The sky went completely black, as though something had covered it.
An endless sea of blood stretched beneath their feet, flecks of white bone jutting out to lend it a different kind of color.
Layers of corpses formed a mountain, crowned by a rough-hewn temple that radiated mystery.
"Hahaha."
"Yamamoto, you almost killed me again."
Flesh surged wildly from beneath Kenma's abdomen. In the blink of an eye, his entire lower body had regenerated.
Standing before the temple, Kenma moved around a little. Once he confirmed that his body was fine, he turned his gaze downward.
Looking down at the one-armed old man before the mountain of corpses, Kenma spread his arms and curled his lips into a mocking grin.
"Welcome to my world, Yamamoto."
"You went to such lengths to find my weakness, only for this world to appear just as victory was within your grasp. You must feel utterly helpless."
Yamamoto stood atop the sea of blood, the heat rising from his body carving an abyss into the waters beneath his feet.
The waters churned on all sides, revealing bottomless darkness below.
At Kenma's words, Yamamoto's elation at his impending victory vanished, leaving only a grim expression.
He first swept his gaze across his surroundings, sensing the omnipresent rejection pressing in from every direction, along with the overflowing malice.
Suddenly, he understood.
"Is this your true Bankai?"
"No."
Kenma shook his head and glanced at the temple behind him.
The temple's bone-adorned doors stood wide open, resembling the Hell Gate. Pitch-black darkness filled the interior, obscuring it from mortal eyes.
But Kenma could see another world beyond those doors, overflowing with sin and screams of agony.
He looked down at Yamamoto again.
From Kenma's lofty vantage point, that tiny, powerless figure was no different from an ant.
"Yamamoto,