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Your Reiatsu, overwhelmed by the pressure of a Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar—Menos Grande—undergoes violent transformation, elevating your battle spirit, deepening your insight, and forcibly shattering the former boundaries of your power to attain a new pinnacle: Ultimate Reiatsu.
The moment Moyu's frame became shrouded in that abyssal aura of Reiatsu, black as ink and dense enough to warp perception itself, Kurosaki Masaki, who had been observing from the perimeter, instinctively clasped a hand over her mouth as her breath hitched and her body leaned forward as if to dash toward the center of the chaos, driven by the sudden and complete absence of Moyu's spiritual pressure, as if he had been erased from existence.
But what had seemed like an end was only the beginning.
At the very core of the void-like blackness, fractures began to spread outward—thin, delicate spiderwebs of rupture etched themselves across the surface of the compressed Reiatsu.
Click.
One crack widened and gave way, and fragments of black, tangible spiritual pressure began drifting down like brittle ash, scattering as they fell.
From within the collapsing shell of darkness, Moyu emerged unscathed, his figure as composed as before, but something fundamental had changed.
As soon as his Reiatsu, now impossibly dense and restructured, permeated the battlefield, a flicker of something rare crossed the savage features of Xubai—hesitation, or perhaps fear—and under Moyu's piercing stare, the monstrous figure retreated half a step, not out of strategy, but reflex.
Noticing the shift, Moyu's lips curled upward into a faint smirk, as if mocking the futility of resistance, and with a voice heavy with disdain and a tone sharpened by certainty, he muttered, "So it's evolved to this level already?"
That single step forward he took seemed to shift the air itself.
From the point of contact beneath his foot, a column of black Reiatsu erupted violently, swirling upward in a spiraling tornado that devoured every element in its path, ripping through the dark cloud canopy that had cloaked Karakura Town and replacing it with an even more terrifying presence—his Reiatsu, now elevated beyond former constraints, now reigning like a second sky of despair.
Moyu's spiritual pressure continued to escalate, unchained, ceaseless, and pressing into dimensions that ordinary Shinigami could neither see nor sense, and as his power continued to climb, the other benefits of such elevation began manifesting within him with vivid clarity.
Your body is reinforced by Reiatsu; cultivation speed doubled, raw power increased, comprehension accelerated, and Steel Skin has been obtained.
The moment the system notification echoed through his consciousness, Moyu came to a sudden halt, his mind focused on one term—Steel Skin—a trait typically reserved for the Arrancar, specifically those like Xucai, honed through brutal compression and mutation.
And yet, when viewed under the lens of spiritual evolution triggered by intense promotion and exposure to transcendent energy, even such foreign powers now seemed plausible, almost inevitable.
Though it struck him as bizarre, it wasn't an unwelcome development; in fact, the increase in durability was a gift of unimaginable tactical value, granting him room to maneuver, to engage in combat with minimal risk, and if his growth were to continue at this pace, then even captains of lesser caliber would find it impossible to land a meaningful blow, much less pierce his defense.
The idea of surpassing the Shinigami threshold no longer felt like fantasy but a natural progression—and in that moment, a figure came to mind, one who had been reshaped by the Hōgyoku itself into something unrecognizable—Aizen Sōsuke.
"Your usefulness has reached its end," Moyu declared without hesitation as he extended his palm toward the void, manifesting his Zanpakutō into existence.
The blade, long and slender, materialized from the air itself, its steel lined with faint bluish-white hues streaked through with dark ink patterns that formed an ancient, enigmatic design—subtle yet unnerving, radiating an aura of ancient mystery and quiet malevolence.
"This farce ends here."
With Lan Yin raised high, Moyu brought the weapon down in a clean vertical arc aimed squarely at Xubai, who stared back, unblinking.
"Kuang Lan."
The name of the technique was spoken not with fury but with the cold indifference of winter wind, and the moment it passed his lips, the battlefield reacted as if the world itself had inhaled in dread.
