The chains rattled as the elevator descended, echoing through the damp, suffocating dark of Infinite Hell. Even here, among the condemned, tension stirred.
"Hmm? That diarrhea-ridden Magellan again?"
Former chief jailer Shiryu peered toward the sound with a crooked grin.
Not far away, a middle-aged pirate with a face like a demon leaned against the stone wall. "Wonder who it'll be this time. Better not be some nameless weakling."
A one-armed blind man sneered from the next cell. "Who ends up here without a name?"
"Shut it, all of you!" barked an elder who looked as if he'd been dead for years.
"Old fossil, you tired of living?" someone snapped back.
"If we were outside, I'd slaughter the lot of you."
The noise grew sharper, the threat of bloodshed thick in the air. Even caged, their savage instincts had not dulled. But as the elevator drew near, the uproar fell into eerie silence, as if choreographed.
New arrivals shivered, realization dawning. Then their eyes lit with feverish anticipation. At last. My turn has come.
From the depths came a booming laugh. "When the rookie shows up, let's give him a proper welcome. Make him feel our hospitality!"
Cackling broke out across Level Six, a grotesque chorus like the howls of the damned. Infinite Hell lived up to its name.
"Obey Lord Aizen?!"
Crocodile's mask slipped at those words.
He had been silent until now, but as the elevator rattled downward, he finally spoke. "Just what are you?"
As a former Warlord, he knew the truth: Impel Down was under the World Government, independent even of the Marines. There was no chain of command here, no deference to navy officers.
And yet these men, including the deputy warden himself, had only changed their attitude after Magellan stepped away.
His eyes narrowed on Aizen.
"What are you?"
Aizen lowered his head, repeating the words softly. The cultured gentility that always cloaked him vanished. In its place radiated sharp dominance, suffocating and absolute.
He lifted his gaze, granting Crocodile only a glimpse of his profile. As the elevator ground to a halt, he was the first to step out. Uta followed close behind.
In the cells beyond, countless monsters waited, bonded by despair into one cruel amusement. For them, the only joy left was to break whatever new soul was thrown to their pit.
The moment the gates opened, killing intent surged. Dozens of Conqueror's Haki flared, blending with raw malice and murderous bloodlust until the pressure was thick enough to choke. The air quaked like a bomb about to detonate.
But when the figure stepped into view, the chaos died.
Only the tap, tap of his boots rang out across Level Six.
The jeers, the roars, the threats—gone. Faces twisted, eyes wide. The predators looked as if they had seen a ghost.
"Damn it… it's that monster again."
"Who's the unlucky one this time? Please, not me."
Aizen had come here more times than they could count. Each visit left scars—bodies taken for experiments, pieces of soul ripped away.
Once, years could pass without a single death here. Since Aizen's arrival, many fell each year, their pride and flesh alike carved away. Even Redfield and Barrett had been reduced beneath his hand.
No one dared give him a "welcome." It was they who prayed not to be chosen.
"Has everyone been well?"
His voice carried into the silence.
No answer came.
Then, from a corner, a spark of defiance rose—a sliver of killing intent from a newcomer. He dared to strike at Aizen.
"Newcomers are always the liveliest."
For Aizen, it was nothing more than a breeze across the cheek. He turned, smiling faintly, and gestured toward Crocodile at his side.
"Welcome to Las Noches."