silver-haired man's body, rivaling the release of Yamamoto's own reiatsu.

A collision of grand proportions was now to begin.