A sword of compressed black light surged downward, its velocity and weight compressing the air into a piercing gale, while the bluish-white edges screamed with raw spiritual violence, crashing down as though heaven itself had issued a verdict.
Confronted by such pressure, Xubai's instincts roared to life once more; his blood-red eyes narrowed, glowing with a twisted brilliance, and his jaws opened wide to reveal rows of glistening fangs as a torrent of violet-black Reiatsu spiraled rapidly in his mouth, compressing into a volatile core of destruction—a black-red sphere pulsating with fatal energy.
As the black sword descended like divine judgment, the unstable orb detonated, unleashing a searing beam that shot into the heavens with blinding force, piercing the sky like a lance.
In the very next instant, the two forces collided.
The shockwave ignited a cataclysmic detonation that ripped through the edge of Karakura Town; the explosion was not merely sound but pressure incarnate, and it consumed everything indiscriminately—the land was stripped, the trees obliterated, distant mountains buckled and fell into themselves, and in the eye of the storm, space itself seemed to shatter.
Kurosaki Masaki, forced into evasive motion, triggered flying sickle footwork repeatedly, dodging through the volatile aftershocks, each step driven by survival as she escaped the widening zone of destruction, her eyes returning again and again to where Moyu once stood, a glow still erupting from the field, pulsing with residual force.
That light—too blinding, too immense—spoke of an outcome so absolute that it could only mean erasure.
And yet, her heart clung to one belief, reaffirmed by everything she'd seen.
"Moyu... is terrifyingly strong."
Within the Seireitei post, far removed from the frontline, Shinigami stationed in Karakura could barely comprehend what they were sensing as they stared toward the collapsing mountains in the far distance, watching as shockwaves ignited the horizon and flames devoured the ridge lines, their breathing labored and lungs clenched by the sense of oncoming extinction.
"This—this can't be real..." Matsumoto Rangiku breathed, the words escaping between parted lips as her expression froze in awe and dread.
Beside her, Sui-Feng's expression twisted into something complex, her teeth gently pressing into her lower lip as her thoughts spiraled inward—because now, the gap Moyu had once spoken of, the disparity between his strength and theirs, was no longer an abstraction but a wall of reality that she could feel crushing down like gravity.
So this was Ultimate Reiatsu.
Moyu, watching the result of his technique unfold, blinked slowly, almost as if startled by its impact—not because he doubted his strength, but because even the ferocity of Kuang Lan had manifested a scope that exceeded his intention.
And still, that had only been a fraction.
When the whirlwind cleared, Xubai's form stood, battered beyond recognition, his skin pale and torn, his armor—once formidable—reduced to brittle shells hanging by threads, spiderwebbed with fractures that stretched across his frame and threatened collapse with every passing second.
The horned mask that once cloaked his upper face had crumbled, revealing a visage Moyu did not recognize, but one he committed to memory nonetheless—because something about that face, pale and marred with pride, suggested that once, long ago, it might have belonged to a Shinigami with immense promise.
Xubai's crimson eyes, now flickering like dying embers, locked onto Moyu's face, not in rage, but in silent desperation, as though seeking to memorize the man who had destroyed him.
And though his body could barely support itself, his instincts ignited for one last charge, wild and mad, like a moth sprinting into flame.
But before he could close the distance, he froze mid-motion.
A white finger pressed gently to his brow.
"Time to end this."
Moyu's voice, now lower, more solemn, triggered the final invocation.
"Hadō no Shi—Nichinichi no Kaminari."
From that point of contact, an explosion of white radiance erupted with purifying force, flooding the battlefield with divine intensity and banishing the remaining traces of darkness as it climbed into the sky like a newborn sun.
Torrents of holy lightning converged, forming a cage that closed in from all directions, and within moments, Xubai was swallowed completely.
White Reiatsu erupted—and vanished.
Moyu flipped his wrist, Zanpakutō sliding smoothly back into its sheath, and as the thunder quieted and the scorched wind fell silent, not a trace of Xubai remained.
