The Shinigami King grew tired of his play, so he asked an old soul to change it.
Otherwise known as what happens when an eccentric, morally questionable, teeny tiny overpowered old soul is gifted an Evil™ sword and thrown in a couple thousand years...
Now knowing what her purpose was, she had to decide how to go about accomplishing it.
She returned to the place of white sand and vast skies because she found it easier to think. Being so close to Death gave her a sense of peace, and her mind was able to focus better.
She was not reborn for some reason, which meant that Death did not want her to be alive again.
Such was fine.
She was an old soul, after all, and had plenty of tricks up her sleeves.
Spiritual energy was easily malleable—especially in worlds closer to There than Here—and could be used to create nearly anything if one knew how.
Nearly being the optimal word since she could not—was not allowed to—create a true human body. If she were to live in a human body, she would have to be reborn in one, and she didn't think that would happen for a while.
But she had work to do and needed a body to do so.
So she compressed her spiritual energy, manipulated it, and transformed it until she had something that vaguely resembled a young human woman. She de-aged her body further to that of an adolescent and morphed her face to one of her fondest faces. The smaller and smoother a body was the easier it was to maintain for prolonged periods of time. Wrinkles and height were unnecessary details. But she couldn't be too small otherwise it might cause some irritating misunderstandings.
She gave herself soft pink hair—the most common hair color she had been reborn with. She dallied about her eye colors before settling on a vivid blue-teal.
Lastly, she pulled her spiritual energy out and loosely formed a nondescript white dress. The more details she added to her human-looking form, the more concentration would be required of her to maintain it.
That being said, walking around "naked" was generally frowned upon in non-druidism dominant worlds.
And so she became me.
(◕▾◕✿)
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I stepped into the throne room—if it could even be called that, given its garish appearance and lack of throne—of the Soul King.
I immediately understood which world I had been brought to upon seeing the mangled state of such a being.
Bleach.
In the canonical story at the beginning there was no death, nor life. Existence was stagnant, as the cycle of rebirth was in utter chaos. The beings that lived there could not be called human, yet human was what they were. The lack of death forced the spiritual energy to condense and transform those human-yet-not-human beings into something more. Some became what was lovingly called Hollows while others retained what they claimed was humanity.
Death pitied the world and granted it the Soul King, a fragment of itself. With Death intermingled in the story the world began correcting itself from madness into order. The creation of the Soul King allowed the humans to eradicate Hollows—and indeed a genocidal purge was called upon immediately—but too much death upon one side of the cycle threatened instability.
