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The instant Moyu's voice fell, black reiryoku surged to his palm, condensing into a vast sphere of crackling power. In the next moment, a colossal beam nearly a hundred meters thick erupted from his hand, swallowing the Forest of Menos Grande in a tide of annihilation.
Thunder roared as if the heavens themselves split open. The Gillians at the forefront, their greedy masks still twisted in hunger, had no time even for fear before the black torrent erased them utterly. Lightning writhed through the void, a storm of pitch-black thunder tearing apart the skies, its deafening roar echoing for dozens of kilometers.
Rangiku and Kotetsu Isane froze in place, eyes wide, their hearts pounding in disbelief. The scene before them struck like a blade through their resolve, shattering the very notion of what they thought Kidō could achieve.
"Is this... strength a Shinigami should possess?" Isane whispered, her voice trembling.
Unohana sheathed her Zanpakutō, her face once more framed in that gentle, unshakable smile. "When did you ever begin to believe Moyu was a normal Shinigami?"
Isane's words died on her lips. She wanted to protest but could not. The truth was undeniable—no normal captain, no normal Shinigami, could wield such destruction with a single Kidō.
"Captain Moyu... terrifying..." she muttered, almost inaudible, before falling silent.
The surrounding desert quaked. Spiritual particles thickened severalfold, flooding the air. Ahead, the beam had gouged the sands into a canyon-like scar stretching beyond sight. Even Zaraki Kenpachi, blood still dripping from his blade, paused mid-battle to stare. His grin faltered into a solemn look.
"What a damn outrageous bastard..." he growled, though his tone carried admiration as much as bloodlust.
The torrent had obliterated nearly all the Hollows, leaving the battlefield eerily quiet. Moyu lowered his hand, dispersing the drifting smoke with a casual wave. His expression did not change, as if such devastation were nothing at all.
"The Hollow swarm is dealt with. We move on."
None questioned him. Silently, they followed, circling the gaping ravine that still crackled faintly with black thunder, the air itself humming with a lethal chill.
—
Hueco Mundo. Las Noches.
Within the sprawling palace, in a chamber deep along its winding corridors, Aizen Satō sat upright upon a throne of bleached bone. Elbow propped, chin resting lightly against his hand, he gazed at several massive suspended screens flickering in the air before him. On them replayed grainy visions of Moyu's strike—the black beam lancing through the forest, thunder clawing across the desert, the forest of Gillians erased in a single breath.
Aizen's lips curved faintly, a serene smile touched with almost fatherly warmth.
Footsteps echoed. Ichimaru Gin entered, his sly grin fixed as ever, though his eyes lingered hungrily on the screens.
"Well now... has the big fish finally bitten?" he drawled. His gaze caught on the vast black torrent ripping through several frames at once. The lightning danced so vividly it seemed it might burst free of the projection. "Heh. What a sight..."
"Shaken by it, Gin?" Aizen asked lightly without turning his head.
Gin's smile thinned, his eyes narrowing.
"Mr. Moyu's strength," Aizen continued, his tone calm, "is pressing against the boundaries of what a Shinigami should be. He may be the most singular existence I've ever observed."
Gin hesitated before murmuring, "If he's breaking past those boundaries... then wouldn't that mean—"
"There's no problem," Aizen cut in gently, his smile unchanged. "Moyu's reiryoku has hovered at the edge of the limit for some time. It is possible he may even take that decisive step forward." His eyes gleamed faintly. "But so long as Ouroboros exists, even that possibility remains within my hand."
At the name, Gin's grin faltered, memory tugging him back to the twisted being Aizen had unveiled not long ago. "Ouroboros, huh..."
"How fares Wonderweiss?" Aizen asked, rising from his throne at last, his robes brushing the stone floor.
Gin snapped out of his reverie. "Same as ever. Barely speaks, won't stay near anyone except Kucabro. Still, seems... content."
"As long as he can restrain Yamamoto Genryūsai at the critical moment," Aizen said softly, "his condition is irrelevant." His voice drifted down the corridor as he strode past Gin, every step echoing in quiet command. "Call Espada. It is time we discuss the invaders. And... how to bring Karakura Town under our control."
—
Moments later, in the grand hall of Las Noches, ten Arrancar assembled around the long obsidian table, white uniforms gleaming beneath the hollow moonlight filtering in from above.
The hierarchy had shifted. Moyu's emergence had rewritten the order.
The first four Espada remained unchanged, but beyond that the ranks bore new faces.
No. 5: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.
No. 6: Luppi Antenor.
No. 7: Zommari Rureaux.
No. 8: Aaroniero Arruruerie.
And then—two unfamiliar presences, both radiating menace.
No. 9: Bahamut. The behemoth.
No. 10: Ouroboros.
Unease rippled through the room. The older Espada shifted in their seats, their pride bristling. Whenever their eyes brushed against Ouroboros, a chill of primal malice crawled through them, instinct rejecting him outright. Without words, they leaned away, leaving the two newcomers isolated at the farthest edge of the table.
Aizen surveyed the hall, his calm gaze sweeping across them all. Resting his hands lightly on the table, he spoke in that measured, unshakable tone.
"Espada. The purpose of this gathering concerns the intruders who have entered Hueco Mundo."
The announcement rippled through them, expressions shifting from disdain to intrigue, from bloodthirst to irritation.
Aizen's smile did not waver.
"Before the final stage of our plan begins, we must deal with these Soul Society invaders…"
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