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A voice steeped in despair rang out across the desolate field, its echo carrying the kind of hopelessness that only absolute destruction could provoke—a wail born from watching everything crumble beyond recovery.
Kuchiki Moyu, already formidable enough to shift the balance of any battlefield by mere presence, had stunned even his enemies. But what truly rewrote the rules of engagement was the silent emergence of a Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar Menos Grande standing resolutely by his side—a force whose very existence erased any notion of parity.
Ordinary Vasto Lorde-class Menos Grandes, birthed in the cold, predatory depths of Hueco Mundo, were monstrous beings capable of contending with the mightiest Captains of the Gotei 13—and in rare, devastating cases, even surpassing them. Yet when one evolved into an Arrancar, casting off the mindless hunger of its base form and forging power into intelligent, focused lethality, it became something entirely different: a predator with purpose, precision, and the mercilessness of calculation.
Had Kurotsuchi Mayuri been in his prime—unscathed, intact, and armed with his full scientific arsenal—he still would've stood no chance against someone like Neliel Tu Odelschwanck. But that possibility existed only in theory. In reality, his Bankai had been obliterated, his body was laced with deep trauma, and his soul trembled beneath the strain of mounting fractures.
"So," Moyu said, voice unnervingly composed as he leveled his gaze, obsidian eyes devoid of hesitation, "do you know why I brought Nilu here?"
Every syllable slipped from his mouth with the clinical sharpness of a scalpel, slicing through Mayuri's fragile defenses and flaying what remained of his once-formidable confidence.
Though Nilu had yet to fully recover from devouring Nnoitra Gilga's volatile Reiatsu—a chaotic, unstable power that had threatened to tear her apart from within—Moyu had taken personal responsibility for her regeneration. He had led her through the dark plains of Hueco Mundo, hunting Menos Grandes in succession, each one consumed to feed her starving spiritual body. When that wasn't enough, he had poured his own compressed Reiatsu into her—dense, refined, purified beyond anything the Hollow realm could offer—until she could stand again, stronger than ever before.
What stood beside him now was no longer merely an ally or companion. She was the living embodiment of unrelenting growth, of power distilled through suffering and war. A peak-tier Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar, she no longer bent to limitations, no longer feared dilution. She was pure and perfect in the most terrifying sense.
"Kurotsuchi Mayuri," Moyu intoned, his voice dropping into a low, deliberate cadence, "do you understand the greatest difference between yourself and Urahara Kisuke?"
The moment that name left his lips, Mayuri's gaze shifted, fire rekindling in hollowed eyes, the weight of their long-standing rivalry dragging his thoughts like iron through mud.
"Urahara Kisuke," Moyu continued, his tone flat, his pace relentless, "possesses the foresight to craft countermeasures long before the threat exists. He constructs answers to problems that haven't yet formed, preparing layers upon layers of defenses and possibilities."
"You, by contrast," he said, each word sharpened like a blade unsheathed mid-sentence, "react only after the knife is already at your throat. You adapt quickly, yes—brilliantly even—but always from a position of desperation, cobbling solutions together from unstable fragments of data while standing in the shadow of imminent destruction."
As Moyu stepped forward, the air around him turned frigid, his presence alone heavy enough to force silence from even the boldest Division.
"And today, that fatal dependency on improvisation is exactly what doomed you," he said, voice flat as judgment. "When reality outpaces your ability to adjust, the impossible remains just that—impossible."
"Accept it."
Then, without fanfare, Nilu opened her mouth, unleashing a monstrous tide of Reiatsu that surged with a cataclysmic roar. The pressure alone collapsed the ground beneath her, forming a crater over ten meters deep, as soil and stone alike shattered under the weight of her spiritual eruption.
A red glow ignited at her lips, the light pulsing, tightening, and intensifying until it gathered into something searing, alive, and apocalyptic.
In the next breath—a heartbeat poised on the edge of ruin—the sky split apart.
A Cero of incomprehensible magnitude roared forth, a spiraling blast of crimson energy that ripped through the shattered terrain, carving destruction into the battlefield as it thundered toward Mayuri like divine condemnation incarnate.
Wang Xu's Flash.
And yet, Mayuri remained unmoving. His expression—once laced with desperation and defiance—now held only eerie calm. It was no longer the look of a dying man but of a scientist who had tasted the boundaries of death and found them inconsequential.
