The battlefield was already a storm of fire, thunder, scripture-light, and molten rivers. The rookies strained against the tide, their sweat, blood, and Shinrei burning like kindling in the furnace of war. The veterans blazed like gods, their Eclipse Forms bending reality itself.
And yet—
Sloth still stood.
His flesh blistered from Zeke's magma. His chains cracked and coiled back on themselves in Sensei Kurosawa's mirror. Raiden's lightning storm had slowed his every twitch, forcing his bodies into lagging delay. His three souls bled screams into the air.
Still… he grinned.
Sloth's shadows churned, vomiting voices and faces. A thousand mouths, a thousand laughs. The battlefield dimmed, light itself retreating.
Then came his whisper soft, but it drowned everything.
"Void Art… Soul Society."
The ground shattered like glass.
The world folded.
