The amber sun hung low in the sky over city of Tokyo, casting the last few rays of summer warmth over the bustling metropolis. All around, people went about their lives oblivious to the events taking place right under their noses.
The first Grand Soul Tournament; a display of the most skilled individuals from Earth and beyond, battling to prove who amongst them was the strongest. Truly, it was an affair of unprecedented proportion; a show of camaraderie and goodwill between two formerly opposing forces. And yet people carried on with their lives oblivious to the momentous occasion taking place in their very city.
Strange, in a way, that this very state of ignorance and contentment was what both sides of the culminating conflict hoped to preserve and protect. They were fighting so that their world could remain hidden. So that these hapless souls could continue living, in blissful ignorance of the dangers that surrounded them.
Today, however, the secrets their silent protectors had long kept hidden would once again spill over into their world.
The Grand Soul Tournament was winding down, victors were being crowned, and well-deserved festivities were being had. To those who were privy to this hidden world, the scene might have appeared idyllic. Shinigami and human able to put aside their differences and their past conflicts to come together in celebration for their newly-appointed champions.
High atop one of the two Sougi Towers overlooking the proceedings, a man perched precariously close to the concrete edge of the building peered down at the festivities with wide eyes.
“Funny, isn’t it?” he snickered to no one. “...They really do look like ants from up here. Fitting.”
Rocking back and forth, the raven-haired man tried to pick out any familiar faces amongst the souls gathered below. A dull buzzing however, drew his attention away from the fruitless task. Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a fairly non-descript cellphone, holding the device up to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m here.” he replied to the voice on the opposite end of the line. “...No. You just do your part. Everything’s on track. Yeah. Uh-huh. Oh, you’ll know when I’ve done mine.”
Hanging up the phone with an audible beep, the man rose to his feet.
“Looks like it’s time to get this show on the road.” he grinned to himself. Reaching once more into his coat, the man retrieved a plain black cylinder with a single red button emerging from the top end. Placing his thumb over the head of the device, the man chuckled lightly to himself.
“And here...we...go!”
“Hey, Yakamana! Come get some of this stuff! The humans have really piled it up!” a black-robed Shinigami called to his cohort, waving the second spirit over to him. In front of the pair, a vast table filled with food and drink from places the world over greeted them.
“Don’t go crazy!” a third man, this one human, barked at the swordsmen, sidling up behind the two with plate in hand. “...This stuff wasn’t cheap! You need to appreciate it!”
“Don’t be such a downer, Atsuo!” the first spirit laughed, shoveling various foodstuffs onto his plate. “...Or are you still mad that your boss got knocked out in the second round?”
“Not a chance!” the human retorted, appearing a little taken aback. “...Besides, as I recall he gave yours a run for his money!”
As the two argued, the third man heaved a long sigh. They hadn’t known one another long, but already they seemed to be getting along like old friends. Maybe this tournament wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Grabbing a drink from the end of the long table, the black-robed spirit strode away from the heart of the festivities. Strolling along, the Shinigami soon found himself at the edge of one of the battlegrounds; the Quarry in particular. Trotting along the edge of the precipice with drink in hand, the young spirit mused over all the battles that had taken place here. Lost in thought, the man nearly tumbled head over heel as his toes smashed against something metallic.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelped, taking a few hobbled steps before turning around to see what he’d tripped on. “...What the hell?”
Embedded haphazardly in the soft limestone was an iridescent black sphere, half buried beneath the dusty substrate. Leaning down, the Shinigami examined it closely.
“I wonder...”
A loud beep sounded from the device, startling the man half to death. Atop the onyx orb, a single red light blinked to life, flashing along with the rhythmic beeping it was now emitting.
Taking a step back, the spirit let go of his drink, his hands falling on the scabbard and hilt of the Zanpakutou clasped to his hip. Eyes widened as explosions sounded in the distance, one after the other, each appearing closer than the last.
No. No, this can’t be happening. I need to get out of here. I need to warn--
With a resounding crash, the orb detonated, not the fiery explosion the spirit was expecting, but something far more sinister. Thrown over the precipice by the force of the blast, the Shinigami found himself in the center of the Quarry. Head spinning, blood pouring from his ears and nose, the man struggled to his feet. By some miracle, it seemed he’d survived.
And that’s when he saw it.
Peering down at his hand, the swordsman’s eyes widened in terror as a mass of tar-like myre began to grow and writhe, eating away at his flesh. Shrieking in pain and shock, the man watched, horrified, as skin, muscle and bone were melted away, the black substance slowly engulfing the whole of his arm and encroaching on his torso. Panicked, the spirit tried frantically to wipe away the substance, but succeeded only in expediting its progress. Too weak now to even scream, the Shinigami slumped over as his form was consumed, leaving nothing but a shattered husk.
All across Tokyo, similar devices detonated, dispersing their virulent payload amongst the populace. What was supposed to be a celebration of goodwill and camaraderie had become a massacre
Hundreds of souls, Shinigami, Advent, and human alike, had been snuffed out of existence.
