The black Cero ripped through the air, striking before Kurosaki Ichigo could react. Blood burst from his chest in a scarlet spray, bright against his tattered uniform. Twice in a single day—twice the same wound. His pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks, disbelief twisting across his face as the echo of his own bold words mocked him: I'll defeat you with my own hands… I'll rescue Inoue… The promises rang hollow now, fading into silence as the world in his eyes darkened.
His knees buckled. He collapsed into the dust, motionless, his body sprawled like a discarded husk.
"—Ichigo!!"
Orihime's cry tore the silence apart. Her voice was sharp with panic, trembling with despair. But Ichigo gave no answer. He lay broken and unmoving, blood pooling beneath him.
Ulquiorra stood above him, gaze detached, emerald eyes empty of even contempt. He regarded Ichigo's crumpled body the way one might glance at a shattered sword—an object that had lost its purpose.
Then footsteps echoed on the stone. A figure stumbled into view at the top of the stairs, glasses cracked, uniform scorched, face grim with exhaustion.
"Ichigo!!"
It was Ishida Uryū. His body was battered, spirit energy thinned, yet his bow materialized without hesitation. He saw Ichigo's state and his heart clenched in dread, but he forced his arm to steady, pulling back a gleaming arrow of reishi.
"Inoue! Take Ichigo and run! I'll hold him here!"
The arrow condensed, pure spirit power crystallized into light. With a snap it fired, cutting through the air faster than the eye could track, a streak of radiance tearing toward Ulquiorra.
The Espada did not flinch. He lifted his hand and caught it mid-flight.
"—What?!"
Ishida's eyes widened. Orihime froze in shock.
The arrow shattered in Ulquiorra's palm with a sound like breaking glass. A flicker, and in the next instant he was standing before Ishida.
Too fast. Faster than light itself.
Blood spurted. Uryū gasped, pain crashing over him as he was flung backward into stone. He hit the wall hard, body crumpling, crimson dripping steadily from his wounds. Among the rubble he sat paralyzed, despair flooding in. He had not slowed Ulquiorra for even a heartbeat. Strength, skill, precision—all of it was meaningless. This opponent stood far above them.
Ulquiorra did not even glance his way. The Quincy's existence wasn't worth acknowledgement. His gaze turned back to Orihime. Step by step, he advanced toward her, his expression as calm as ever, his black wings spread wide like a fallen angel descending.
"Inoue Orihime. You see it now. No one can save you."
His voice was cold, his words like blades. Orihime's body shook uncontrollably, her vision blurring with tears. Too many times in one day she had tasted despair; this time it swallowed her whole.
"Help me…" Her voice was a fragile whisper, barely clinging to life.
"No one—" Ulquiorra began, patient, merciless.
But the girl's voice suddenly rose, sharp as a scream, desperate enough to shatter the silence.
"Help me!!"
Ulquiorra's eyes flickered. His head turned, his ears catching a shift in the air. A faint sound, like cracking stone.
Behind him, the body that had lain still now stirred.
Kurosaki Ichigo stood.
But the figure rising was no longer human. White mask, horns curving upward, hair flowing wild down his back, a black hole yawning through his chest. His eyes glowed blood red, devoid of reason, saturated with hunger and rage. His breath came in heavy, scorching bursts, every exhale spilling murderous intent into the air.
He had become Hollow. Entirely.
Reiatsu erupted like a storm. The ground split, walls shook, air trembled beneath the suffocating weight of his transformed presence. For the first time, Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed, the composure in his gaze hardening.
Ichigo's blood-red stare lifted. He exhaled heat, a guttural growl tearing from him. The very pressure of his killing intent bent the atmosphere.
Ulquiorra responded instantly, raising a hand. Black light surged, condensed, then erupted.
"Cero Oscuras."
The blast roared forth, tearing across the battlefield, obliterating everything in its path. Dust and stone vanished in its wake.
Yet Ichigo did not move. He lifted his palm into the blast.
The Cero shattered against him.
Fragments of black light scattered and vanished, reduced to nothing. Ichigo stood untouched.
Ulquiorra's pupils constricted. That same Cero had torn Ichigo apart before. Now, with one hand, the Hollowed Ichigo erased it.
The surrounding fortress crumbled, the sky itself quaking. Amid the chaos, Ichigo remained whole, his aura monstrous, unrestrained.
Ulquiorra's expression grew grave at last. For the first time, true tension flickered across his calm features.
Then Ichigo vanished.
By the time Ulquiorra registered it, he was already there. Horned mask inches from his face, killing intent pressing down like a hammer.
Ulquiorra's arm slashed like a blade, aiming for Ichigo's chest.
But Ichigo caught it mid-strike.
Bone cracked. Flesh tore.
In a single brutal motion, Ichigo ripped Ulquiorra's arm clean off.
The Espada's eyes widened, shock flashing through the composure he had carried until now. For the first time, silence wrapped itself around him—silence not of control, but disbelief.
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