"There are even Gillians in this Hunting Tournament? Perfect. I can finally test the Shikai I just mastered."
A young noble scion clad in a standard Shinigami uniform stared at the sudden swarm of Menos Grande descending into the arena, his face flushed with excitement. Without hesitation, he released his Zanpakutō and rushed forward.
But not everyone was blinded by enthusiasm.
"Wait! Those Menos masks don't bear soul-chain marks. Their spiritual pressure isn't suppressed. They're not domesticated!"
Several nobles reacted at last, retreating in alarm. Unfortunately, most of these heirs had long grown accustomed to staged hunts and ceremonial duels. Against true, unrestrained Gillians, they were utterly outmatched.
The brash noble who had just shouted about testing his blade was abruptly torn in half. One portion of his body spun through the air; the other disappeared into a Gillian's cavernous mouth.
"No!"
From a viewing courtyard, a middle-aged noble in ornate robes staggered forward, watching his son's upper torso twitch helplessly in the dirt.
Only then did the observing aristocrats realize something had gone terribly wrong.
"Vice-Captain Yamada! Save my son—now!"
The man's voice cracked with desperation as he turned toward Yamada Seinosuke.
Though Vice-Captain of the Fourth Division, Yamada was no mere healer. His combat ability was fully comparable to other Vice-Captains within the Gotei 13. He drew his Asauchi at once and prepared to breach the barrier.
But someone moved faster.
Ito Makoto had already entered the battlefield.
In a blur of motion, he cut through the nearest Gillians, his blade carving efficient arcs through towering white masks.
In the central pavilion, Kazumichi Asayuki remained composed. No panic touched her expression as she observed the chaos. Only when she saw Ito Makoto charge forward did a faint gleam flicker in her violet eyes.
Then, without hesitation, she removed the luxurious outer robe symbolizing her status as Xia Dalulu Head, revealing the Shinigami uniform beneath. With a swift Shunpo, she entered the barrier.
"Ito Fourth Seat, I'll assist you!"
What no one noticed was the small talisman that drifted silently from her hand the instant she crossed the boundary.
Outside, Yamada Seinosuke led a contingent of Gotei 13 members stationed at the perimeter and attempted to follow.
They struck the barrier.
It did not yield.
"Hadō #31—Shakkahō!"
"Hadō #33—Sōkatsui!"
Flashes of red and blue Kidō detonated against the surface, yet the barrier absorbed the attacks without ripple. Since Kazumichi Asayuki entered, it had become sealed from the outside.
Worse still, dense mist now filled the interior, obscuring all visibility.
"This tournament was filed under Fifth Division jurisdiction. Go—summon Captain Aizen immediately!"
Yamada's tone sharpened. As one Shinigami departed at once, he felt a surge of regret.
If he had not agreed to Tokinada Tsunayashiro's subtle request to attend…
Inside the barrier, Ito Makoto assessed the battlefield.
Too many Gillians.
He shifted his grip, holding his blade horizontally.
"Chīmèi Sēnlúo, Móryō Bǎnshō, Zhūshén Zhòngshēng, Jiē Huà Chéntǔ—Annihilation God."
"Secret Technique—Four Directions Realm!"
A vast gray-black square barrier expanded outward, nearly overlapping the massive hunting enclosure itself.
The effect was immediate.
Hundreds of Gillians froze mid-motion, their movements suppressed, their reactions dulled.
"First Form—Quake."
Ito Makoto flicked his blade.
Vibration rippled outward. Because the Four Directions Realm now spanned kilometers, its intensity thinned, and he deliberately refrained from drawing upon his main body's spiritual pressure. The result was not lethal—but it was crippling.
The Gillians convulsed in agony, temporarily losing mobility.
It was sufficient.
With the path cleared, Ito Makoto advanced directly toward the final cluster of iron gates.
From within one gate pulsed a far denser spiritual pressure—distinctly Hollow, yet refined.
He flashed forward as an afterimage and crossed the threshold.
Beyond the gate was not an open pen but a concealed passageway—a long, narrow corridor stretching into darkness.
At its end stood a humanoid Menos Grande.
Approximately five meters tall, its dark-blue body bore dozens of pale arms extending from its back. Each was pinned to the wall by Kidō-infused steel stakes. Chains wrapped its torso. Black cloth covered its eyes; bandages sealed its mouth.
The spiritual pressure emanating from it surpassed that of Grimmjow in his early Adjuchas stage, though it had yet to approach Harribel or Ulquiorra prior to their Arrancar evolution. It was an extreme Adjuchas—perhaps only a step from Vasto Lorde.
A muffled roar echoed beneath the bindings.
"Wonderweiss Margela," Ito Makoto said evenly.
The bound Hollow stiffened.
"Who… are you? How… do you know my name?"
The voice that emerged was childlike, shockingly at odds with its monstrous form.
So it was him.
Not yet altered. Not yet hollowed of mind by Aizen's experiments.
At first, seeing the massive Hueco Mundo rupture, Ito Makoto suspected Aizen's interference. But Aizen already controlled Las Noches and had no need for such theatrics. This was someone else's scheme.
If anything would draw Fleur to open a rift here—
It would be Wonderweiss.
"Who I am is irrelevant," Ito Makoto replied calmly. "What matters is that I can get you out. Don't resist. Follow my lead."
"…Okay."
Receiving consent, Ito Makoto sliced through the Kidō chains in rapid succession and tore away the bandages.
The instant the seals broke—
"ROAR!"
Wonderweiss lunged.
"A beast remains a beast."
Ito Makoto did not hesitate. He drew thirty percent of his main body's spiritual pressure. His Reiatsu surged to Captain-class in an instant.
Within the amplifying field of the Four Directions Realm, he moved faster than Wonderweiss could perceive, placing Annihilation God against the Hollow's throat.
"Be quiet, and I send you back to Hueco Mundo. Resist—and I end you here."
Under that cold certainty, Wonderweiss stilled.
Outside the corridor, Kazumichi Asayuki walked unhurriedly among the immobilized Gillians. She did not strike them. She did not interfere with Ito Makoto's suppression.
Instead, she approached the half-bodied noble heir still clinging to life.
"Kasu…mioji…Head… please… save me…"
His fingers twitched weakly.
"Of course, Sasakura. Hold on. I'm here."
Her steps were light, almost tender.
Then—
A silver-white longsword materialized in her hand, slender and etched with intricate, unnatural patterns.
"Pfft."
She drove it cleanly through his chest.
A faint sucking sound followed.
Within moments, nothing remained of Sasakura but torn Shinigami robes.
The blade had devoured him entirely.
Kazumichi Asayuki stroked the weapon's surface with quiet affection. A thin, sickly smile curved across her flawless face.
"Don't hurry, my darling. There is so much true blood here."
Her violet eyes gleamed through the mist.
"Today, I will let you feast to your heart's content."
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