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Moyu pressed forward without hesitation, unleashing his own Reiatsu like a crushing tide that consumed everything in its path, the weight of it wrapping around the battlefield like a suffocating shroud, dense with tyranny and despair, signaling an approaching end more than a confrontation. Judging purely by the breath of this Reiatsu, what poured out from his opponent surpassed anything he had encountered, not because he had never stood in the presence of power, but because even Yamamoto Genryūsai and Sōsuke Aizen had never released their spiritual pressure in full; and when compared to this oppressive, thunderous wave that now filled the skies, those legendary presences felt slightly diminished.
Moyu muttered beneath his breath, speeding up, while mentally calculating the point in time and frequency of the energy bursts, and as he closed in, the eerie familiarity and timing led him to one conclusion, that this entity couldn't possibly be an ordinary Hollow. It had to be a Blank—one of Aizen's brutal, soulless experiments—transformed from the dead spirit of a Shinigami and elevated to Vasto Lorde-class through grotesque spiritual surgery and scientific violation. Even Shiba Isshin, once a powerful captain, had been overwhelmed by it in a direct clash, unable to overpower it even after releasing his Shikai.
As Moyu approached the epicenter of this monstrous pressure, the sensation became more than overwhelming—it was as if the sky itself was collapsing inward and pressing against his chest, burying his heart beneath a weight no blade could cut through, no shield could deflect. He couldn't tell whether this confrontation was the result of incredible fortune or misfortune, whether fate was throwing him an opportunity or dragging him into someone else's carefully engineered chaos, and perhaps, in a moment of dark humor, he considered thanking the unknown hand orchestrating this convergence of powers.
Above Karakura Town, thick clouds had swallowed the sun, shrouding the sky in a curtain of gray that slowly turned to rainfall, with large drops soaking the cracked earth and transforming the entire atmosphere into a suffocating field of weight and gloom. Kurosaki Masaki, standing silently by the window of her home, felt the shift in the air, her Quincy senses instantly registering two massive Reiatsu signatures colliding from the southern part of town, both alien and familiar, both too intense to ignore.
Without pausing to reconsider or investigate further, she shattered the glass in front of her and vaulted through the window, her slender form vanishing into the distant streets as her instincts overrode all hesitation, carrying her at full speed toward the storm that loomed over the southern sky. Placing her palm over her heart, she tried to subdue the frantic pulse rising inside her, though the anxiety had already shown itself in her eyes and in the tightly drawn expression etched across her face as she whispered Moyu's name like a prayer that refused to surrender to fear.
At the Reiatsu-drenched location, Moyu floated in the air while his eyes swept across the landscape, noting immediately that the spiritual pressure, which had previously spiked like a hammer blow, had suddenly vanished. But the lingering fluctuations in Lingzi scattered across the sky betrayed its presence and movement, a trail of ghost particles revealing deliberate tracking rather than blind destruction, which only deepened the bad feeling growing within him. If this were merely a feral, irrational Hollow, it would never have gone to such lengths to suppress or conceal its presence, choosing instead to unleash its destruction indiscriminately, but the intelligence in these movements painted a different picture—a hunter cloaked in chaos.
Displeased by what this revealed, Moyu did not hesitate; he swiftly unsheathed his Zanpakutō in a sharp motion and, without even turning his head, drove the blade behind him with a precision honed by instinct rather than sight. The impact was instant, thunderous, and explosive, sending shockwaves outward like a collapsing star, shredding everything within a several-kilometer radius. Were it not for the remoteness of the area, Karakura's outskirts would have been littered with lost souls, their lives snuffed out before they even sensed the danger, and Rukongai would have been flooded with the echoes of wandering spirits seeking answers in death.
High atop a nearby mountain, protected by a Kidō barrier shimmering faintly in the mist, three cloaked figures stood watching, their presence hidden, their faces mostly obscured except for the glint of their eyes and the voices behind their words. Ichimaru Gin's sly smirk curled at the edge of his lips, his fox-like expression half-lit by Reiatsu fluctuations, and his tone, amused and faintly sarcastic, revealed mild surprise at what they were witnessing—Xubai, a creature considered incapable of rationality, had just executed a sneak attack, a move outside the scope of its original design.
Despite the distance, Gin seemed fully aware of every movement happening in the field below, noting with casual admiration that Moyu's ability to perceive incoming Reiatsu was still unnaturally sharp, sharper even than the average captain-class Shinigami. From the shadow next to him, Aizen's face emerged calmly, peaceful as always, as if no scene, however chaotic or brutal, could ripple the still waters of his composed demeanor, and his voice carried a kind of soft reverence when he described Moyu's Reiatsu as one of the most unique spiritual pressures he had ever observed.