"Death," he murmured into the storm bearing down upon him, "isn't my destination."
He didn't move—not because he lacked options, but because he knew those options had lost all meaning.
The Cero struck him with full force, a spiraling beam of annihilation that tore apart flesh, soul, and essence in a single instant. The very atoms of his spiritual matter disintegrated, scattered into oblivion by the fury of her unleashed might.
In the span of a single heartbeat, Kurotsuchi Mayuri ceased to exist. No remains lingered. No fragments endured. Only a deep, scorched scar in the earth—miles long and blackened—remained as testament to his end.
Within Moyu's perception, Mayuri's spiritual signature had been erased entirely. Not even the faintest echo remained, as if the man had never existed at all.
But despite the clarity of that erasure, Moyu couldn't bring himself to call it death with certainty. He had witnessed beings like Orochimaru in the ninja realm or Voldemort in the world of wizards—entities who returned from void and oblivion even after their souls had been seemingly shattered. True extinction took time. Decades. Centuries.
And so, though Mayuri had undeniably fallen, Moyu remained cautious. Because those who are truly gone do not return—but in this universe, finality was often an illusion.
Above them, the storm of Reiatsu that had darkened the skies began to dissipate slowly, retreating like a receding tide. Yet its echoes stretched far beyond the battlefield, radiating across dimensions and stirring spiritual forces on a scale that shook even the distant corners of Soul Society.
Within seconds, several colossal spiritual pressures surged from the heart of Seireitei, blazing like beacons in the distance, proof that the Gotei 13 had felt every tremor.
From a high elevation overlooking the scene, Tsunayashiro Tokinada stopped in his tracks. A grin curled across his face, and then laughter erupted—wild, ragged, and fraying at the edges of sanity.
"Ha! Ha ha ha ha!"
"Kuchiki Moyu… it's over."
"I may have lost today," he gasped between broken cackles, "but you can't kill me now. The Captains are coming."
He was gambling on their arrival, fully aware that the sheer scale of spiritual disruption would force the Gotei to intervene—and that their presence would demand Moyu surrender to legal judgment before the Central 46.
"All that's left now," he muttered with triumphant malice, "is judgment."
"You think I can't kill you?" Moyu asked quietly, raising a single finger. From it, golden lightning crackled and danced, volatile and final, as if the storm itself awaited release.
"When you chose to stand against me," he said without inflection, "you forfeited your future."
"Hadō #63: Raikōhō."
A radiant spear of lightning exploded from his fingertip, tearing through the air like divine decree, and in the next instant, Tsunayashiro Tokinada was gone—obliterated in a burst of golden destruction, leaving behind only charred cinders and a blackened outline in the earth.
By the time the Captains arrived, the landscape had already been transformed into something unrecognizable. No battlefield remained—only a lifeless wasteland stretched out before them, hundreds of miles stripped bare, wind poisoned with residual Reiatsu as it howled through the gouged terrain.
"Did Hueco Mundo invade Seireitei?" Kyoraku Shunsui murmured, standing beside Moyu, pink haori rippling gently in the poisoned wind, his ever-present dogtail grass still balanced in the corner of his mouth.
"Ahem… might be because of her," Ukitake Jūshirō replied, voice low as his eyes settled warily on Nilu, whose spiritual pressure still vibrated through the air like a weapon not yet sheathed.
A Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar had entered Seireitei, and she stood unchallenged among them.
"No matter what," Komamura Sajin growled, his deep voice cutting through the tension as his hand settled heavily on his Zanpakutō, "that Menos Grande must be brought under control."
Though his Division had been nearest, Komamura's arrival had been delayed—not from weakness, but due to the sheer weight of his armored form and slower Shunpo.
"This—has the answers you need." Without hesitation, Moyu removed a ring-shaped device from his finger and handed it over. The emblem of the Technology Development Bureau glowed faintly on its surface.
Though the battlefield had been shielded by Kidō barriers that prevented live surveillance, the device's internal monitor had recorded everything.
As the projection began to play, silence cloaked the chamber, thickening like clouds before a storm. Several Captains, unconsciously, allowed their spiritual pressure to rise, warping the very air with tension.
Among the researchers present, one figure—Bulbulus—began to tremble visibly, his green-tinged skin paling as pressure bore down upon him like a mountain.
