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At the outer edge of Hueco Mundo, the emptiness of space rippled. A black cavity tore open, yawning wide, and from its depths a shadow plummeted like a meteor.
Boom.
The impact gouged a massive crater into the white desert floor, sand scattering in every direction. From within the dust, a youth crawled out, scowling and muttering curses under his breath.
"What the hell... what kind of rubbish contraption was that... damn Urahara Kisuke and his twisted 'boundary-crossing' designs..." Su Li slapped sand off his clothes with open irritation. He had planned to make a stylish arrival—something sharp, composed, worthy of a captain's entrance. Instead, he had been hurled face-first into the dirt. Perhaps this was what it meant to be "airborne."
Still, he could hardly blame himself. The device Kisuke had devised was insane: a roller-coaster of spirals and sickening twists, ending with a blind drop not even aimed at the ground. He was lucky to land in one piece.
At least, he thought, brushing himself off, no one had witnessed the disgrace. Otherwise, he would be forced to remind Kisuke what "love going in circles" really meant.
Straightening, he cast his gaze outward. Before him stretched an endless wasteland of pale sand, an empty horizon without vegetation, without life, not even the shadow of a beast. "Truly desolate..." Su Li murmured with reluctant awe, taking in the boundless desert. Then his eyes lifted, and far in the distance, his true target gleamed—the towering fortress of Las Noches. His limbs still felt stiff from the chaotic landing, but with lazy steps he began to walk toward the palace.
Within Las Noches itself, the vast hall of white stone lay cloaked in silence. Aizen SĹŤsuke reclined on the throne of pale jade, cheek resting against one hand, his eyes closed in a mockery of ease. To his left and right stood Ichimaru Gin, smiling with snake-like indifference, and TĹŤsen Kaname, composed and still. Below them, the Espada waited, cold-faced and silent, an assembly of blades in human form.
The air was tense, filled with expectation.
Then, at last, the echo of footsteps stirred the chamber as a young girl was led in. Dressed in a school uniform, orange-red hair catching the light, a small six-petal hairpin glinting at her temple—Inoue Orihime entered.
Aizen's eyes slid open. His smile was calm, polished, and terrible. "Welcome to our castle, Las Noches. You are Inoue Orihime."
Her lips trembled. She lowered her gaze, voice quivering. "Y-yes..."
"I apologize for the sudden summons," Aizen's voice drifted like a silk thread, filling every corner of the hall. "But would you indulge us by displaying your ability?"
Orihime flinched, as if her strength itself was being tugged from her body. Aizen tilted his head slightly, recognizing her discomfort. "It seems some here are displeased by your presence... is that not right, Luppi?"
The Espada in question turned away with an ugly sneer. "Tch. There's no need to spell it out. All our battles, our missions, and in the end it was just to drag this girl here? Do you expect me to accept that?" Her voice rang bitter and sharp, eyes flashing with resentment. She had thought Ulquiorra's mission was of utmost importance; to discover it was nothing more than bringing Orihime back left her livid.
Aizen's gaze remained mild. "Forgive me... I had not expected you to be beaten so badly."
The mockery in his tone sent blood rushing to Luppi's face, her expression twisting, but Aizen was already looking past her. His eyes returned to Orihime, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"So then... to show them clearly the extent of your power, Orihime—restore Grimmjow's arm."
The hall stirred. Orihime's breath caught; Grimmjow himself blinked in disbelief. Luppi scoffed. "Impossible. That trash's arm was blasted into ash. There is nothing left to heal. She's no god."
But Orihime turned without protest, her voice a fragile whisper. "Shun Shun Rikka... I reject." Two golden petals of light flared from her hairpin, weaving slowly around Grimmjow's severed limb.
"Oi! Are you listening, stupid woman?" Luppi barked, laughter cruel. "If you're just putting on a show to save your life, give up now. If you fail, I'll kill you myself!" Her grin widened. "If your power is fake, you're useless to us!"
Yet Orihime did not answer, only focused on the golden shield of rejection spreading across Grimmjow's arm.
And then, before their eyes, the impossible took form. Muscle, bone, skin—everything that had been annihilated rebuilt itself. In moments, his arm was whole again.
Luppi's eyes went wide, her voice breaking. "What... what is this? How can this be?! This isn't recovery... it's something else entirely... what the hell did you just do, woman?!"
Aizen's voice flowed into the stunned silence. "Do you not see? It is not healing. It is rejection. She denies the very occurrence of events, limits reality itself. What should have been irreversible is simply undone. This power... exceeds even the standards set by God." His gaze lingered on Orihime, gleaming with unfeigned admiration. "Indeed, it is an ability that trespasses upon divinity itself."
The Espada shifted, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and reluctant awe.
Orihime's hands shook, but Aizen's words only made Grimmjow laugh. He flexed his restored hand, grin sharp. "Oi, woman. There's one more thing. Fix this too." He lifted his shirt, revealing the scarred wound at his side.
Orihime hesitated, then raised her hand again. Light poured forth, sweeping away the scabs until the tattoo of a "6" shone clearly on his skin once more.
Luppi's face went pale. "Grimmjow... what are you doing?"
He grinned wider. "Heh..."
In the next heartbeat, his fist punched through her chest. Blood burst from her lips as she stared at him in disbelief. "You... Grimmjow..."
"Goodbye, trash," he said coldly, lifting his palm as crimson light gathered.
"No—wait—!"
The Cero erupted, engulfing her. When the blaze cleared, only charred fragments remained. Luppi Antenor, the temporary Sexta Espada, was gone.
Grimmjow let the corpse fall, throwing his head back in wild laughter. "Hahahaha! My power is restored! My throne reclaimed! I am Sexta Espada—Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!" His voice rang through the halls, a storm of arrogance.
Around him, the Espada's gazes varied—some indifferent, some amused, some faintly shocked—but none intervened.
Orihime stood frozen, trembling, fingers clutched at the hem of her skirt as the echoes of Grimmjow's laughter pounded through her skull. Her back was slick with cold sweat, and though she had accomplished the impossible, fear coiled tighter around her heart.
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