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The sudden information provided by Aizen stirred no visible reaction from the Espada. They had long been prepared for the arrival of Soul Society's forces.
"Not a bad response," Aizen said with a faint smile, his eyes lowering. "Let us begin with black tea."
At his words, two Arrancar attendants stepped from the shadows of the stone pillars, carrying ornate trays. They poured dark tea into delicate cups for each Espada seated around the vast table. The newcomers remained silent and rigid, statuesque, not a flicker of expression betraying their thoughts.
Aizen rested his chin lightly against one hand, gaze half-lidded yet oppressive in the still air of the chamber. "Everyone," his voice brushed across them, calm yet unyielding, "have you understood?"
The weight pressing through the hall drew fleeting surprise in the lower-ranked Espada, though none dared voice it.
"Then, listen as you drink." Aizen lifted his own cup, sipped once, and let silence stretch heavy before nodding to the silver-haired figure at his side. "Gin, show them."
Ichimaru Gin stepped forward, laying a spiritual device against the center of the table. At once, a vast curtain of light flared above it, casting pale illumination over the chamber.
The Espada's gazes rose sharply. The shifting images revealed seven figures, their movements quick and unrelenting. Three wore white feathered mantles, their agility sharpened to a cutting edge. Four were clad in the black robes of Shinigami, Reiatsu burning heavy about them.
It was the advance force dispatched by Soul Society, with Kuchiki Moyu unmistakably at their head.
Recognition sharpened the silence. Harribel's emerald eyes narrowed, Ulquiorra's expression remained still, Grimmjow's lips curled with feral agitation. Each carried a different memory of Moyu—yet all were bound by the same quiet acknowledgment of his overwhelming presence. How could they not be, when more than one of them had nearly perished beneath his blade?
"Intruders," Luppi's mocking tone cut across the stillness. The Sixth Espada leaned lazily against his chair, eyes bright with disdain. "So this is what the Shinigami send? Pathetic." His smirk widened. "What a disappointment."
"Tch." Baraggan's voice, heavy with centuries of arrogance, rumbled with contempt. "I thought they were formidable. In the end… only children."
From beneath a fractured mask, Aaroniero's distorted voice broke into a dull, mocking chuckle. "These brats… enemies?"
Aizen's calm never shifted. "Do not underestimate them," he said softly. "Their leader is Kuchiki Moyu. The one who felled Nnoitra, Szayelaporro, and Yammy. Three Espada erased by his strength alone."
The chamber froze into silence. Even the proud grew still, measuring that record against their own power. For a long moment, none spoke.
Harribel's hand closed lightly against her knee. She remembered the clash with Moyu, remembered the lingering echo of his Reiatsu etched into her soul. Yet instead of hatred, something else stirred—an unbidden resonance, inexplicable and unwanted. Her gaze lowered, veiling the faint color shifting in her eyes.
She knew the truth of it: Ultimate Reiatsu. Moyu's Reiatsu carried a binding quality that transcended ordinary battle. Zingeli's final command had left its mark within her, yet even beyond that, Moyu's soul force pressed subtly at her heart, reshaping the edges of perception. She buried the thought, betraying nothing.
The silence broke as Luppi's arrogant laugh cut once more. "That weak-looking man? He killed three Espada?" His narrowed gaze locked murderously onto Moyu's image. "Doesn't look strong at all. Looks fragile…"
Harribel's voice cut cold and sharp, her emerald eyes lifting to pierce him. "Did you not hear? Lord Aizen said not to underestimate them."
Luppi's gaze snapped to her, face twisting. "Harribel… has losing once already made you afraid?"
Her expression did not change, eyes narrowing with quiet disdain. Though Luppi wore the rank of Sixth, none in the room truly respected his power, least of all Harribel. She simply held his gaze until he looked away.
"Peace," Aizen's voice returned, smooth as glass, scattering tension. "Enough."
He turned his gaze toward the table's head. "Now, the assignments. Starrk. Baraggan. Harribel. As planned, the three of you will accompany me to the world of the living. The final judgment must be prepared there."
The three strongest Espada remained silent, their lack of objection answer enough.
Aizen's gaze swept further. "Grimmjow, Luppi, Zommari, Aaroniero—you will follow Bahamut into the inner circle. You are to engage the Soul Society invaders."
The chamber's focus shifted to the new face at the table's edge. Bahamut, vast and imposing, his frame stretching taut against the white Espada uniform, inclined his head. His voice rumbled low, steady, resonant. "As you command, Lord Aizen."
Finally, Aizen turned to the last pair. "Ulquiorra. Ouroboros. You will remain here, within Las Noches, to guard the core."
No voices rose in dissent.
Aizen's smile deepened faintly, his words pressing with quiet finality. "So it is decided. Though the invaders cannot be dismissed lightly, there is no need for undue concern." His hand spread lightly over the table, each Espada caught within his gaze.
"As long as you remain upon the path I lead, then know this truth…"
His voice fell into absolute silence.
"In front of us—there exists no enemy. We are absolutely invincible."
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