Crimson spiritual power erupted across the battlefield with devastating force, its violent winds whipping through the arena hard enough to dishevel the hair of spectators seated dozens of meters away. The raw energy crackled through the air like living lightning, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of otherworldly power.
After several tense moments, the chaotic energy finally began to dissipate, settling back into the ambient atmosphere like settling dust.
What emerged from that supernatural maelstrom left the entire arena in stunned silence.
Standing where the small, innocent child had been moments before was a magnificent female knight. Her emerald hair flowed like liquid silk behind her as she gripped a double-pointed lance with practiced ease. Her form was a breathtaking fusion of human and antelope, powerful hindquarters supporting a warrior's torso, every line of her body speaking to deadly grace and lethal capability.
The transformation was so complete, so impossible, that for long heartbeats no one could even draw breath to speak.
The oppressive spiritual pressure radiating from Nel's transformed state pressed down on every person present like a physical weight. This wasn't just a change in appearance, this represented a fundamental shift in the very nature of power itself.
Whether it was the release of a Shinigami's Zanpakutō or the Resurrección of an Arrancar, both techniques represented the pinnacle of supernatural evolution in the Bleach universe. At this moment, this terrifying ability was finally baring its fangs before the people of this world, and the sight was beyond anything they had ever imagined.
In the distinguished guest section, every master-level practitioner shot to their feet in shock, their composure shattered by what they were witnessing.
"This increase in combat effectiveness is absolutely absurd!" one of them gasped, his voice barely controlled.
Through their enhanced perception, they could sense the dramatic shift in Nel's spiritual signature. The woman who had appeared as merely an upper-middle Silver-level threat after her initial adult transformation was now radiating power that made their instincts scream warnings about mortal danger.
The magnitude of the enhancement defied every principle they understood about card advancement and power scaling.
Master Lucian found himself genuinely intrigued by this development, his analytical mind racing through the implications. He was well aware that his disciple possessed two other cards that should theoretically share the same universal origins as this mysterious transformed knight.
One was the Bronze-level Tsugikuni Yoriichi, though Azrael rarely deployed that card independently, typically using it to activate bond effects with Unohana Retsu.
The other was Unohana Retsu herself.
What puzzled him was that Unohana had never displayed anything approaching this level of dramatic transformation during her earlier combat performance.
"Is this an exceptional case?" Master Lucian mused quietly to himself, though another possibility occurred to him as he recalled intelligence reports from Cambridge University.
During previous Battle Club competitions, Azrael's Bronze-level card had demonstrated similarly impressive metamorphic abilities. "Or perhaps there are level restrictions preventing the full manifestation of such techniques?" he wondered.
What Master Lucian couldn't know was that the legendary Bankai, a power that far exceeded even the impressive Shikai release, had never been witnessed in this world before.
On the battlefield itself, Nel gripped her lance with deadly intent and vanished from sight in the space between heartbeats.
The next moment, her weapon's tip materialized directly in front of Melinoë's position, wreathed in pale crimson spiritual energy that hummed with lethal promise.
Melinoë's expression remained coldly confident as she commanded her endless horde of vengeful spirits to intercept Nel's assault. However, to her growing horror, the ghostly army simply recoiled in terror rather than following her orders.
The supernatural entities cowered in place, their forms trembling with primal fear that overrode even their goddess's divine commands.
Confusion and astonishment flickered across Melinoë's features. She couldn't comprehend why her carefully cultivated spirit army was refusing to obey her direct orders.
What the Olympian goddess didn't understand was that these ghosts were facing Nel, a being who stood at the apex of Hueco Mundo's hierarchy, a Demon so powerful that she commanded respect even from other supernatural entities. The fact that her ghost army hadn't immediately turned against her in worship was already testament to Melinoë's impressive divine authority.
In desperation, blood-red divine power suddenly erupted from the goddess's form, manifesting as crackling energy that should have been more than sufficient to repel any mortal attack.
However, the divine power might as well have been morning mist for all the resistance it offered.
The crimson energy collapsed instantly upon contact with Nel's lance, melting away like ice under summer sun. The weapon's tip continued its inexorable path without even the slightest deviation.
In the span of a single breath, the double-pointed spear found its target.
The impact generated a thunderous roar that shook the arena's foundations. Melinoë was launched backward like a cannonball fired from divine artillery, her body striking the barrier's edge with enough force to raise enormous clouds of pulverized stone and debris.
On the sidelines, Crowley stared at the unfolding catastrophe with complete disbelief painted across his features.
"Impossible," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking under the weight of what he was witnessing. "This is absolutely impossible."
The young heir couldn't comprehend how the situation had reversed so dramatically and so suddenly. Victory had been within his grasp, Melinoë should have been able to wear down his opponent through attrition warfare.
"Impossible, this is impossible," Crowley repeated like a broken record, despair threading through every syllable.
He felt as though the gods themselves were mocking him, playing some cruel cosmic joke at his expense. But sensing through their spiritual connection that his card hadn't yet been forced into cooldown status, hysteria began creeping into his voice.
"There's still a chance, yes, there's still a chance!" he declared with manic intensity. "She can recover! She can still win this!"