No mask. No bones. Not even ash.
Only a crater, carved by retribution.
Masaki sprinted toward him, expression conflicted between awe and disbelief, and when she reached him, her voice burst out before thought caught up.
"You actually killed that monster—I mean, I thought he was terrifying, but you—Moyu—you're more of a monster than even him!"
Crack.
"OW!"
Masaki reeled back, hands to her head, tears in her eyes.
"Dammit, that hurts!"
Moyu glared.
"Monster? I'm a pure Shinigami. Don't you dare compare me to some deranged Hollow."
He flicked her forehead once more and muttered, "And stop looking so proud."
She didn't argue.
Grinning despite the lump forming on her head, she stayed beside him, smiling for no reason she could explain, guided only by the simple, silent joy of being there.
Then, a voice sounded from the shadows—calm, low, and unmistakably male.
"Despite the severity of the situation, it seems someone has already cleaned it up."
Masaki turned toward the source, jaw dropping.
"Wait—wait—the cat just talked!"
From Moyu's shoulder, Yoruichi narrowed her golden eyes.
"Quincy brat, learn some manners. Address me properly—Yoruichi-san."
But Masaki, eyes wide and shimmering, circled around Moyu, entirely transfixed by the black feline perched casually like royalty.
For someone driven by curiosity, a talking cat wasn't a novelty—it was a miracle.
Yoruichi, ready to speak seriously, was instead silenced repeatedly by the girl's breathless attention until finally—
Masaki grabbed her tail.
"IDIOT, ENOUGH ALREADY!"
Claws flared, and Masaki went airborne with a cry.
From a distant mountaintop, Gin crouched low, fingers brushing scorched stone as he analyzed the devastation with silent amusement.
Even from here, the battle's impact had nearly dragged them into it.
"Kuchiki Moyu's presence has thrown our plans into disarray," Tōsen Kaname intoned with mechanical calm, his voice stripped of emotion, molded by conviction.
"Let's not be hasty, Kaname," another voice interrupted, this one warm and soothing, like spring sunlight filtering through clouds.
"We're still the ones moving the pieces."
"And Moyu," Aizen's smile deepened beneath the cloak, "hasn't stepped off the board."
Back on the battlefield, Yoruichi, now free from Masaki's harassment, finally addressed Moyu with the seriousness she'd been holding back.
"Damage has been controlled, but something still bothers me."
Though the outskirts were devastated, Karakura Town's heart remained mostly untouched, the casualty count lower than expected thanks to the battle's location—but the real losses had been caused by Xubai's initial Reiatsu burst, which had flung nearby civilians like leaves in a hurricane.
Fortunately, the population density here was low.
Moyu looked at her, expression even.
"What is it?"
Yoruichi paused, hesitated, then asked:
"Moyu... just what level is your strength right now?"
"Generally poor," he replied flatly. "Barely enough to protect myself."
The black cat froze.
She tilted her head slowly, eyes unblinking.
Was he serious?
A battle that nearly obliterated Karakura—and this was barely self-protection?
Yoruichi exhaled deeply, forcing down her exasperation.
If he didn't want to elaborate, she wouldn't push—but inside, she'd already redrawn the battle scale.
She could no longer beat him.
Her gaze softened as she looked at him, remembering the eager child who once begged her to teach him Shunpo, and now stood before her having long since surpassed her shadow.
What she had once told Sui-Feng echoed back with bitter irony.
Weakness is the true original sin...
Seeing her fall silent, Moyu lowered his gaze and spoke quietly:
"Instead of lingering on irrelevant things, shouldn't we focus on something more important..."
His eyes narrowed.
"Like the reason these Hollows are appearing—and the secrets tied to their source."
He turned his head slightly, gaze fixed toward the trees beyond.
"Mr. Urahara," Moyu called out, voice calm yet impossible to ignore, "how long do you plan to keep hiding?"
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