Fists of Calamity! Two Grandmasters Collide!

Spectre of the Past
, Sabitsura District. Afternoon.

In a place far removed from the brilliant glory of the and the martial power of the Gotei 13, there lived people. Or rather, their. And where those Souls lived, without any form of authority imposed upon them, they did human things. They idled, stole, sang, raped, fought, philosophised. Without the false construct of order reigning in their base insticts, they embodied chaos in a way. They acted led with a medley of desires and emotions that together formed the incomprehensible abomination of a gestalt that was existence.

For thousands upon thousands of years they endured and struggled the horrors of reality. Without the lies and empty words of devious people to divert their attention toward idealised simulacra, they had to forever cope with the ruthlessness of existence for what it was, warts and all. That was the way millions of Souls suffered their afterlives in a sad mockery of Heaven, one much more closer to Purgatory in nature and function. Or, perhaps, the Limbo of Hell itself, as to persevere through the strife and woes of others with no respite was a form of the cruelest punishment imaginable on its own.

But even here, so far away from the festering heart of law and tyranny, ideals and corruption, order strove to maintain a modicum of presence. To keep the veil of false reality upon the hideous countenance of the world.

"This is boring as Hell, Koji-kun."

"Yeah."

"They pay us to wade through the dirt and stench of those slums... but not enough! I'd rather hunt some than babysit a bunch of beggars and bandits."

"Yeah."

Two Shinigami, Seated Officers of the Third Division, one outspoken and the other locked in stupor, travelled through the alleys of a decrepit village. They were surrounded by Souls, children, adult and elderly, of both sexes and various ethnicities. All of them poor, wearing tattered rags instead of clothing, and equally apathetic to everyone and everything around them. Even those two troopers casually walking through their miserable realm that blatantly insulted them with almost every utterance that escaped their throats. Or at least, one of them.

"I mean, since the time of those super-oh-so-mysterious disappearings of Souls there's like, nothing interesting happening here. The entire district could stop existing and nobody would notice. Heck, those guys over there wouldn't notice. It's that bad, Koji-kun."

"It's only a couple hours left, Ryota-kun", said the more languid of the two, looking somewhere in the distance. "We'll get back to the Barracks, get our pay, eat something and forget about this."

"Yeah, sure", his talkative companion chortled. "I'll never forget this stench, Koji-kun. It's like, invading my body or something. My soul stinks because..."

"Go to Hell with all those questions, you freak! Maybe you'll find your answers over there!", the Shinigami suddenly heard a raised voice from the distance.

There was suddenly a ruckus further along the alley. Several people gathered in the middle, standing around a solitary figure. Others observed from a distance, a shadow of curiosity in their glazed eyes. Something was happening and from the sound of it, something the two Shinigami were expected to investigate.

"Seems they can't decide how to share all this dirt between them", remarked Ryota with obvious sarcasm. "Come on, let's play heroes for a while."

"Yeah."

Soon they stood beside the group, a few nondescript adults and a single man in the centre. A man who was tall, but not unusually so, broad-shouldered, but not hulking. A man in a simple, worn clothing, with a dark grey cloak and a hood obscuring most of his features at the time. But, from beneath, Ryota could see what appeared to be a kimino. Or rather, a shihakushō...

"Hey there, what's the problem?!", he exclaimed, assuming a stance proper for a man of justice.

His sidekick of sorts stood next to him, observing the group with a degree of attention that contrasted his previous lack of care.

"This man!", one of the Souls pointed at the cloaked figure. "He's insane! Babblin' about some chaos and other bollocks, askin' lotsa weird questions, only to suddenly ask 'bout some bloody dōjō or somethin'!"

Ryota and Koji looked at the mysterious man with narrowed eyes. They could sense a small amount of spiritual power in him. He appeared rather disconcerting, but sheer looks meant little in the realm of spirits, where it was spiritual power that decided upon who was truly frightening or not. He had only a fraction of any of the Seated Officer's power and no weapon on him in sight. Probably a random country bumpkin who could not quite endure the life in a high-numbered Rukongai district.

"Go away, we're gonna deal with this", announced Ryota.

"Yeah, deal with him! We've already got 'nuff problems to worry 'bout!"

