The sound... was like wind chimes gently swaying in the breeze, bringing a sense of calm to the mind.
One might even call it pleasant.
As the sound emerged, a strange fluctuation welled up from the depths of people's hearts, instantly enveloping the entire Hakutoumon area.
"Ugh..."
A Soul Reaper charging at the forefront suddenly stopped in his tracks.
He violently clutched his head, a look of agony twisting his face. "My head... it hurts so much..."
"Hey, Yamamoto, what's wrong? Hurry up and chase them!" a comrade beside him said, reaching out to pull him along.
But the moment the squad member raised his head, his comrade's hand froze in midair.
Because he saw that the once clear light in the squad member's eyes had vanished.
Now, his eyes were filled with a chaotic murkiness, along with... deep-seated hostility.
"You're... a Ryoka?!"
The squad member muttered to himself. Without any warning, he swung his Zanpakuto, viciously slashing at his comrade.
Blood splattered through the air.
"Ah!! Yamamoto! Are you crazy? It's me, Tanaka!!"
"What the hell are you saying? Is that the language of Hollows?!"
His teammate's voice reached Yamamoto's ears as nothing more than a garbled mess of static.
And this seemed to be a signal.
Soon after, a second, then a third...
More and more Tenth Division members stopped in their tracks, clutching their heads and groaning in pain.
"Ugh, ahh... My brain... it feels like it's going to split open..."
"Who are you? Why are you wearing a Shihakusho?"
"Enemies! Why are there enemies everywhere?!"
The originally united pursuit force suddenly turned their blades against each other in a matter of seconds, acting as if they had all lost their minds.
In their vision, the comrades they spent day and night with were no longer their brothers-in-arms, but rather hideous Ryoka wielding deadly weapons.
"Die! Ryoka!"
"Defend the Seireitei! Kill them!"
Chaos erupted in an instant.
The Soul Reapers began to attack each other in a frenzy.
Zanpakuto clashed, and Kido spells detonated indiscriminately within the crowd.
"Hey! What are you doing?! Stop it, all of you!"
Ganju had just charged out on his boar when he witnessed this mind-boggling, jaw-dropping scene.
He waved his broken halberd, trying to stop the inexplicable infighting.
"Those are our own people! Are you bastards possessed?!"
However, no one listened to him.
A few red-eyed squad members even roared and charged right at him. "Found a giant Ryoka! Kill him!"
"I'm Ganju Shiba! Let's see who dares... Holy crap!"
Ganju was forced to frantically dodge his teammates' attacks, completely bewildered by the situation.
What in the world was going on?
Why did everyone suddenly go crazy when they were perfectly fine just a moment ago?
Atop a high tower not far away.
This was an absolute blind spot, offering a bird's-eye view of the entire battlefield at Hakutoumon while remaining perfectly hidden in the shadows.
A gentle breeze blew past, fluttering the pristine white haori of the Fifth Division Captain.
Sosuke Aizen stood quietly at the tip of the tower, resting one hand on the railing, wearing his usual gentle and refined smile.
But at this moment, beneath the reflection of his glasses, his eyes were as cold as a deity looking down upon ants.
In his hand, he held a Zanpakuto.
The blade was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the tragic, hellish scene of mutual slaughter playing out below.
"Compared to a visible enemy, an invisible betrayal is always far more difficult to guard against..."
Aizen sighed softly, his voice as gentle as if he were reciting a poem.
"You really have a twisted sense of humor, Captain Aizen."
In the shadows behind him, a silver-haired man with squinted eyes shook his head helplessly.
Gin Ichimaru kept his hands tucked inside his wide sleeves, his lips forever curved into that inscrutable smile.
"You could have just let those Ryoka go straight in. Why go out of your way to distort their five senses and make the Tenth Division hallucinate and kill each other?"
Gin tilted his head, watching the river of blood forming below. "If that shorty Captain finds out, he'll probably go mad and start biting people, won't he?"
"You are mistaken, Gin."
Aizen slowly sheathed his Zanpakuto.
With a soft click, the Soul Reapers below descended into an even more chaotic slaughter, leaving the area in absolute ruins.
"This is not my personal amusement. It is a necessary setup."
Aizen turned around, casting his gaze toward the depths of the Seireitei, in the direction of the Senzaikyu they had visited earlier today.
"The Ryoka invasion must be chaotic enough, dangerous enough, to draw everyone's eyes."
"Only when the Gotei 13's attention is entirely captivated by that group and they are overwhelmed by this inexplicable internal strife..."
"Can we calmly pluck the ripened fruit from the unseen shadows."
He pushed up his glasses, smiling with deep, calculating cunning.
"The tragic state of the Tenth Division will serve as the perfect catalyst. Everyone will believe that the Ryoka possess the power to manipulate minds... Fear will spread, and suspicion will breed."
"And that is exactly the stage we need."
Aizen stepped into the depths of the shadows, his eerie voice drifting back.
"Let us go, Gin."
"We proceed according to plan..."
Gin stood in place, watching Aizen's retreating back as the perpetual smile in his eyes slowly faded into a flat stare.
He let out a long sigh and turned to look at the chaotic Hakutoumon in the distance.
'Complete Hypnosis... Kyoka Suigetsu. What a terrifying ability,' he thought to himself.
'How can anyone escape this layer of illusion... If I am constantly trapped within the fog, there is no way I can kill him.'
'Rangiku... I hope you stay safe. I can only do my best...'
With his mind in a tangled mess, he leaped down, disappearing into the shadows of the street.
Meanwhile.
In the deepest reaches of the Soul Society.
The Central Great Underground Prison.
Unlike the exceptionally noisy Seireitei today, this was a dead, silent place forgotten by the world.
This massive cage was buried deep underground, divided into eight levels, each holding criminals of varying threat levels based on their crimes.
Right now, Kaname Tosen was walking down that spiral staircase leading into the abyss, step by step.
*Clack, clack, clack.*
His wooden sandals stepped on the cold stone stairs, echoing endlessly in the claustrophobic space, sounding lonely and monotonous.
Tosen did not light a lamp.
To him, who was blind, there was no fundamental difference between light and darkness.
Although the sightless eyes beneath his visor were cold and distant, the fire of justice in his heart burned hotter than anyone else's.
Even if that justice might have long since twisted in the eyes of others.
He walked straight past the floors holding ordinary felons. Even the floors housing villains capable of destroying half the Rukongai could not make him pause his steps for even a fraction of a second.
His destination was the very end.
That was the eighth level of hell, known as Muken.
It was a void of abandonment, a place reserved only for monsters who had committed unforgivable atrocities and could not be executed due to their overwhelming power or immortal constitutions.
Finally, he stopped in front of a massive black iron door covered in several extremely complex sealing incantations.
Standing before the door were two Soul Reapers wearing special white haori.
The Kanritei.