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Hueco Mundo.
Above the endless expanse of pale, lifeless desert, a crescent moon hung suspended in the ink-black sky, casting its cold silver glow over the barren landscape below. Wind tore mercilessly across broken cliffs, its shrill howling slicing through the silence like a blade across dry bone, giving voice to the desolation that blanketed this world of eternal stillness. Nothing stirred upon the dunes, no heartbeat, no warmth—only emptiness painted in shifting white sand and fractured stone.
But beneath the jagged shadow of a crumbling stone ridge, the air began to distort unnaturally, shimmering as if heatwaves pulsed through it—until, like a rock striking brittle glass, spiderweb-like fractures bloomed across the surface of space itself. With a sharp, crystalline crack, a wide rupture tore open, revealing the yawning blackness of a dimensional rift from which two figures emerged, stepping calmly into the icy silence of Hueco Mundo.
Moyu surveyed the terrain with quiet interest, his eyes gleaming with the composed curiosity of a man studying hostile territory. "So this is Hueco Mundo," he murmured, and the barren desolation stretching out in all directions seemed to answer. Vast dunes of pale sand rolled beneath a sky polluted with chaotic spirit particles, drifting in erratic eddies like smoke trapped in glass. The energy here was wild—raw, unstable, and layered in strange patterns that pulsed with dormant violence. It was exactly what he expected.
Unlike the relatively stable atmosphere of the Human World, the spirit particle density in Hueco Mundo was turbulent, fractured, and dangerous, yet in that volatility lay the source of the Hollows' strength. The more unstable the density, the more violent the Hollow evolution, and thus, the greater their power. This place was not just a graveyard—it was a crucible. And it bred monsters.
Due to Urahara Kisuke's inability to complete the Black Cavity Piercing Gate, their coordinates had been reduced to a randomized proximity. He had managed to fix only a general entrance, leaving the specifics of their landing to luck or fate. Their first priority was simple: find the Forest of Menos Grande.
"It looks like we need to—" Yoruichi began, glancing at the radar-like device in her hand, her voice confident, her finger tracing the digital map.
"Head north," she continued, but Moyu cut in before she could finish, his tone mild but firm.
"Rather than rely on Urahara's gadget, I'd rather trust my own sensory instincts," he said, turning his gaze toward the shifting horizon. "The Reiatsu in that direction is disordered, layered—and dense. It's likely the edge of the Forest."
Yoruichi blinked, then tucked the device away with a small smirk tugging at her lips, folding her arms like an amused older sister watching a clever younger sibling take the lead. "Well, well. Looks like Mr. Moyu is in charge of this Hueco Mundo expedition," she said playfully, though there was a trace of seriousness in her eyes.
Cats, after all, were always cautious in unfamiliar environments. But once they found someone they trusted to walk beside them, they relaxed quickly. And Yoruichi, the cat in question, followed without further question.
Their figures blurred as both vanished into high-speed movement, streaking across the desert like fleeting shadows. It didn't take long—less than an hour—before the spiritual pressure beneath their feet began to change. The air shimmered with rising density, and the ground pulsed faintly, like something immense lay breathing just below the surface.
Yoruichi narrowed her eyes as she slowed to a halt. "Feels like… at least a hundred Hollows under here," she muttered.
Moyu didn't even blink. "Two hundred thirty-six lower-class Hollows," he corrected without hesitation, "and twenty-seven Gillians."
She turned to stare at him. The more time she spent with this childhood friend, the more alien he became—an abyss of spiritual strength without a visible bottom, a quiet genius whose thoughts ran orthogonal to everyone else's. What exactly had shaped him into this? She had no answer.
"Let's go," he said simply, not noticing her lingering stare, his focus completely locked on the spiritual energy roiling beneath the sand. It was his first time in Hueco Mundo, and he had no intention of making mistakes.
"We have three days. Let's not waste them."
According to Urahara's calculations, the Black Cavity Piercing Gate would remain open for exactly seventy-two hours. Once that window closed, their means of return would be gone, and they'd be left with no choice but to forge their way back through unknown means—an outcome neither of them could afford.
Moyu exhaled once, and his spiritual pressure flared outward in a crushing pulse. In that instant, a dense shockwave blasted the sand beneath their feet into dust, creating a spiraling collapse that opened a massive sinkhole beneath them. Without hesitation, they dropped through the gap, the howling winds rising as the desert floor swallowed them whole.
As they plunged, coiled roots of colossal quartz trees twisted upward like the limbs of buried titans, forming a labyrinthine skeleton of glowing stone. But wrapped in layers of protective Reiatsu, Moyu and Yoruichi moved unharmed through the avalanche of sand and jagged crystal, descending like phantoms into the heart of the Forest of Menos Grande.
A rush of pale grains poured into the depths behind them, a glittering cascade of dust that lit the cavernous space in soft golden hues. And far below, the Hollows stirred.
The storm of falling sand caught their attention first, but it was the scent—human Reiatsu—that made them rise. One by one, their grotesque, malformed heads lifted toward the cavern ceiling, jaws twitching, hollow masks gleaming in the gloom.
"A soul…!"
"Living souls!"
"Food! Fresh food!"
"Mine! I call dibs on the two up there!"
"Move first! Whoever grabs them, keeps them!"
The forest exploded in chaos, roars of madness erupting in all directions as the beasts surged toward the intruders, hunger overriding fear. Twisted limbs clawed over quartz roots. Monstrous bodies bellowed forward in a stampede of spiritual depravity.
And then, the "food" lifted a single finger.
Moyu raised his right hand, index finger extended toward the descending horde. His face was perfectly calm, his expression carved from ice, voice little more than a breath on the wind.
"Sato Hadō—The Way of the Four—Day and Day Thunder."
Long gone was the original Bai Lei. Since its evolution into a self-activating Hadō, it had ascended beyond its former identity, transcending classification into the superior realm of Li Hadō. Just as the Royal Guard towered above the Gotei 13—not always in brute strength, but in purity, refinement, and absolute purpose—so too did the evolved Hadō eclipse its former school.
The moment the name was spoken, the spell ignited.
From his fingertip burst a roaring brontosaurus-shaped bolt of lightning, its body coiled in arcs of golden electricity, head crowned with thunder, eyes glowing with divine wrath. It screamed through the forest like a myth brought to life, its massive jaw wide open as waves of pressure and raw voltage surged outward in tidal bursts. The scent of ozone flooded the air, mingling with the sudden stench of scorched flesh.
Yoruichi blinked in stunned silence, the sheer scale of the attack stunning even her honed senses.
Beneath the thunder dragon's gaze, the Hollow horde stopped moving altogether. Whether they were Gillians or lower-class beasts didn't matter—none of them could react. Their limbs froze. Their eyes widened. Terror filled the spaces where thoughts once lived.
In that suspended instant, time seemed to fracture, and the howling power of thunder descended like a god's quiet judgment.
There was no screaming.
No battle.
Only stillness.
And then the storm claimed them.
And all of it—this divine massacre, this silent purge—began with a single word, spoken in perfect clarity, backed not by rage or showmanship, but by pure, overwhelming power.
Moyu's Day and Day Thunder.
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