Lázaro's victory had never truly been in question.
He was centuries old. A veteran of the largest conflict the realms had ever witnessed—and he had survived it. To him, the so-called Quincy versus Shinigami "war" hadn't even qualified.
A war implied opposition.
That had been a slaughter.
When the kill ratios look like one to a hundred, you don't call it a war. You call it extermination.
And even then, if one thought hard about it, that massacre hadn't been Gabriel's full effort. Eighty percent of his forces had marched. Not one hundred.
He hadn't deployed the dragons.
He hadn't unleashed the full legion of Fullbringers.
He hadn't even touched the reserves of genetically modified Nephilim engineered in silence.
Soul Society had refused him.
He had answered.
Sixty percent of their fighting force erased.
Maybe seventy.
Maybe eighty.
At some point, he'd grown tired of counting corpses.
There had been fewer Soul Reapers total than the number of Black citizens living in Japan—somewhere between twenty-five and fifty thousand.
They had never stood a chance.
And now?
The Hollows maintained the balance of souls.
Gabriel had even expanded his dominion into the World of the Living.
How generous.
How merciful.
How convenient that the same king who caused the suffering now ruled over its "solution."
The announcer's voice cut through the murmurs.
"Next—Lucius Null. Candidate for the Sin of Pride."
The temperature shifted.
Lucius entered without fanfare.
No aura flare.
No dramatic release.
Just hands in his pockets and an expression that suggested the arena itself was fortunate to host him.
Most couldn't sense him at all.
His Reiatsu was too refined—too elevated.
Gabriel sensed it immediately.
So did Starrk.
Harribel.
Ulquiorra.
Nell.
Among the visitors, Hrólf felt it like distant thunder. The Shaman sensed something ancient and coiled.
Shunsui narrowed his eyes.
The pressure he felt from Lucius made Yamamoto's presence seem... grounded. Finite.
This felt endless.
As Lucius stepped into the ring, representatives of every faction felt something different.
To some, he felt like a dragon.
To others, a Quincy.
To some, unmistakably Shinigami.
To others still—Hollow.
His presence was an amalgamation. As if every race saw a reflection of its own apex staring back.
If not for the Hollow hole centered in his chest, none would have guessed what he was.
His blue eyes glowed faintly, not bright—but deep. Like oceans hiding abyssal trenches.
As he passed a cluster of Hollows near the arena floor, several bowed instinctively.
They didn't think.
They reacted.
Predators recognized something higher in the food chain.
Lucius stopped at the center of the arena.
Then he rose.
Not with a burst of power.
Simply by willing it.
He floated upward until he hovered above the spectators—but still beneath Gabriel's throne.
He glanced around slowly.
"There," he said calmly. "Better."
His eyes swept the crowd.
"I do not enjoy being looked down upon by those lesser than me."
The arrogance was not loud.
It was absolute.
Grimmjow shot to his feet instantly.
"That little shit—" he growled, spiritual pressure flaring.
Lucius' gaze shifted lazily toward the Sin of Wrath.
Grimmjow felt it like a blade resting against his throat.
Lucius spoke without raising his voice.
"If you believe you can defeat me... step forward."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I promise to be fair."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I won't even use my sword."
The insult hung in the air.
Several Sins bristled.
Hrólf grinned like a wolf about to be fed.
Before tension could erupt into chaos—
Gabriel saw his chance. Lucius was so kind as to give him this chance.
This tournament hadn't only been for fun; it was also there to crush any weak hope of opposition. And what better way to do that than to crush their best?
"You truly believe they are beneath you, don't you?" Gabriel said, looking at his perfect creation.
"Your Majesty, when you look at an ant, do you even have to ask yourself if it is beneath you? Do you fear its retaliation? It doesn't matter what shape they take. At the end of the day, they are bugs."
Lucius' gaze landed on Byakuya.
"It does not matter if they have fancy titles or are born noble. An ant is still an ant... don't you think so too, Kuchiki?"
A vein bulged at Byakuya's temple. Oh, he so wanted to crash out.
Gabriel smiled slightly at that.
"Well then, if you believe so... anyone who wishes to challenge Lucius may give it their all. Nothing is against the rules. Give it your all."
Shunsui's brow furrowed. Oh, so this was the goal of this tournament... to crush them. And he didn't believe that Byakuya would let the rage bait go.
From the northern delegation, Hrólf Stormbearer rose immediately, lightning crawling across his shoulders.
"You are an arrogant one," he barked with approval.
"Is it arrogance if it's the truth?" was Lucius' reply.
"Or do you wish for me to send you to your Allfather?"
Well damn. No respect at all.
His men roared in anger. Lucius' arrogance was pissing them off.
And this was why Gabriel chose him. Lucius' arrogance was the best kind of rage bait, and because he did it passively, you couldn't sense any ulterior motive—because there wasn't one. He meant what he said.
But before Hrólf could step down—
A different pressure flared.
Sharp.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Byakuya Kuchiki stepped forward from the Shinigami section.
The temperature in his immediate vicinity seemed to drop.
His hand rested lightly on Senbonzakura's hilt.
Rukia's eyes widened.
"Brother—"
His spiritual pressure was steady—but beneath it simmered something hotter.
Anger.
Not wild.
Not reckless.
Refined.
Lucius had once stood against Soul Society.
And now he stood in Gabriel's arena, speaking of worthiness.
Shunsui tilted his hat slightly, watching Byakuya carefully.
"Kuchiki," he said mildly, "you don't have to take this."
Byakuya's eyes never left Lucius.
"I do."
The single statement carried more weight than shouting would have.
Rukia stepped closer, worry clear on her face. "You don't need to prove anything."
Byakuya's gaze sharpened.
"This is not about proving."
His reiatsu flared subtly.
"It is about resolution."
Across the arena, Lucius met his stare without emotion.
Hrólf studied Byakuya for a moment, lightning crackling.
"You step before me, Shinigami?"
Byakuya did not look at him.
"Yes."
A faint, dangerous calm settled over the arena.
Shunsui sighed softly.
"...If that's what you truly want," he said.
Byakuya's eyes gleamed.
He stepped forward, descending toward the arena floor.
The message was clear.
He wanted the smoke.
Lucius lowered his blade slightly, studying him with quiet appraisal.
Gabriel leaned forward on his throne, his smile widening.
"Oh," he said softly.
"This will be good."
A/N...I am sorry to any Byakuya fan for what will happen next.