The other Souls dispersed but did not really leave. Instead, they joined the gradually growing crowd assembling at the scene. Two Shinigami facing a mysterious wayfarer. Something interesting was about to happen, they knew it. A moment of entertainment, however dark, to make their afterlives a tiny bit easier to suffer.

"So, what's the matter, tough guy? What do you want to find out so much?", asked Ryota.

The cloaked figure turned to him in an oddly smooth motion. More like a swivel than natural body movement. The Shinigami winced.

"I ask of the truth, but hear only lies", replied the man in a quiet, but strong voice.

"Well, no shit! How about you tell me your name and what exactly are you doing in here?", insisted Ryota.

He could not see his interlocutor's face. That was annoying. He heard the whispers of onlookers. That was annoying. He smelled the stench of this place. That was also, in fact, annoying. But this was an opportunity to do something and leave only to never return here. At least until Captain Akui would find another menial task for them to teach his indolent subordinates a lesson.

"I am a shadow of all the good and evil that befalls this miserable world", the man spoke. "They call me Tōsō for what I represent."

"Oh, goody!", snarled Ryota. "You know what, I'm a goddamn ghost with a sword that can kill monsters straight from your worst nightmares! Oh, yeah, and that's Koji."

"Yeah", replied Koji. "So, what are you looking for, Tōsō-san?"

There was a short pause. Not even a single gust of wind. Probably for the better, all things considered.

"I have been looking for Senjukuha and its founder, the Legendary Hakuda Grandmaster, Seireitou Kawahiru", was the response that followed shortly. "Can you show me the way?"

"Yeah, sure, it's like, right over there", Ryota waved his hand in the proper direction. "A few districts away from here. But you ain't going there, though. You're coming with us, Tōsō-san."

"And why would that be?"

The voice was still calm and somewhat monotone, but this time around there was a hint of something to it that made Ryota shudder. That was annoying. That man was annoying. Stupid missions were annoying, too. Even Koji appeared apprehensive for some reason. He usually did not bother to be afraid.

"Because you look like, suspicious as Hell", said Ryota, struggling to maintain the image of an illustrious Shinigami, the saviour of innocent Souls. "And why would you want to find Seireitou Kawahiru-sama? That's some shonky business right there."

"And none of your concern", Ryota could swear that he saw the man shrug, despite the cloak.

"Oh no, no, it is my concern", the Shinigami said whilst drawing his Zanpakutō. "You're coming with us, whether you want or not."

Koji brandished his sword as well, ready to assist his friend. He was still looking unsure, however.

"You are but pawns of a power you do not quite understand", the mysterious wayfarer said. "Stand in the path of the king, and you will perish."

"Oh, really!?", Ryota shouted at him. "Maybe if we'll cut you down to size you'll stop spouting bullshit!"

He was frustrated. And there was something wrong about that man. Something very wrong. He did not really understand that, but the sense of danger had been seeping into his mind ever since he laid his eyes upon him. He had to act, flee or fight. He and his companion chose to fight, and so they chose to die.

The two Shinigami slashed at the cloaked man, their blades reduced to blurs as they moved forward with high speed. But ere they could even approach him they bent and twisted like metal ribbons, only to suddenly shatter into pieces. They widened their eyes in deep shock and the man stood still, nary a motion on his part.

"Wha-?", Ryota uttered a part of a question forever unfinished, forever without an answer.

There was a loud, sickening sound. An organic sound, and nauseating crack. Soon the onlookers found themselves splattered with blood. They gazed in awe as the two Shinigami fell limply to the ground, their swords broken and their bodies numb. Literal holes had been punched through their chests, causing bursts of blood to paint the surroundings with crimson red. They died in an instant. And the mysterious wayfarer stood there still, not a single stain on his grey cloak.

Then he left, without a word. The crowd converged upon the bodies. Confused. Horrified. They could not comprehend what had just happened before their very eyes. But they were unworthy. If there was a man, anyone who could comprehend, it was the Grandmaster of Hakuda - Seireitou Kawahiru.

Even as those events spread an intense feeling of dread throughout the district, far off in the seventy-third district of Kabuki several hours following the aforementioned incident, the one being pursued by the mysterious Tōsō was having his own situation that was producing another form of dread...

