Chapter 180 - CHAPTER 180:Killing God?

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When the boy in white appeared, every Hollow froze in shock. His footsteps echoed in measured rhythm—da, da, da—each step leaving a lotus-shaped ripple of crimson where his sandals pressed into the blood-soaked sand. His plain white haori drifted softly in the wind, untouched by the gore around him. Expression unreadable, he walked through the slaughter as though the hell before him was nothing more than an empty corridor.

The Adjuchas stirred uneasily.

"Hey, brat! Where the hell did you come from?!"

"No reiatsu… there's nothing on him!"

"That stench—he's not one of us!"

"Some straggler from the outer circle?!"

They jeered, but the boy did not answer. His calm silence only sharpened their unease. One, bolder than the rest, snarled and leapt forward, swinging down a massive bone club aimed straight for his skull. In Hueco Mundo, there was no courtesy, no warning—only devouring or being devoured.

The impact thundered—boom!—but it was not the boy who shattered. A spray of blood mist burst into the air. The Adjuchas who had attacked was gone, dissolved into crimson vapor. The bone club vanished with it, crumbling into drifting white ash.

The Hollows recoiled in disbelief. They hadn't even seen the boy lift a hand. One moment their comrade was there, the next he was nothing but mist.

"What happened to Ziggs?!" another Adjuchas screamed in rage.

Before the words were finished—puff!—he too detonated into blood fog, limbs erased without sound or struggle.

Shock widened every monstrous eye. The boy continued forward, unhurried, expression unchanging, as if strolling in a garden.

Another Hollow shrieked and leapt, maw gaping wide—only to erupt midair into a rain of red droplets. Not a drop touched the boy's white robes. Wherever he stepped, it seemed, reality itself rejected the Hollows.

Panic broke their hunger.

"Damn it! Everyone—together!"

Dozens of Adjuchas lunged, black shapes converging. Each was erased the instant they crossed an invisible boundary. Puff, puff, puff! The air filled with the sound of bursting blood sacs. In seconds, the desert was painted with mist and falling flesh, the white figure walking untouched at its center.

Blood rained from the sky, soaking the sand into a deeper black-red. Yet the boy's clothes remained immaculate, each droplet sliding away before touching him. Step after step, the same steady rhythm carried him forward.

The three hidden figures cowered closer, splattered by warm rain. Their hearts seized with dread. They had begged for salvation, prayed for divine aid—and something had come. But this was no angel. No savior. This was a god of slaughter.

From the moment he appeared, not a single Adjuchas survived his passing. No intact bodies remained, only crimson haze scattered across the desert. In barely a dozen steps, nearly half of the horde had been annihilated without him ever seeming to move. Around him stretched an invisible domain—cross it, and one's body disintegrated instantly.

The trio trembled, clutching each other, certain they had entered his field as well. If so, their deaths would be as quick as the rest. But somehow, impossibly, they were spared.

"Stay back! Don't approach that thing! There's something unnatural around him!" one of the surviving Adjuchas bellowed. The thirty or so left exchanged wary glances, then raised their heads in unison.

Dozens of throats glowed with searing light.

"Cero…" the hidden trio gasped, horror draining their faces.

A storm of crimson beams ignited the desert, the ruin where they cowered engulfed in the blast zone. Enough power to erase miles of sand rushed down upon them. They screamed in despair—until the boy raised one hand.

From his palm bloomed a gathering light—pale blue, cold and serene.

In the next instant, a single colossal beam tore through the battlefield. BOOOOM! The boy's Cero—a perfect lance of azure destruction—devoured the countless scarlet blasts and swallowed the Adjuchas whole. The explosion carved the horizon apart. A howling airwave ripped across the sands, flinging the child of the trio into the air until the other two dragged her down and shielded her beneath their bodies.

When the storm finally faded, silence reigned. The desert was gone—replaced by a massive crater gouged hundreds of miles across. Not a trace of the Adjuchas remained. No blood, no ash—nothing.

The trio lifted their heads weakly, eyes wide with terror and awe. Then, a voice, calm and cutting, drifted down to them.

"You three… how long do you plan to keep hiding?"

They froze. Slowly, stiffly, they turned their heads—and met the boy's gaze.

For the first time, they saw his face clearly. Smooth and young. No Hollow mask. No hole in his chest. A Zanpakutō resting at his waist.

"You… you're not a Hollow…" the big man stammered.

"Not an Arrancar either…" the thin one whispered, horror dawning.

The child's eyes filled with tears, voice cracking with despair. "You're… you're Shinigami!!"

The word rang like a death sentence.

The three had prayed for gods. One had come—yet not as salvation, but as judgment. A Shinigami, god to Hollows, enemy eternal.

The boy tilted his head, studying them. His eyes softened slightly as they fell upon the child. Recognition flickered.

"…Nilu?"

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