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Rage flooded Yammy's towering frame. His muscles swelled, skin stretching, and his already brutish features twisted into something feral.
"Roar!"
His arm, massive as a fortress wall, slammed down with crushing force. The desert floor trembled like an earthquake, white sand exploding into the air. The impact roared across the dunes like a thunderclap.
"Shred!"
His eyes burned crimson, stripped of all reason. Spittle dripped from bared fangs as his Hollow nature consumed the last shred of rational thought.
Ishida Sōken dodged the blow with strained movements, his robes torn by the blast. A rare grimace crossed his face—he had not imagined there existed an enemy his full power could not fell. Worse, Yammy's aura still hinted at growth mid-battle.
Moyu, by contrast, moved with unhurried steps. He wanted to see where Yammy's ceiling lay. Sōken's earlier strikes had only stoked the Espada's fury, pushing his rage toward its peak. But at last, the monstrous reiatsu stopped climbing. Yammy had reached the limit of an Arrancar born from Menos Grande.
His spiritual pressure seethed like a volcano, the molten force churning in his core before each blow. The ground split under his hammering fists, each strike falling like a meteor.
Moyu slipped through the chaos, Shihōin footwork carrying him between shockwaves, untouched. Size gave Yammy devastating power, but it crippled his speed. Even Sōken, battered and winded, could barely avoid him.
Minutes passed. The air grew heavier. The once-shifting dunes had been ground flat into a barren expanse. Yammy's power no longer rose.
"As I thought—there's a limit," Moyu murmured. He stepped forward, Lanyin raised. The wind shifted, flowing backward. "If that's the case, you have no further value. Every game demands its price. The Profound Truth of the Wind… Palm Wind."
The tone was calm, yet carried the inevitability of judgment. The air stilled.
Then Moyu swung.
The pale sky darkened as a surge of wind erupted, folding the clouds into a blackened sea overhead. From their depths, the invisible wind took form—a colossal hand of shadow, vast enough to blot the heavens. It descended without sound.
Yammy froze mid-charge, craning his neck upward. For all his towering bulk, he seemed no more than an insect under its shadow. Confusion flickered in his eyes. Wasn't it his turn to strike?
The hand fell.
Impact thundered through Hueco Mundo. Yammy braced, arms locking, muscles knotting like stone. Veins burst, twisting into shapes like writhing pythons across his skin.
"It's a pity," Moyu's voice cut through the gale, "nothing more than a display of force."
The black hand tightened.
A sharp crack split the air, the sound grating like tearing bone. A rain of blood mist burst from Yammy's arms.
Sōken stood frozen. Every Quincy nearby stared in mute disbelief. Never had they imagined a Shinigami wielding power like this—power that tore through their understanding of battle. This was destruction on a scale meant to erase everything before it.
"Ho… ho…" Yammy's growl was ragged, more protest than defiance. The black wind crushed down. His arms shattered in a spray of red. His massive form was swallowed whole. No final words escaped him—Yammy Llargo was gone, erased from the sands of Hueco Mundo.
When the wind died, a thousand miles of desert lay in ruin—dunes flattened, boulders ground to shards, spirit particles drifting like ash.
Moyu exhaled slowly, his skin pale. At full release, Yammy's peak strength had surpassed even Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar like Barragan's ruins, pushing beyond the natural limits of Hollows. Defeating him had demanded Moyu's most powerful technique—wind mastery fused with Lanyin's full potential, amplified by his Ultimate Reiatsu.
The strain weighed heavy. Though his power had broken the Shinigami threshold, sustaining that force carried a punishing toll.
But the chime of the system in his mind made the exhaustion easier to bear.
Your Zanpakutō Lanyin has slain two Espada in succession. Mood brightened, confidence doubled, comprehension improved, compatibility enhanced—progress toward Bankai accelerated.
Your swordsmanship, honed through consecutive Espada kills, grows sharper. Understanding deepens. Sword power increased by 120%.
The bond with Lanyin pulsed warmer in his hand, threads of insight into swordsmanship flowing into his mind.
Before he could dwell on it, a surge of reiatsu flared in the distance. A column of emerald light speared the sky, shattering the dunes. Sand and dust climbed into the air, then parted to reveal a figure racing toward him.
"Moyu!"
Nelliel appeared, carrying Harribel's unconscious body with ease.
"Stop!" Moyu called sharply. In his current state, colliding with Nelliel's sonido-driven momentum would break bones. His spiritual reserves were spent; only his physical body kept him upright.
Nelliel halted in an instant, heels carving a trench into the sand. She looked at him with wide, almost wounded eyes, still holding Harribel protectively.
"What should we do with her?"
Harribel bore the rank Nelliel had once held. Even in battle she had shown restraint, never striking to kill. Nelliel's strength now far outstripped hers, but she could not bring herself to end her.
Moyu studied Harribel. She was different from the others—no bloodlust, no hatred. Killing her would be wasteful.
"Set her down," he said at last.
Under Nelliel's surprise, he stepped forward and pressed his right index finger lightly to Harribel's chest. A thread of black reiatsu flowed into her heart. He had been refining this application of Ultimate Reiatsu—just as Hirako Shinji's power could twist perception, this could seed an influence in the target's emotions.
Harribel's eyes snapped open mid-transfer. For a moment their gazes locked. Moyu's touch felt suddenly more pronounced.
"Remove it," she said evenly, voice betraying no alarm.
He withdrew his hand, the last drop of reiatsu sinking into her. Harribel frowned slightly, sensing the change.
"What did you do to me?"
Moyu brushed his palms together and stood. "A small follow-up. You lost this fight. If I wished it, your life would already be over."
Harribel lowered her gaze. There was no defiance, no flare of Hollow rage—only quiet acceptance.
"But," Moyu continued, "if I meant to kill you, it would have been in the first exchange. That reiatsu in your heart is my mark. Next time we meet, I hope you'll remember this moment… and not act recklessly."
He turned, calling for Nelliel, and started toward the Quincy camp. He had no intent to fight further. Those remaining here were wounded or depleted. Better to return them to the Living World before more died. The deaths of two Espada were answer enough to Aizen.
Still, this battle had exposed his own flaws. He was not yet strong enough to command his fate in the storms ahead. Determination flared in his eyes—he would never bow to the so-called destiny others sought to impose.
Behind him, Harribel watched them leave. A strange sensation spread from her chest where his reiatsu rested. She pressed a hand to it, thoughtful.
"Can such a thing exist between Shinigami and Hollow?" she murmured. The thought unsettled her, yet somewhere in it was the shape of a future she almost wished for.
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