Chapter 139: The Unworthy
"An impressive glare, Might Guy," Aizen Sōsuke remarked, his voice a calm, condescending counterpoint to the jounin's visible fury. He stood perfectly still, his hands relaxed at his sides, not a single muscle tensed for combat. There was no reach for his Zanpakutō, no shift into a defensive stance. He was a statue of utter contempt, his expression one of mild, academic interest in the rage he was inciting.
Neither Guy's bestial fury nor Kakashi's sharp, analytical observation could compel him to move so much as a single, slight step.
Might Guy's face flushed a deep crimson. The sleeves of his green jumpsuit tore under the strain of his clenching fists, revealing the corded, powerful muscles of his arms. A killing intent so raw it was almost palpable condensed around him, a brewing storm waiting for its moment to break.
"Guy, don't fall for it! This is his usual method of provocation!" Kakashi's voice was sharp with urgency, the memory of their last encounter seared into his mind. He remembered it with perfect, nightmarish clarity: Aizen, not even lifting a hand, effortlessly binding the Green Beast with a spoken incantation. The terrifying ease with which he wielded such power was a scar on Kakashi's tactical soul.
"Provocation?" Aizen's chuckle was soft, derisive. "How ridiculous. What is there to fear?" His gaze swept over them, dismissive and final. "Have you already forgotten the scene from the festival? The memory of you kneeling on the ground? It seems you have."
Aizen lifted a hand, palm open, as if presenting the scene to them. A gentle breeze ruffled the hem of his pristine white robe, making him seem detached from the world itself, a being of a higher plane merely observing insects.
"Damn you!" Guy roared, the veins on his neck and forehead bulging grotesquely. "I won't allow you to speak such arrogance and despise the Will of Fire! A fanatic who betrays his comrades is only worthy of being crushed!"
His roar was a testament to his fallen state. He was blind to the trap, his rational mind being steadily devoured by the蝉 (cicada)-like persistence of his own rage.
"Might Guy," Aizen's voice dropped, becoming cold and precise. His hand, previously open, now slid into his sleeve and rested lightly on the hilt of Kyōka Suigetsu. "Do you... hate me? If you hate me, then simply let it out."
He paused, letting the promise of violence hang in the air. "I will make a special exception and deal with you with this blade."
"Guy, you must stay calm!" Kakashi insisted, his single visible eye wide, his face beaded with cold sweat. His every sense was screaming, his mind a tightly coiled spring. "We just need to hold out until Asuma and Kurenai arrive!"
He knew, with the certainty of a seasoned warrior, that against an enemy of Aizen's caliber, a single mistake, a single revealed opening, meant instant death.
"Until Sarutobi Asuma arrives?" Aizen repeated, a disdainful smile touching his lips. "It seems... you truly believe in your partners."
When he said the word "partners," he infused it with such profound scorn it was like a physical blow.
"It must be difficult for you to understand, a concept like trust," Kakashi shot back, his own voice hardening. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, and when they reopened, the familiar three-tomoe pattern of the Sharingan swirled to life, a crimson counter to Aizen's oppressive calm.
"For me, the idea of companionship does not exist. It is a fantasy for the weak to cling to," Aizen stated, his voice flat and absolute. "All I see before me is your end."
With that final pronouncement, the hand that had been resting on his Zanpakutō slowly lowered. The insult was profound. He didn't even deem them worthy of his sword being drawn.
"That's enough! I'll make you pay for your contempt!" Guy's rage finally boiled over. His foot slammed into the ground, cratering the earth as he launched forward like a green missile. His fist, containing a lifetime of dedication and all his current hatred, flew straight for Aizen's face—an Angry Fist meant to shatter mountains.
Yet, Aizen remained motionless. He didn't flinch, didn't block, didn't evade. He simply watched the enraged fist hurtle toward him, his expression unchanged.
BOOM!
A thunderous impact shook the air, but it was not the sound of fist meeting face.
Ulquiorra Cifer stood between them, his form having appeared in an instant, without a sound or a flicker of movement. Might Guy's full-power punch was caught squarely in Ulquiorra's open palm. The force of the blow dissipated against the Espada's green-tinted skin without so much as rocking him back on his heels.
Unscathed.
"How... how is this possible?" Guy stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief. "That speed... when did he—?"
"With your level of strength," Ulquiorra interrupted, his voice as cold and empty as the void, "you are not qualified to lay a hand on Lord Aizen."
The declaration was absolute. Ulquiorra's free hand shot out in a casual, backhanded swipe. It wasn't a technique, just a simple, powerful motion. His hardened palm connected with Guy's arm, and the force behind it was like being hit by a tidal wave.
Might Guy was flung backward as if he weighed nothing, his body skidding and tearing two deep furrows in the earth before he crashed to a halt next to a horrified Kakashi.
"It's horrible," Guy gasped, clutching his numb arm. "This physical power... it far surpasses my own."
The cold eyes, the unbreakable skin, the utter lack of emotion—Guy felt a chilling certainty that this being was not human. He could sense no passion, no anger, only a primitive, hollow intent to kill.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
Seizing the moment of distraction, Kakashi's hands flew through seals. He drew upon a massive amount of chakra, and a colossal sphere of fire erupted from his mouth, roaring toward Ulquiorra with enough heat to melt stone. It was a desperate, all-or-nothing attack.
The fireball engulfed the Espada, the intense heat distorting the air. But as the flames cleared, Kakashi's blood ran cold.
Ulquiorra stood completely untouched. He merely brushed a hand over his shoulder as if dusting off a bit of lint, the last tongues of flame snuffing out against his Hierro.
Unscathed.
"This can't be real," Kakashi whispered, his heart sinking like a stone. "Even a Kage-level shinobi couldn't just... no... what kind of monster is he?"
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