And no one knew why.
1,023
The first Grand Soul Tournament; a display of the most skilled individuals from Earth and beyond, battling to prove who amongst them was the strongest. Truly, it was an affair of unprecedented proportion; a show of camaraderie and goodwill between two formerly opposing forces. And yet people carried on with their lives oblivious to the momentous occasion taking place in their very city.
Strange, in a way, that this very state of ignorance and contentment was what both sides of the culminating conflict hoped to preserve and protect. They were fighting so that their world could remain hidden. So that these hapless souls could continue living, in blissful ignorance of the dangers that surrounded them.
Today, however, the secrets their silent protectors had long kept hidden would once again spill over into their world.
The Grand Soul Tournament was winding down, victors were being crowned, and well-deserved festivities were being had. To those who were privy to this hidden world, the scene might have appeared idyllic. Shinigami and human able to put aside their differences and their past conflicts to come together in celebration for their newly-appointed champions.
High atop one of the two Sougi Towers overlooking the proceedings, a man perched precariously close to the concrete edge of the building peered down at the festivities with wide eyes.
“Funny, isn’t it?” he snickered to no one. “...They really do look like ants from up here. Fitting.”
Rocking back and forth, the raven-haired man tried to pick out any familiar faces amongst the souls gathered below. A dull buzzing however, drew his attention away from the fruitless task. Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a fairly non-descript cellphone, holding the device up to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m here.” he replied to the voice on the opposite end of the line. “...No. You just do your part. Everything’s on track. Yeah. Uh-huh. Oh, you’ll know when I’ve done mine.”
Hanging up the phone with an audible beep, the man rose to his feet.
“Looks like it’s time to get this show on the road.” he grinned to himself. Reaching once more into his coat, the man retrieved a plain black cylinder with a single red button emerging from the top end. Placing his thumb over the head of the device, the man chuckled lightly to himself.
“And here...we...go!”
“Hey, Yakamana! Come get some of this stuff! The humans have really piled it up!” a black-robed Shinigami called to his cohort, waving the second spirit over to him. In front of the pair, a vast table filled with food and drink from places the world over greeted them.
“Don’t go crazy!” a third man, this one human, barked at the swordsmen, sidling up behind the two with plate in hand. “...This stuff wasn’t cheap! You need to appreciate it!”
“Don’t be such a downer, Atsuo!” the first spirit laughed, shoveling various foodstuffs onto his plate. “...Or are you still mad that your boss got knocked out in the second round?”
“Not a chance!” the human retorted, appearing a little taken aback. “...Besides, as I recall he gave yours a run for his money!”
As the two argued, the third man heaved a long sigh. They hadn’t known one another long, but already they seemed to be getting along like old friends. Maybe this tournament wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Grabbing a drink from the end of the long table, the black-robed spirit strode away from the heart of the festivities. Strolling along, the Shinigami soon found himself at the edge of one of the battlegrounds; the Quarry in particular. Trotting along the edge of the precipice with drink in hand, the young spirit mused over all the battles that had taken place here. Lost in thought, the man nearly tumbled head over heel as his toes smashed against something metallic.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelped, taking a few hobbled steps before turning around to see what he’d tripped on. “...What the hell?”
Embedded haphazardly in the soft limestone was an iridescent black sphere, half buried beneath the dusty substrate. Leaning down, the Shinigami examined it closely.
“I wonder...”
A loud beep sounded from the device, startling the man half to death. Atop the onyx orb, a single red light blinked to life, flashing along with the rhythmic beeping it was now emitting.
Taking a step back, the spirit let go of his drink, his hands falling on the scabbard and hilt of the Zanpakutou clasped to his hip. Eyes widened as explosions sounded in the distance, one after the other, each appearing closer than the last.
No. No, this can’t be happening. I need to get out of here. I need to warn--
With a resounding crash, the orb detonated, not the fiery explosion the spirit was expecting, but something far more sinister. Thrown over the precipice by the force of the blast, the Shinigami found himself in the center of the Quarry. Head spinning, blood pouring from his ears and nose, the man struggled to his feet. By some miracle, it seemed he’d survived.
And that’s when he saw it.
Peering down at his hand, the swordsman’s eyes widened in terror as a mass of tar-like myre began to grow and writhe, eating away at his flesh. Shrieking in pain and shock, the man watched, horrified, as skin, muscle and bone were melted away, the black substance slowly engulfing the whole of his arm and encroaching on his torso. Panicked, the spirit tried frantically to wipe away the substance, but succeeded only in expediting its progress. Too weak now to even scream, the Shinigami slumped over as his form was consumed, leaving nothing but a shattered husk.
All across Tokyo, similar devices detonated, dispersing their virulent payload amongst the populace. What was supposed to be a celebration of goodwill and camaraderie had become a massacre
Hundreds of souls, Shinigami, Advent, and human alike, had been snuffed out of existence.
And no one knew why.
1,023