"My power is... black." I let the word hang in the air, heavy and absolute. "From the moment I unleash my Ichimonji, be they Shinigami or Quincy, living or dead, all black things that exist in this world... belong to me."

The brush in my hand trembled with quiet authority. With every stroke, I could strip names of meaning, unravel power, and reduce the proudest warriors to mere shadows of themselves. Nothing in this world could resist the decree written in ink.

As I invoked my Ichimonji, the air grew thick with inevitability. The black around me pulsed, gathering all darkness as though it recognized its master. Even the strongest could not stand against the weight of a name properly wielded.

"Your deeds, your powers… your very presence is bound by the words I write," I intoned, and the silence answered, knowing the truth of my authority. "In this world, the black obeys only me."