The audience members watched the battlefield developments with wide-eyed amazement. With their limited perceptive abilities, they couldn't understand the technical reasons why the previously arrogant Melinoë was now being systematically dismantled like a common street thug facing a professional warrior.
Such was the nature of Lore Cardian battles, spectators could cheer and speculate, but only the combatants themselves understood the true dynamics at play.
In the center of the arena, smoke gradually began to clear, revealing the aftermath of Nel's devastating assault.
Melinoë's divine form showed a horrific puncture wound where the lance tip had made contact, a gaping hole that exposed internals no mortal should have been able to see. However, under the regenerative influence of her blood-red divine power, the wound was slowly being filled with fresh scarlet flesh and tissue.
Indeed, as a genuine goddess from the Olympian pantheon, even the lowest-ranking deity couldn't be eliminated through a single attack, no matter how powerful.
At his position near the battlefield's edge, Azrael observed the ongoing fight with a noticeably pale complexion.
Although Nel's Resurrección was still incomplete compared to her legendary full power, the mental energy consumption was proving more demanding than he'd anticipated. Despite his enhanced reserves, he could feel his spiritual strength being steadily drained.
Sensing her master's condition through their connection, Nel raised her lance with cold determination and aimed it directly at Melinoë's recovering form.
"The next strike will finish you completely," she declared, her voice carrying across the arena with the finality of a death sentence.
The emotionless words struck every listener like physical blows.
"What a joke!" An enraged roar erupted from the sidelines as Crowley finally snapped under the psychological pressure. Nel's calm confidence had struck at the last remaining fragments of his wounded pride.
Painful memories flashed through his mind like a slideshow of humiliation.
The crushing disappointment when Master Lucian had rejected his application for discipleship.
The bitter shame of his defeat at Azrael's hands during their previous encounter.
All of these accumulated resentments transformed into burning rage that consumed whatever remained of his rational thought.
"Losing to some peasant upstart like you?" he screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. "I can't accept it! I won't accept it!"
"Kill him, Melinoë! Destroy them all!"
At this moment, he had completely abandoned any pretense of dignity or strategic thinking.
After all, if he lost this battle, his future would be anything but pleasant. While he wouldn't be left destitute, the social and political consequences would make his life a living hell.
Just contemplating such a fate filled Crowley's heart with paralyzing terror.
Now his only hope lay in his card somehow weathering this final assault.
In the distinguished guest section, every master-level practitioner regarded Crowley's unhinged outburst with undisguised displeasure. His words had crossed lines that should never be spoken aloud, regardless of private thoughts.
Even Zidaine, who represented the Imperial Court's interests, found himself disgusted by such a public display of entitled arrogance.
Although most noble families harbored similar attitudes about social hierarchy, actually voicing such sentiments in public was political suicide of the highest order.
Ignoring Crowley's desperate ravings, Nel simply raised her front hoof with elegant precision. The perfect muscle definition along her transformed legs gleamed beautifully in the afternoon sunlight, every line speaking to supernatural strength and deadly grace.
The next moment, a tremendous sonic boom shattered the air across the battlefield.
"WHOOSH!"
The double-pointed lance spun through the air, wreathed in spiraling crimson spiritual energy as it streaked toward its target with impossible velocity.
Melinoë released a piercing shriek that made spectators wince in sympathetic pain.
Under the goddess's desperate and overwhelming command, countless terrified spirits overcame their instinctive fear and formed protective layers around their mistress. Their spectral forms layered atop each other in a final desperate gambit to absorb the incoming devastation.
But how could mere Demons, no matter how numerous, resist the fury of a former Espada?
The ghostly defenders were annihilated without ceremony, erased from existence as if they had never been. Their destruction cleared the path for Nel's weapon without even slowing its approach.
Massive blood-red divine power blazed around Melinoë's form, drawing endlessly upon Crowley's mental reserves in a last-ditch effort to generate sufficient protection.
So this is your limit, little Olympian goddess, Nel thought with cold assessment. You have tried your best.
Crowley's mental energy hadn't been completely exhausted yet, but it no longer mattered.
The lance had already penetrated the protective barrier of divine power and made contact with Melinoë's half-black, half-white form.
The weapon's tremendous inertia drove it completely through the goddess's chest, pinning her firmly against the arena's protective barrier like a specimen in some cosmic display case.
Spiraling crimson spiritual energy continued tearing at her divine flesh, and even her impressive regenerative abilities proved insufficient against such sustained damage.
After several agonizing moments, Melinoë's form began dissolving into motes of dissipating light, her divine essence finally overwhelmed by forces beyond her ability to resist.
Only the lance, still spinning slowly in the barrier wall, remained as evidence that the Olympian goddess had ever existed.
Every spectator who had witnessed this incredible battle found themselves speechless, as if invisible hands had closed around their throats.
None of them had expected the confrontation to end so abruptly and decisively.
After what felt like an eternity of stunned silence, a whisper-like voice finally broke the spell that had settled over the arena.
"Did... did he actually win?"
The question hung in the air like a prayer, carrying with it the collective amazement of thousands of witnesses who had just observed something that would reshape their understanding of what was possible in their world.