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Moyu narrowed his eyes as the poisonous mist continued its silent, creeping spread, thickening with every breath as though the very air itself rejected the concept of purity, and each curl of smoke carried the weight of engineered malice.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri, you should know this won't work on me," he said with quiet certainty, his voice steady despite the encroaching haze that threatened to unmake all things.
The memory of the Present World incident resurfaced with brutal clarity—Kurotsuchi had stooped to every depraved tactic imaginable to extract a sample of Moyu's Reiatsu, deploying this very mist in a desperate gambit that ultimately failed, as Moyu, having detected the treachery early, had responded with a devastating backhand that shredded Kurotsuchi's body and left him barely clinging to life amidst the wreckage. If not for the protection afforded by his rank within the Gotei 13, the captain might have perished anonymously in that foreign world, his corpse discarded like an inconvenient experiment gone awry.
To be the relentless obsession of a mind that had long since sacrificed sanity for innovation was a deeply unsettling curse, and one Moyu had grown far too accustomed to bearing.
"I'm well aware," Kurotsuchi said with venomous amusement, lifting Ashisogi Jizō and flicking it forward with a movement so precise that the mist surged as if obeying a calculated will, thickening and rushing toward its target like a predator scenting blood.
In response, Moyu's spiritual pressure surged into existence, a dense, blackened sphere of Reiatsu forming around him as both shield and declaration, yet even within that defense, a strange anomaly whispered its warning—the edges of the shield, usually unbreakable, had begun to fray like old cloth, and an unnatural corrosion had begun to take root.
"My Reiatsu... corrupted?" Moyu murmured, his eyes narrowing as he observed with clinical detachment the dissolution of his own power, the spiritual energy unraveling like silk threads gnawed apart by thousands of unseen, ravenous ants.
"This is precisely my work!" Kurotsuchi crowed, his voice slicing through the battlefield like a surgeon's scalpel, his pride swelling with grotesque satisfaction as he elaborated, "Did you really think my prolonged excursions into the world of the living were fruitless data-gathering exercises with no application?"
"You have involved yourself in numerous classified encounters, always erasing the traces with impressive care, yet even your meticulous efforts were insufficient, for I required only a single particle—one overlooked, minute speck of your Reiatsu."
With theatrical cruelty, he pressed the blade of Ashisogi Jizō against his face, dragging it slowly down and leaving shallow cuts in its wake, as though to brand himself with his own madness.
"That sliver was enough. With it, I crafted this—an agent refined to interact with your spiritual signature, perfectly engineered to devour the very foundation of your existence!"
Spreading his arms wide in mock divinity, he laughed with manic glee, his laughter rising like steam from an overpressurized engine moments before detonation.
"You feel it now, don't you? That sickening fragmentation of your thoughts, the collapse of your identity—witness, Moyu, the only constant in existence: science!"
He tapped the side of his skull with fingers more claw than flesh, and the gleam in his eyes was neither human nor sane, but something far beyond rationality and dangerously close to the divine.
The ever-thickening mist swirled with ominous intent, and even Moyu—who had faced hollow-bred monstrosities and ancient spirits alike—could not deny the tremor of unease that passed through him, for he understood the scope of Kurotsuchi's mind. Only Urahara Kisuke had ever rivaled such a blend of brilliance and depravity, and if this mist truly represented a compound born from both Moyu's own spiritual energy and Mayuri's boundless obsession, then the integrity of his Reiatsu could soon be nullified entirely, reduced to inert matter beneath a microscope.
What was feared would be mocked, dissected, and forgotten.
But then, in the space between heartbeats, everything shifted.
Where the poison had previously feasted without resistance, now it recoiled, its advance stopped by something unseen and infinitely more ancient than science—pride.
> [Your Reiatsu has been provoked by an unknown stimulus. Its pride is wounded. Forced evolution triggered. Resistance significantly increased.]
The voice of the system cut into Moyu's awareness like the toll of a bell that heralded the arrival of something both sacred and wrathful, and within moments, his Reiatsu crystallized, altering its structure in real time as the black pressure hardened into something jagged and unyielding. The poison, once triumphant, now scattered on contact, its virulence rejected not through resistance but by a complete rewriting of the spiritual law governing his existence.
"What?!" Kurotsuchi's triumphant expression crumbled like ash beneath an oncoming firestorm, his eyes going wide as equations collapsed inside his skull.
"The erosion rate—it's not just slowing—it's gone? Halted entirely?!"
His breath faltered, and the words that followed came in a whisper not of awe, but of dawning horror.
"This isn't possible..."
Reiatsu, by every record and measurement, could grow in magnitude or purity, but it could not change its core nature—not unless it was something that had already surpassed those definitions entirely.
Kurotsuchi struggled for comprehension, but his thoughts scattered like dust.
"Sometimes," Moyu said, voice cool and almost dispassionate as he drew Lanyin in a single, unbroken arc, "things evolve without warning."
