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Matsumoto Rangiku paused at the threshold of the office, chest heaving as she forced her breathing under control. She had clearly rushed here from First Division's barracks without pause, urgency burning in her steps.
"According to the Technology Development Bureau's report…" she said quickly, "…the Thirteenth Division's garrison in Naruki City has been annihilated. Not a single soul survived. The situation is grave."
The words hung heavy. If true, this was not merely a patrol lost—it was an existential breach. Seireitei's balance, even the Court of Pure Souls itself, was being threatened. By regulation, the Tenth Division was obligated to issue the highest-level emergency notice and join First Division in signing a joint declaration.
Moyu's brow furrowed. Naruki City? A minor place, not especially dense with spiritual particles. Hardly the kind of ground to attract such devastation. Unless…
Illusory chaos. Again.
"Arrancar… a Hollow riot," he muttered. His eyes sharpened. At once he rose and moved for the door. "Ready a deployment to the human world. Summon the other captains." His voice dropped to command, the air of decision leaving no room for hesitation.
Before Rangiku could shut her mouth, his figure had vanished beyond the office doors, leaving only the fading pressure of his Reiatsu behind. She exhaled, lips twisting. "This guy's power… it keeps growing out of reach."
---
At First Division headquarters, Moyu entered to find Kyōraku Shunsui and Sui-Feng already present. Both greeted him—Shunsui with his usual calm, Sui-Feng stiffly, as though still adjusting to how she addressed him.
Head Captain Yamamoto opened his eyes a fraction, ancient gaze gleaming with quiet fire. "You are aware of the disturbance in the living world."
Moyu inclined his head. "Rangiku gave me the report."
"Then the old man will not waste words," Yamamoto said, his voice grave as stone. "Captain Kuchiki Moyu, you will take charge of this matter. Go to the human world at once. Quell the chaos."
Moyu's reply was simple. "Understood."
Yet Yamamoto raised a hand, his tone sharpening. "Remember to restrain yourself. If necessary, allow the limiters to be enforced."
Kyōraku added softly, "Be careful, Moyu."
Sui-Feng said nothing, though her eyes betrayed the flash of frustration and concern. Her duties kept her bound to Seireitei; she could only watch him go.
Moyu gave a brief nod, turned, and strode back toward the Senkaimon where Rangiku waited. This disturbance was too large for him alone—reinforcements would surely follow—but he would be the first to set foot on the battlefield and stabilize the situation.
Arrancar. The word gnawed at him. Ordinary Gillian were disasters enough for the human world. True Arrancar, however, meant only one hand at work: Aizen Sōsuke. Nearly all artificially produced Arrancar belonged to him. If Naruki City was burning, it was part of Aizen's design. But to what end?
---
In the living world, Naruki City resembled the aftermath of apocalypse.
Menos Grande already dwarfed cities in scale, their existence alone equivalent to natural disasters. Yet here three Arrancar flew across the skies, their grotesque forms radiating unrestrained Reiatsu. The air itself warped, pressure so suffocating that ordinary humans collapsed in droves—some unconscious, others dead outright.
"The souls of this world are pathetic," one Arrancar sneered, his voice thick with disdain. "Not even fit for proper experiments."
"Crush them," another replied, laughter bubbling.
Before their destruction could spread further, the Senkaimon tore open in the sky. Out poured a tide of Reiatsu, vast and suffocating.
Moyu stepped forth, eyes narrowing at the devastation below. "Arrogant," he murmured. "Do you wreak havoc on the human world so freely, with no thought of your own deaths?"
Rangiku followed from the gate, her face blanching at the carnage. Streets lay carpeted in corpses, spiritual and human alike.
One of the Arrancar, a middle-aged man with theatrical bravado, turned at the pressure. His eyes lit with savage joy. "Shinigami!" he cried. "At last! The stage belongs once more to the magnificent Dorudoni-sama!"
He spread his arms in introduction. "Arrancar Number 103—Dorudoni Alessandro del Socaccio! Remember my name, for it will be the last you hear before your annihilation!"
Moyu's eyes narrowed. Recognition came easily. A discarded Espada—stripped of rank for lacking destructive power, now reduced to a triple-digit number. Dorudoni, with his absurdly long name. The other two, Lumina and Verona, were Szayelaporro's creations—failures by design, supplemental soldiers upgraded beyond their old limitations. Yet the Reiatsu they released hinted at refinement.
Rangiku unsheathed her Zanpakutō in a hiss of steel, Reiatsu swirling as she shifted into battle stance. She needed no command to fight, but still waited for her captain's word.
"Scatter, Rangiku," Moyu said calmly, without lifting his gaze. "No need to be tense. This won't take long."
Dorudoni's face twisted into disdain. "A bold tongue for a mere Shinigami. Prepare yourself. Spin, Baragán's storm!"
With a roar, he raised his blade, releasing it instantly. Reiatsu thundered outward, drowning Naruki City in crushing weight. Rangiku flinched at the sudden surge—it pressed even her lungs into strain.
Moyu did not move. His expression did not shift. Slowly, he lifted one arm, extended a single finger, and spoke in a voice that carried like steel through silence.
"Hadō number sixty-three—Raikōhō."
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