When the truth was laid bare—when the footage showed Kurotsuchi Mayuri as the mastermind behind the chaos—Bulbulus's legs buckled. He collapsed, trembling, nearly falling to the ground.
Moyu said nothing. He allowed the man to crawl away in disgrace, dignity reduced to the cleanup duties of someone who had once walked among geniuses.
"Whew…" Shunsui muttered, scratching beneath his hat as the feed ended. "There it is. No denying it now—Tsunayashiro Tokinada violated Soul Society law on a scale even Central 46 can't spin away."
"First he freed a criminal from the Great Underground Prison… then he framed and tried to assassinate a Captain."
"And these folks…" He crouched suddenly, leaning close to the quivering Bulbulus with a lopsided smile that made the temperature in the room drop.
Bulbulus shook harder, his composure unraveling.
"But ignorance isn't guilt," Shunsui said with surprising gentleness. "You just followed orders."
"Old Man Yama won't punish you for that."
The words broke something loose. With a sob, Bulbulus collapsed completely, tears pouring down his cheeks as he gasped out words of gratitude, his relief overwhelming any fear that lingered.
"The battlefield is secure," Ukitake rasped between coughs, voice worn thin from exhaustion. "But what about the girl?"
Nilu, now in her child form, clung tightly to Moyu's sleeve, her eyes wide and uncertain under the oppressive weight of so many Captain-class powers pressing in.
"Don't worry," Moyu replied softly, running his hand through her hair with a gentleness that ignored the eyes watching them. "I'll handle it."
He had anticipated this moment long ago, though he hadn't expected it to arrive so suddenly.
The other Captains said nothing. But in their silence, questions lingered—about Nilu, about her strength, and about whether any of them could survive if they ever found themselves on the other end of her power.
Then, without warning, the screen flared to life.
After a flicker of static, the image solidified into the face of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni. Even through the filter of communication, his presence silenced the room instantly.
"Old Man Yama…"
"Captain-Commander…"
"Head Captain…"
Yamamoto's gaze swept the room, and for a single breath, silence reigned.
"I am already aware of what occurred," he said at last, voice restrained but furious, like heat sealed within steel. "It has been a long time since Seireitei faced an internal upheaval of this magnitude."
He brought his cane down with thunderous finality.
"Emergency Captain's Meeting—begin!"
BOOM.
The screen flashed white, then went dark.
No one dared object.
This was no longer a matter of discipline. It was a breakdown of order itself.
A noble house leader and a Gotei Captain had conspired to commit treason. Soul Society was at war with its own bones.
Even the Great Infernal Hell might not be enough for the punishment this demanded.
Inside the First Division Barracks, within the Captain's Chamber, Yamamoto sat tall with his cane in hand, his burning gaze sweeping over the gathered Captains.
"You know what transpired."
"But what remains unclear," he said, turning toward Moyu, "is motive."
"Captain Moyu—explain why Tsunayashiro Tokinada and Kurotsuchi Mayuri targeted you."
Though fury radiated beneath his composure, Yamamoto's voice remained steady. The savage warrior of a thousand years ago had been replaced by a silent force of judgment.
Moyu met his gaze without flinching.
"It began with a visit," he said plainly. "Tsunayashiro Tokinada came to the Kuchiki estate. After Shiba Isshin's mysterious disappearance, the Shiba Clan's political power waned. Tokinada saw opportunity in that weakness and attempted to seize influence by forging an alliance between the Shiba and Kuchiki clans."
He paused, then continued with unwavering calm.
"But then Kaien Shiba attained Bankai. The Shiba's position stabilized, and Tokinada's plans unraveled. He shifted from diplomacy to manipulation, and eventually, to aggression."
"And somehow, Kurotsuchi Mayuri became entangled in his schemes."
"As for his deeper motivations, I can only speculate," Moyu finished, voice unwavering, "but the crimes committed speak louder than intent ever could."
The evidence was undeniable—a noble head orchestrating conspiracy, freeing a convict from Hell, and targeting a serving Captain.
Even noble blood could not shield that magnitude of treachery.
And Moyu had acted—decisively.
When he finished, silence held the room.
Even Shunsui found no joke to offer.
Because in front of Yamamoto Genryūsai, even silence had weight.
At last, the Head Captain spoke.
"I understand."
"But this Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar…"
His eyes sharpened like twin blades.
"…do you have a justification for her presence?"
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