A soft breeze slipped past them, carrying the mist away as if it had never been real, unraveling Kurotsuchi's decades of data and intention with the simplicity of an exhale.
Every particle of the toxin—each strand of his masterwork—was now obsolete, dismissed by a force that refused to bow to logic.
Bluish-white wind spiraled around the blade with serene finality, the Shikai activated without fanfare or chant.
"You've crossed my threshold for tolerance far too many times..."
His voice carried the chill of judgment passed in silence, the kind that preceded execution.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri. You claim to seek death?"
"Then I shall oblige you."
Before the final syllable faded, Moyu disappeared.
Kurotsuchi raised Ashisogi Jizō, but the movement was too slow, and the sound of steel carving flesh rang out, blood arcing through the air as his arm detached and flew in a grotesque spiral toward the ground.
He staggered under the pain, eyes wide in disbelief, unable to even locate where the attack had originated before Moyu materialized before him—expression unreadable, Lanyin poised inches from his throat.
"React!" Kurotsuchi's mind screamed, yet his limbs lagged behind, moving sluggishly under the crushing weight of Moyu's presence.
Then—
A faint chime rang through the battlefield.
Another limb fell away, severed before it could even flinch.
Moyu stood resolute, unmoved by the blood or the gasps echoing around him.
"You think threat provokes power? It's irrelevant," he said, voice steady and distant, as though already looking past this moment.
"You made your choice. Now you'll live—or die—with the consequences."
"This test is finished."
Outside the dissipating mist, silence fell across the assembled captains and lieutenants, their stunned expressions mirroring the impossible truth: that a non-captain had just dismantled Kurotsuchi Mayuri—one of the Gotei 13's most feared researchers—with neither hesitation nor visible effort, and had done so without even invoking Bankai.
Moyu's movements had become undetectable. His presence crushed the battlefield into submission.
This was no longer an exam.
It was judgment in its most unflinching form.
"He's pushing the line too far..." Kyoraku murmured, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat as he prepared to intervene in his official capacity as examiner, his duty forcing him to act before death occurred.
"Is he truly crossing the line?"
Byakuya's voice, soft and precise, cut into the moment like silk sliding across a blade.
Sakura petals spiraled down from the sky, circling Kyoraku with warning rather than beauty.
Byakuya stood motionless, his presence as stark as the edge of a drawn sword.
Though the rules permitted Shikai within the confines of this exam, Bankai remained restricted for good reason, as its release would level the academy and everyone within it.
"To create a weapon that specifically targets the Kuchiki family already constitutes high treason," Byakuya said, his voice lacking all emotion, yet carrying the weight of finality.
He had once doubted Moyu's strength, as many had, but now all skepticism had died, and in its place stood silent acknowledgment of a power no longer avoidable.
This battle was no longer a personal test.
It was retribution.
Stumbling backward, Mayuri bit into a hidden vial and stabbed its contents into his own chest. Within moments, regenerative compounds flooded his system, and his torn body began to reknit itself using his Flesh Tonic—one of his most advanced and secretive creations.
"You whimper like a wounded dog," Moyu said quietly, his blade twirling once before stilling again, "but only the innocent deserve restful sleep."
"Wind Slash."
The air erupted.
A roaring tempest surged from Lanyin, tearing across the earth, shattering Kidō barriers in succession, and blowing apart the terrain with unstoppable force.
Kido practitioners strained under the backlash, hands glowing and failing as the wind overwhelmed their defenses.
"I won't die!" Kurotsuchi howled, forcing his broken body to its feet as he summoned Ashisogi Jizō once more.
"You are still beneath the level of a true captain!"
He lifted the weapon high and gave himself to its final transformation.
"Bankai. Konjiki Ashisogi Jizō."
A grotesque creature emerged, monstrous and unnatural—a baby's head stretched across an enormous body of segmented flesh, its eyes dead and swirling with venom. From beneath its halo sprouted dozens of blades, twitching and eager to rend.
Toxic mist burst from the beast like a hurricane, flooding the battlefield in death.
"You cannot match this! This is Bankai!"
"You've already lost," Moyu said, voice low and final.
The storm of wind met the storm of poison, and for a heartbeat, the battlefield was devoured.
Kurotsuchi screamed as his creature crashed forward, but even as it struck, its blades shattered and its limbs buckled, unable to survive the sheer force of Moyu's evolved spiritual pressure.
"You don't understand," he shrieked. "I'll dissect you!"
"Then try," Moyu said, his voice the last thing Kurotsuchi heard before everything turned to wind and light.
Another tidal wave of poison surged forward.
The barriers failed entirely.
Screams erupted across the academy.
"That's enough!" Kyoraku shouted, finally standing and preparing to intervene before the disaster escalated any further.
But before he could move—
A pressure far beyond comprehension fell upon the world.
Time halted.
No sword had been drawn.
No steps had been taken.
Only one whisper remained:
"Remember. The wind moves."
A single flash of bluish-white tore through the storm.
The wind devoured the sky.
And silence claimed the academy.
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