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There was no need for introduction—everyone, from seated officers to unranked Shinigami, knew the name Kurotsuchi Mayuri, and even if they had never met him, his reputation echoed through the barracks like a warning, branding him as a genius, a lunatic, and a sadist in equal measure.
Every aspect of him—his methods, his mind, his morality—marked him as a man who had stared too long into the abyss, and cooperating with someone like that was akin to walking a tightrope over a bottomless pit where one slip meant annihilation.
Kuchiki Moyu had no qualms about exposing Mayuri's twisted past because, to him, self-preservation remained the foremost priority.
"Frankly, for my own safety, it's better to eliminate the risk at the root," Moyu said coldly, his voice devoid of hesitation, "and as for the captain's assessment, I assume you've already reviewed the details."
He laid it out without any ceremony: Mayuri had developed a specialized drug using residual Reiatsu from Moyu's earlier battles, and it wasn't speculation or guesswork, but a matter of fact, stated plainly without embellishment, without pretense—just raw, unvarnished truth.
Now, choosing to stand firmly on the side of reason, Moyu had no interest in decorum or diplomacy, only clarity.
He silently vowed that if Mayuri ever crossed the line again, he would not survive the encounter, and this wasn't idle bravado but an internal commitment backed by action and intent.
Among the Thirteen Court Guard Squad captains, Moyu already matched their strength, if not their official status, and in the eyes of many, that alone was enough to shift the balance of power.
Across from him, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, head of the Gotei 13, sat in still silence with his weathered eyes closed and a cup of tea gently steaming in front of him, though the tranquil image did nothing to lighten the overwhelming pressure of his spiritual presence.
After what felt like an age of quiet tension, Genryūsai finally spoke.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri is a liability, and if he survives this ordeal, the Central 46 will judge him accordingly, with his punishment being imprisonment in the Muken."
He didn't bother elaborating further, because Muken—the lowest level of Soul Society's underground prison—was universally known as a place reserved for the most dangerous beings, those whose existence represented such a profound threat that even execution was considered too lenient.
"Attacking a Kuchiki heir, unleashing a fully-liberated Zanpakutō within Seireitei—he came dangerously close to catastrophe, and had it not been for the protections afforded by his rank, any single one of these actions would have sealed his fate irrevocably."
Moyu's expression darkened further; although he knew only fragments about Muken, they were more than enough to understand its severity, since the prisoners there were not simply criminals but monsters by the Gotei's definition.
He recalled the Eighth Kenpachi, Mole City Shuangya, who once attempted to manipulate the Rukongai into war against Hueco Mundo, and Aizen Sōsuke, the infamous traitor of Soul Society and former captain of the Fifth Division who nearly annihilated Seireitei—these were the kinds of entities Muken was built to contain.
If Mayuri was truly being sent there, then it spoke volumes about the depth of his crimes.
Moyu nodded with finality. "That's acceptable, and as long as Mayuri stays out of my sight, I have no objection."
"There's still the matter of your own actions," Yamamoto said, his tone now carrying a colder weight of judgment.
Moyu raised a brow, though he was already expecting this.
"You struck Kurotsuchi again after he'd already lost the ability to resist, and though Captain Kyōraku attempted to restrain you, you ignored him, so victim or not, you acted outside the law."
Moyu frowned—not out of guilt, but because he could already see the direction this was headed: the rigid, eternal obsession of the Central 46 with formality, rules, and bureaucracy.
Yamamoto continued, his voice low but absolute. "Their ruling is thus: you will spend one week in the Nest of Maggots for evaluation, and upon completion and verification that you pose no risk to Soul Society, you may return."
Moyu's eyes narrowed slightly at the sentence; the Nest of Maggots, while severe, was nowhere near as horrific as Muken—it was more of a containment chamber for Shinigami labeled unstable or unpredictable, not for crimes committed but for danger perceived.
"A fair sentence," Moyu replied with a thin smirk, "as long as I can keep my distance from those senile old men."
Yamamoto drained the last of his tea in one slow, quiet motion. "Don't underestimate it—within the Nest, you won't be permitted to carry your Zanpakutō, and stripped of that, your danger increases tenfold."
Moyu gave a half-shrug, remembering that even Urahara Kisuke had once suppressed the entire Nest using only hand-to-hand combat, and with his own abilities, Moyu doubted there was anyone down there capable of truly challenging him.
This punishment, he realized, was not truly about justice or consequence; it was about tradition, control, and optics—a way for the Central 46 to save face while keeping the public order intact.
"Tomorrow morning, your confinement begins," Yamamoto said, and after a beat of silence, added, "Once it ends, return to First Division headquarters—we have unfinished business."
That last remark caught Moyu's attention, and his curiosity was instantly piqued—was there another ruling waiting for him?
As if in response to the thought, Yamamoto spoke again. "Don't forget—you passed the captain's assessment."
And then it all clicked into place: the Tenth Division still stood without a captain.
Yamamoto watched as Moyu departed the barracks, his gaze lingering not with suspicion, but with weight and quiet expectation.
"The future of Soul Society," he murmured to himself, voice barely above a breath, "don't disappoint me."
---
At dawn, Moyu prepared to report to the Second Division, his pace deliberate until he abruptly stopped midway, sensing a presence that felt both familiar and unmistakable.