Seireitou made his way down the moderately crowded road of Kabuki, an expression of irritation mixed with exhaustion and a tinge of annoyance composed his face as he trudged down the dirt path, his hands digging around in his robe's pockets but seemingly finding naught what he sought. "...I lost more than I expected, Saori's gonna kill me." came to his thoughts as a brief sigh escaped his lips. He was broke after numerous losses at the local gambling den; money designated for groceries that he was told to go fetch. Of course, one might wonder why a man of his prestige would opt to do the shopping but that would be something only understood by those who knew what sort of 'monsters' resided in the Senjukuha. The very thought of that rambunctious group would be enough to exhaust even the mightiest of warriors. And Seireitou was their ringleader of insanity.

He did, however, count his blessings; other times, he'd return home with only his boxers on as a result of his gambling losses. And of course, he'd return broke after visiting local pubs or even certain inappropriate areas of the red light district. Truly, he was the worst one to allow handling any semblance of the Senjukuha's budget... At least this time he managed to keep his clothes.

But that would not spare him from the wrath he would face. ...He didn't have to go home right away, after all. It was still light out, so perhaps he could put it off.

And with that decision, Seireitou continued down the road toward the edge of the district.

Unexpected Encounter
East Rukongai, Kabuki District. Evening.

Fate was a fickle bitch. To divine its countless whims was an all but impossible task. Only gods, or those few who rose to a comparable level, could discern many of the intertwined paths that led to future. But which ones actually led there? Which one spelled doom or success? That was difficult to tell. What was obvious, however, was that fate was random. People loved to believe the illusion of destiny and prophecies, patterns and cycles that determined the way history progressed. But that was just another layer of lies placed atop the decaying corpse of reality that had been forever concealing something greater, something pure.

On that day, no different from others, there was an important event to occur. Just a random date. No set time of the day. No war or other major conflict serving as a background or cause. A continuing period of relative peace and renovation, as Soul Society had been gradually recovering from the devastation of the a few years ago. Just a random day when two unusual individuals were about to cross paths. One of them a living legend, the other half-forgotten myth. Both of them relics of an age long gone by, but persisting until those modern days. After about a thousand years they were soon to reunite, in the most of unexpected and perhaps unwelcome of ways.

But fate did not care. It wanted them to clash, irrespective of wishes or opinions.

It was evening. Kabuki was more of a town than a village than the lower-numbered Sabitsura. Equally, if not more lawless, however, and a hive of scum and villainy. A city of night life, where people did things under the guise of darkness and red light. And among the crowd of Souls dwelling there there was a single one that stood out from the rest. A tall, cloaked man moving forward at a steady pace, as if the crowd around him did not exist. Twisting between them without touching or drawing attention of a single person on his way toward his goal. There was another unusual man in the area, and such personages tended to attract each other with suspicious frequency.

"Excuse me, sir", Tōsō did not as much approach the silver-haired man but seemed to emerge from the crowd with little to no warning, suddenly popping into existence. "Do you have a moment to talk about very serious matters? Perhaps, at another, more suitable place", he added shortly, standing in Seireitou's way.

Without warning, Seireitou reacted like a schoolgirl being snuck up upon by a spider, taking a step back from the stranger and even waving his arms around in a frantic flailing manner; his face riddled with a comic expression. Upon getting a momentary glance of the guy who came up to him, his face settled down into a stoic deadpan look. "...Oh, my mistake. I thought you were a bill collector. You really shouldn't sneak up on people." he answered, trying to play off the embarrassing incident like a mature adult; playing the part by crossing his arms and nodding his head with a judging demeanor. "Anyways, I've told your lot that I'm not interested in any of your boy scout pastries. What? You think your pastries are special or something? You think you're Norihiko Terai-kun? Eh?" he accused, going off on one of his usual tirades.

Tōsō had considered many possible responses to his sudden appearance, up to and including being punched straight into his face with no warning. But what had actually transpired was... one of the less likely to occur, so to speak. Nevertheless, he had not properly thought out all pertinent factors. As far as the silver-haired man was concerned, he himself was a random ragged wayfarer with a trace of spiritual power and a vague topic to talk about in private. Little to no different from the numerous ragged wayfarers that clogged the alleys of this corrupt town. If he wanted to engage in a proper conversation, he had to elaborate first.

And while he was a quick-thinking individual, it still had taken a few seconds of awkward silence before he decided to speak.