From the third cloak, Tousen Kaname's measured voice emerged like the closing of a report, detailing that Hirako Shinji's group had been recently detected, and that this confrontation could serve multiple purposes—not only would it test the boundaries of Kuchiki Moyu's evolving power, but it might also draw out the exiled Visoreds while simultaneously providing new combat data for the Hollowfication experiment, thus accomplishing multiple objectives within a single engagement.
Aizen's deep gaze continued to stretch across the sky, eyes distant and calculating, as he reassured the others that everything was proceeding according to plan, his voice more absolute than comforting.
Down below, twin bursts of clashing Reiatsu—one dark and dense like a void, the other blue-white like storm wind—crashed into each other and shot into the sky, their convergence blasting apart the clouds overhead, although the sun still refused to shine, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the battle now unfolding. The rain intensified, obscuring sight and dampening the terrain, veiling every movement in a curtain of shifting water and smoke.
Moyu stared ahead through the downpour, his vision locked on the figure now emerging from the mist.
The enemy's form was lean and tall, clad in black armor so tightly fitted it almost looked natural, and in its chest, where a Hollow's void would normally gape, there was instead a glowing mass of shifting blue-violet matter, not unlike a malformed Hōgyoku caught mid-evolution. Its mask was jagged and grotesque, bearing sharp, orderly fangs within a maw painted crimson, and in the depthless red of its eyes, Moyu saw no hesitation, no strategy, no curiosity—only primal madness and a hunger to destroy that went beyond instinct.
Both of its arms terminated in long blades that glinted coldly even through the haze of rain, and when it swung them, the shriek of clashing metal echoed through the battlefield like the ringing of a funeral bell.
With narrowed eyes, Moyu invoked his Zanpakutō's art.
"Gale Wind Sword Style: Dalan."
His blade shimmered faintly as the bluish-white wind enveloped it, twisting and sharpening invisibly, and with one clean motion, he launched the attack toward Xubai—but to his surprise, the Hollow evaded the strike. The slash carved a trench into the ground that stretched for nearly a mile, the torn earth disintegrating under the weight of wind pressure until nothing remained but hollowed silence.
That brief dodge shifted Moyu's understanding; what once was a mindless beast now showed signs of thought, perhaps not complex or strategic, but enough to recognize danger and avoid disadvantage, enough to counter when necessary. It had adapted. It had evolved. If it continued on this path, it would rise to become the apex predator among the Menos Grande.
The creature, sensing an opening, dashed toward him with blistering speed, and in a blur of motion, its skeletal white face came dangerously close, its arm-blades ready to sever his form in one clean sweep. With a roar that cracked the sky, it brought the blade across the space between them, generating such force that the very fabric of air seemed to scream in resistance.
Yet before impact—
"Holy Lost!"
From afar, Masaki's voice broke through the chaos as a Quincy arrow forged of raw blue light sliced through the atmosphere and zeroed in on Xubai's exposed core. The Hollow twisted with a burst of Sonído, dodging just in time, its pale figure vanishing into the mist.
"Moyu, behind you!"
Realizing the threat, Moyu's eyes snapped toward the danger as Masaki emerged from above, spirit bow already recharged and veins bulging along her fair skin and neck from the activation of Blut Vene, the Quincy's ultimate defensive technique. But even with that, her brief hesitation at the horror of Xubai's monstrous visage nearly cost her dearly.
In an instant, Moyu surged forward, a hurricane erupting beneath his feet as wind blades tore through the air in violent spirals, engulfing Xubai and forcing it back before its blade could reach Masaki.
With wind swirling around him like a second skin, Moyu stepped into the field of destruction, his voice low but firm.
"I was wrong to judge you lightly, but I won't repeat that mistake."
He lifted his Zanpakutō again, condensing the hurricane into focused patterns engraved on the blade, wind lines etched like sacred script.
From the dispersing gale, Xubai reappeared, its armor fractured but already healing through High-Speed Regeneration, wounds closing rapidly as the Hollow stood defiant once again.
Masaki, still nearby, stared at Moyu's back in silent awe, her lips parting slightly before she offered a soft reply and launched herself away from the center, though her spirit bow remained lit, always ready, always aimed.
Xubai watched Moyu with a cautious gaze now, as if recognizing the change in the opponent it had just battled minutes ago, unable to understand the sudden leap in strength but still driven by an overwhelming desire to annihilate.
Tilting its head toward the sky, it roared again, a scream that summoned black and purple Reiatsu from deep within, which poured out across its armor in monstrous waves.
Even from her position, Masaki felt the choking despair of its aura.
But in the heart of that suffocating power, Moyu's Reiatsu began to shift.
The blue-white wind turned darker. Black lines crawled across it like veins, swallowing light, until what once was pure became corrupted and whole again.
Xubai hesitated for the first time, its blood-red eyes narrowing as it recognized the sudden turn.
Moyu's voice, calm and cold, reached out across the silence.
"You understand now, don't you?"
"But it's far too late."
And then, from within that wind-drenched silence, the black tide rose.
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