"That Reiatsu... Soi-Fon?"
A figure leapt down from the rooftop, landing gracefully before him—Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō, Soi-Fon, who stood expressionless as always, but whose timing was far too precise to be coincidental.
"You know," Moyu said, not breaking stride in tone, "just because you're the stealth force leader doesn't mean you can barge into the Kuchiki estate at will."
"If the elders catch you here, you'll end up facing judgment in the underground hall," he added with a knowing glance.
"I didn't come here to banter," Soi-Fon replied curtly, her tone clipped and direct, "the detention order reached my squad last night, and I came to brief you on what lies ahead."
Moyu studied her face for a second longer than necessary, noting the tightness in her stance and the almost imperceptible softness in her gaze, before allowing a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.
"Can I interpret this as concern?" he asked, half amused, half sincere.
Her cheeks flushed with immediate heat. "Don't be ridiculous—I'm merely following protocol," she said, turning sharply away as if that alone could dismiss the truth.
His smirk only deepened, because even a fool could see through her words.
"Let's go," she said, regaining her composure.
Together, they began making their way toward the Second Division, where the Nest of Maggots awaited.
Located in the northwest quadrant of the barracks, the Nest was a sprawling, hollowed-out moat hidden behind reinforced stone and layered seals, officially named the Underground Detention Threshold but known by its inmates and guards simply as the Nest.
As they walked, Soi-Fon explained further.
"There are Shinigami who, despite having committed no crime, are considered dangerous by Seireitei's standards, and since they can't be tried or sentenced in the traditional way, they're instead sealed away—locked up because of what they might become, not what they've done."
"And without Zanpakutō?" Moyu asked, already anticipating the answer.
"More dangerous," she admitted, "much more."
Eventually, they arrived before a massive gate etched in spiritual warding, the stone weathered but still formidable.
Soi-Fon paused, her voice softer than usual. "Kuchiki Moyu... be careful."
Before he could respond, she vanished in a flash of Shunpō, leaving only silence and stone behind.
He chuckled faintly, shaking his head as he stepped into the shadows ahead.
---
The Nest of Maggots was just as its name implied—a sprawling prison where the stone corridors twisted like veins in the earth, where stalactites dripped water that echoed in hollow rhythms, and where the air, thick with damp and decay, stifled all but the strongest will.
After descending deeper into the structure, Moyu reached a massive vermilion gate covered in intricate Kidō incantations, and with a silent nod from the guards, the doors were opened.
Inside, it was not what he expected—it was almost ordinary, with rough rock walls, a low ceiling, and a strange artificial glow that provided just enough light to breed discomfort.
"Get in," a muffled voice ordered from within.
Immediately upon entering, he felt dozens of eyes lock onto him, the Reiatsu of the prisoners crawling over his skin like claws—predatory, starved, feral in a way that went beyond hunger.
"Fresh meat?" one of them jeered, followed by a chorus of voices—leering, mocking, taunting.
"Look at him... soft and tender!"
"Idiot! He's a man!"
"Real men like other men!"
The filth here wasn't confined to the physical space—it seeped through the spiritual presence of the inmates, a sickness that saturated the air.
The iron bars creaked, and a monstrous, sexless figure slithered forward from the darkness, mouth dripping, eyes wide and gleaming. "Talk to me, pretty boy," it crooned, voice oozing venom.
Others peeked from their cells, chuckling, whispering, waiting to see what would happen.
Moyu's eyes narrowed as he watched them, and in his mind, he didn't see threats—he saw roaches.
Then the first real challenge emerged.
A hulking man, muscles thick and corded, stepped directly into Moyu's path and reached out with one massive hand. "Why are you—"
A sharp crack rang through the corridor, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The man screamed as his arms twisted in unnatural directions, his strength collapsing under the pain.
"I don't like being touched," Moyu said, his voice calm and resolute.
But the man, driven by more instinct than sense, charged again with a guttural roar.
Moyu moved instantly. "White Hits Skill—Tiger Blow."
His palm struck the man's face with terrifying force, and the impact drove him into the ground so hard the stone cracked and dust billowed in the wake, with vibrations rolling outward like thunder.
When the dust settled, Moyu stood alone, unscathed, and the hulking man lay unconscious in a shallow crater behind him.
The silence that followed was thick and reverent.
Every pair of eyes that had once looked on him with hunger now watched with caution and an unfamiliar thread of respect.
No one moved again.
Moyu glanced around the corridor once more, then exhaled slowly.
"Disappointing," he muttered before turning his back and walking deeper into the Nest.
---
Seven days passed in absolute stillness.
Then the gates of the Nest of Maggots opened once more.
Soi-Fon stood there, arms crossed, her white captain's haori catching the dim light as she regarded him with an unreadable expression.
"It's time. Come with me."
Moyu offered a wry smile, saying nothing, as her silent presence alone was enough to acknowledge everything that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
As they began to walk together, he noticed immediately that she wasn't heading toward Noble Street.
"Where are we going?" he asked, sensing something deliberate in her direction.
She paused just long enough to make him curious, then answered quietly.
"To First Division headquarters," she said, her voice composed but hinting at something more, "the captain handover ceremony is about to begin."
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