"That's... not what I meant", he said. "I wanted to discuss with you, Seireitou Kawahiru-ue, a topic relevant to your title. People call me Tōsō, but you might remember me by another name", he added, reaching unhurriedly to his hood.

With those words he revealed his face. The face of a warrior who had endured the suffering and woes of the entire world and still lived. Tanned, with a square-shaped face and sharp features, he looked a seasoned warrior. The burn scar that forever sealed his right eye shut and streaks of grey interspersed across his short, spiky dark brown hair only added to the impression. He fixed the gaze of his single grey eye onto his interlocutor, hoping to perceive recognition in his own eyes. He had understood from all the fables, legends and rumours that the Legendary Grandmaster was an eccentric person, but perhaps he could infer his own identity from similar stories... or the time they had served together as the founding Captains of Gotei 13, thousand years ago.

When the face of the stranger came into view, Seireitou's eyes had slowly widened, taking in the full sight. It was like a bolt of lightning struck him and raced down his spine, carrying with it memories of the past and the horrors that he viewed alongside this very individual. All the trials, tribulations, dangers, and conflicts... The memories had risen to the surface, and with it...

"Ohh... Togashi-kun! It's been a long time. How are your father and mother doing? As I recall, you were still working toward your dream of opening up a ramen stand. Did that ever take off?" he asked with an almost cheerful demeanor, raising his index finger to his chin almost as if in contemplation and his other hand holding up his arm; maintaining an expression of inquiry. One might think he was intentionally mistaking Tōsō for someone else, but in truth, the well-known master was not the best at remembering faces. Even as a child, he often irritated his with his inability to remember his name to full accuracy back during their first interactions.

While Tōsō's usual face expression blurred the line between a stern death glare and overwhelming boredom, for a while there was a hint of disappointment to it. Not for long, though. He was so much detached from reality, deliberately and involuntarily, that he had lost his touch long ago. For him to expect that even a fellow founding Captain would remember him, after a full millenium of living his own, eventful life, was naive at best. Ever since he thought of the possibility of finding a formidable ally in his quest to bring about the end of this miserable world he was in a stupor greater than usual. He had to regain clear judgement and rational thinking.

There was also another issue. He was apprehensive to hear his real name from the mouth of somebody else. Now, he had little choice but to speak himself. Real name. The one he associated with a dead man, no better a label than "tool" or "pawn". But at the same time one of the relics of his past identity, a way to bring back memories of the person the silver-haired man used to know, long ago. To convince him to his cause Tōsō had to establish a connection, a sense of familiarity, and that was currently his only way of doing so.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken", he said slowly. "My name is... Kentarō Akiyama. The founding Captain of the Third Division of Gotei 13. We used to be colleagues. But who I am is not that important", he added abruptly with increased enthusiasm. "What I represent is important. An opportunity. An amazing opportunity. But first, I need to know more about you, Kawahiru-ue. Will you answer my questions, sincerely?", the gaze of his single eye intensified.

"Akiyama..." muttered Seireitou, staring upwards for a moment before snapping his fingers and expressing a grin. "Ah, of course! It certainly has been a while. But you're..." The silver-haired man took a brief look at the state of the man before him. "...significantly more gloomy." Of course, he spent little time pondering that and his ears piqued a bit once he heard that Tōsō had questions to ask. The playfulness was replaced with an innocent sense of seriousness. "Questions? Hmm..." he mused for an instant.

Within that same moment, it was as if an entire scene had shifted. Everything stood where it was, the people walking along the district's roads continued on their merry way, and Tōsō still remained where he was, but Seireitou was not. He originally stood facing Tōsō, but now? Now he stood shoulder to shoulder with the man. And in doing so, the silver-haired man's right arm snaked its way around Tōsō's shoulders. Perhaps what was so strange about this motion was that it was entirely natural in its action. His arm was no different than the subtle breeze of the air itself rolling against a person's body. Seireitou's entire movement, if it could even be called motion by orthodox means, was as natural as the world moving around them. It was all conducted within the same instant, and in doing so, Seireitou's arm had pulled Tōsō into a one-armed sort of friendly embrace during that moment, as his face maintained its joyful grin. "Sure, but how about at a tavern? I could use a drink, Akiyama-san."