A Puppet's Birth

"Such a wise choice, Minazuki. Now, enough with these theatrics. We have work to do."

With a flick of his wrist, a cluster of holographic diagrams appeared, depicting the complex structure of Minazuki's spiritual form. His analysis of the blueprints from Las Noches had given him a level of insight that would be impossible for even Szayelaporro and Mayuri to achieve.

"Tell me," he began, his eyes fixed on the diagrams. "Where do you feel it? The fault line, the break in your Bankai... show me."

Hesitantly, Minazuki extended a translucent hand, pointing towards a shimmering web of energy within the schematics. The break was clear—a raw tear in the delicate fabric of its spirit. Silas nodded. His initial assessment had been correct.

When he first destroyed the Bankai, he injected his own spirit particles, poisoning its core. To fix this issue, he needed only to reverse engineer the poison. So he believed.

"Now," he said, turning to face Minazuki, "I need you to focus your healing essence; concentrate it by mending the wound."

He watched as Minazuki struggled to comply, its movements hesitant, its power stuttering. It was weak, both physically and spiritually. Silas himself was surprised that Shikai could still be released.

Frustration flared within Silas, but he contained it. The process would be slow—agonizingly slow. He had a vision, a grand design, and this pathetic, damaged spirit was the key to understanding it.

"Your desire to protect fueled you before," Silas said, his voice sharp. "Channel that desire now. Prove your worth, Minazuki!"

The spirit flinched. Never before had anyone talked about it in such a way. Not even Retsu, who was a cold-blooded killer on the inside, treated him this way.

Was Silas really that scary?

A surge of power, weak but desperate, flared from within Minazuki. Slowly and hesitantly, it began to work. The shimmering energy flowed into the wound, stitching together the frayed edges.

As he watched Minazuki struggle to repair itself, he knew something like this would take time, perhaps days. That was not something he could afford.

The Zanpakutō had to be repaired by tonight!

Silas leaned closer; his eyes narrowed in concentration. Hours of painstaking focus had finally brought it to this point—a fragile state of quasi-healing, enough for Silas to attempt the true modification.

It was going to be a brutal process, one that utilized the corrupting influence of the Hōgyoku to bind spiritual essence to a crude blade. Silas needed to subvert that principle, to use the Hōgyoku's power to reshape it.

With a controlled gesture, he brought the holographic projections closer together. From an outsider's perspective, no one, save Minazuki and him, could see them.

Each line and sigil represented a vital aspect of Minazuki's spiritual makeup. This was the intricate layout that made Minazuki what it was—the map he needed to navigate.

Placing a hand on the weakened spirit, he channeled his spiritual powers, infused with the Hōgyoku's potent energy. The air crackled with a faint blue light. He began weaving the power, meticulously rerouting Minazuki's spiritual pressure flow and altering its very essence according to his vision.

The process was excruciatingly slow.

Unlike the simple repairs of the tear caused by the broken Bankai, this was like trying to reroute a raging river—every change met with resistance, with tremors of discomfort emanating from the bandaged form.

Silas gritted his teeth, pushing through the growing strain. This was where the true test lay—not in brute force but in meticulous precision and a deep understanding of Zanpakutō's spirits.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as hours continued to melt away. Minazuki's form flickered erratically, with a silent scream echoing from within the bandages.

Something felt odd. Although the damaged parts were being pieced together, he couldn't feel an internal change within Minazuki's spirit. This was supposed to be simple—a mere reconfiguration. Was he missing something? A crucial detail from all the research he's compiled, perhaps?

Suddenly, with a deafening crackle, the blue light around Minazuki sputtered and died. The spirit crumpled to its knees, its translucent form dissolving into wisps of dissipative energy.

Silas stared blankly at it, a cold dread slithering down his spine. He had failed.

This wasn't healing; it was destruction. The Hōgyoku's power, in his rush, had overwhelmed the already fragile spirit, shattering it completely.

Panic threatened to rise, but Silas quelled it with a forced breath. Failure was not an option. He looked at the lifeless weapon, saying, "Pathetic creature... Now I have to improvise."

His voice was tight with determination. He couldn't heal, but he could rebuild.

With a renewed focus, he channeled the Hōgyoku's power again, this time directing it into the dissipated remains of Minazuki's spirit. The timing took half an hour, practically draining Silas of almost all of his spiritual powers.

Instead of mending the broken pieces, he wove a new construct—a replica of what Minazuki once was.

The air pulsed with energy, then coalesced into a new form. It stood there, identical to the previous Minazuki, shrouded in the same bandages and hood. However, a faint darkness seemed to cling to its edges, a subtle difference that only Silas could perceive.

He reached out and touched the newly rebuilt spirit. A jolt of compliance, an eagerness to please, coursed back through his hand.

This was different from what he had originally thought. This was entirely new.

He had created a puppet, not a partner. Unlike the original Minazuki, this one held no fear or internal conflict. It yearned only to serve.

A slight grin perched itself on Silas's lips. This could be something good, perhaps even better. A loyal servant, an extension of his will.

"Whom do you serve?" he asked.

"You, my creator..."

"Then listen carefully."

He explained his strategy to Minazuki. It was to stay by Retsu's side, to serve her faithfully until the predetermined time six years from now. When the time came, and if she ever raised her blade against him, Silas, then Minazuki was to forcefully take control, banish her to her inner world, and reveal everything—the details of their fight and the manipulation of the Hōgyoku!

This was the only thing Silas could think of. No other reason could explain why Retsu Unohana, of all the captains, discovered his location and let him pass. It wasn't that Silas spoke to her in the past about the matter; it was that Minazuki, a weapon that reflected her own Soul, compelled her to do these things.

Minazuki's unmoving form seemed to absorb his every word. Then it spoke, its voice raspy but devoid of any trace of fear, only chilling obedience. "As you command."

A sense of triumph surged within Silas. He had not only secured another loyal weapon, but also set the stage for Retsu's downfall. Six years. He only needed to wait six years before his machinations truly came to fruition.