Ulquiorra had no intention of testing the waters. The instant he entered combat, he stepped directly into Segunda Etapa, his two-stage Resurrección raising his power to its peak.
Full release. Absolute commitment.
"Hmph. Since Ulquiorra has already entered his blade's second stage…"
On the opposite side, Ouroboros gave a cold, serpentine smile, his voice carrying that lion's arrogance that defined his nature.
"Then I will no longer restrain myself. Shinigami, you must be very curious about what I truly am. Actually…"
He raised his arms, and from his feet surged a tide of black Reiatsu, swallowing the surroundings in darkness. If not for Ulquiorra's own immense spiritual force, that dark green radiance of his would have been drowned beneath it entirely.
"I am the secret weapon prepared against you. Swallow without end—Ouroboros!"
Black spiritual energy rolled upward like a rising tide, engulfing his form until it dyed the battlefield in shadow. The oppressive weight of it forced Moyu's eyes to narrow. At last he understood why the aura had felt so familiar.
It was not the color of Reiatsu that mattered—it was its texture. The imitation was too precise to deny. The origin of Ouroboros' creation was unmistakable.
Ultimate Reiatsu. His own.
As the ink-black torrent cascaded away like water, the form of Ouroboros was revealed. The former serpent body had been abandoned. What now stood before Moyu was a tall, striking figure clad in a white haori lined with the black kosode of a Shinigami. The indifferent gaze, the straight poise—an echo of himself.
"Oh, how amusing."
Moyu smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the figure.
"An existence born from my Reiatsu? Then by rights… you should be calling me father."
The words struck with cruel precision. Ouroboros stiffened, pride collapsing in an instant. The expression on his face twisted, like one choking on water forced down the wrong path. Color rose to his cheeks, and the arrogance from before slipped away.
"Damn you!"
No more boasts. With a snarl, Ouroboros lifted his Zanpakutō and lunged, blade thrusting down with vicious force.
"When you die, I will take everything from you. I am Kuchiki Moyu!"
His body flickered, vanishing in an instant, only to reappear behind Moyu. His blade, black Reiatsu condensing on its tip, drove straight for Moyu's heart. The surrounding air ignited with heat, the temperature rising violently. His movements, his power, even the control of the wind—all stolen from Moyu.
"Pathetic."
Moyu's expression flattened, smile fading into cold disdain.
"Your existence is an irritation."
Steel rang as the two Lan Yin blades clashed, the shockwave tearing the air apart. The winds screamed, then inverted, shredding ground and palace stone into fragments as countless blades of air spun outward.
And in the very moment of deadlock, another pressure rose behind Moyu.
"Although it is beneath me, to fulfill Lord Aizen's will… I must."
Ulquiorra's voice cut through the chaos, cold as winter. Dark green Reiatsu ignited at his fingertip, condensing into a spear of death that thrust toward Moyu's chest.
Ulquiorra's strikes in Segunda Etapa surpassed the reach of any blade.
"What a nuisance."
Moyu exhaled lightly, eyes flicking to the imitation standing before him. He had almost dismissed Ulquiorra's presence entirely.
"If that's how it is, then I will not hold back either."
His voice dropped. Then black Reiatsu roared out of him like a raging river, the eruption blasting Ouroboros away.
"You have your second-stage Resurrección. I have my second-stage Shikai. Fair enough."
With Lan Yin long mastered, Moyu no longer required incantation or ritual. His second liberation was instantaneous.
The moment Ouroboros was hurled backward, Moyu spun, left fist lancing forward with the speed and weight of thunder. His knuckles crashed into Ulquiorra's arm with a crack like shattering stone.
The Espada's pupils shrank. He looked down at his limb, twisted grotesquely at an angle no body should endure. Pain coursed through him, undeniable, inescapable.
"The second-stage Resurrección grants you nothing essential."
Across Moyu's brow, faint lines began to appear, etching into his flesh as his spiritual force surged higher. It was the power discovered on the threshold of Bankai. A state between second-dan Shikai and true Bankai.
He named it—
The Extreme Realm of Wind.
The instant the markings blazed clear across his forehead, the howling tempests of Hueco Mundo ceased. Wind itself seemed to halt, frozen under his dominion.
The suffocating weight of it forced Ulquiorra back a step, and even Ouroboros' arrogant sneer faltered. Their eyes met across the field, and what stared back in both gazes was not contempt but caution.
Ulquiorra moved first. His hands folded together, then snapped wide with sudden force. A beam of green Reiatsu, dense and crushing, condensed between his palms.
Lanza del Relámpago.
Ouroboros in turn slammed his Zanpakutō downward, seeking the wind's resonance. But no current answered. The storm no longer obeyed him. His face twisted in rage and disbelief.
Counterfeit could not match the genuine.
Even if he mimicked Reiatsu to perfection, some truths could not be stolen.
"Even without the wind's favor, I will not fall."
He roared, blade glowing as black Reiatsu converged at its edge, shaping into a beam that swallowed everything in its path.
Gran Rey Cero!
The two forces howled, oppressive enough to crack the walls of Las Noches, yet strangely not a speck of dust rose.
Moyu lifted his eyes, calm as still water. His blade stood upright, invisible pressure rolling outward, sinking into the very hearts of his two opponents.
He parted his lips, and his voice, low and resonant, seemed to echo from the heavens themselves.
"…The Wind of the End."
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