Beneath the First Division Barracks lay a darkness that even light could not reach.
There was no day or night there, no changing seasons, not even a sense of time passing. Layer upon layer of barriers built from sekki-seki isolated Reiatsu, while countless interlocking seals completely severed this bottomless space from the Seireitei.
Muken, the Eighth Prison.
Those imprisoned here were never ordinary criminals.
Overthrowing the Soul Society, slaughtering its leadership, possessing an undying body that could not be executed-only special-class felons whom even Central 46 could not decide how to deal with qualified to rot in this eternal darkness.
Sōya Azashiro stood in a passage with no visible end.
His pure white Restraining Suit hung to the ground, his pale face utterly expressionless. Though his surroundings were clearly empty, he seemed able to see the outline of all of Muken.
Stone walls, chains, air, dust.
As long as reishi existed, he could merge with it.
"Little Sōya, you've been staring at that man for two days now."
A sultry voice sounded behind him.
A woman dressed in a twelve-layered robe leaned against the void, her eyes covered by a red cloth and an amused smile on her lips. Not a speck of dust stained her layered hems, as though this harshest of prisons were merely a garden where she amused herself.
"Have you finally learned to take an interest in men after being locked up for so long?"
Sōya Azashiro did not turn around.
"I'm merely examining the structure of his seals."
"His mouth and one eye, for two whole days." Urozakuro covered her lips and chuckled. "You've never shown me that much patience. I'm truly jealous."
"You don't need your seals removed."
"How cold."
Urozakuro floated to his side, nearly pressing against his shoulder.
"Still, you went out