The moment Moyu's words fell, the stillness broke. The wind of the world moved again, time itself seeming to resume its flow. The crushed walls and corridors of Las Noches gave way, collapsing into sand and rubble that were instantly seized by the storm. Dust spiraled upward, swallowed by a vortex of Reiatsu that surged from Moyu's feet, spreading outward like a natural disaster. The roar tore through the palace's sky, ripping roof and pillar alike until even the stones dissolved into the wind's embrace.
Ulquiorra and Ouroboros braced themselves, expressions tightening. The power Moyu now displayed had already far exceeded the intelligence Aizen's camp possessed.
"We strike together."
Ulquiorra's voice was low but firm, his body coiled with tension as the Lanza del Relámpago rose in his grasp, its condensed particles crackling with lethal intent. On the other side, the jet-black glow of a Gran Rey Cero had reached its zenith on Ouroboros' blade, vibrating with destructive hunger.
The moment the Espada spoke, his spear left his hand.
The Thunder Spear cut through the air with impossible velocity, a torrent of spirit particles tearing the very fabric of space apart. The ground beneath split into jagged ravines, trails of smoke and dust erupting as the spear plowed forward, leaving destruction in its wake.
At the same instant, Ouroboros released his Gran Rey Cero. The roar split the heavens, tearing clouds apart as space itself warped beneath the pressure. The blast expanded, swallowing everything in its path, screaming toward Moyu like the end of the world.
Las Noches shuddered. Whole sections of the palace crumbled, collapsing outward in waves of ruin.
Yet as the dual assaults descended, Moyu's half-lidded eyes slid open, and the world slowed before his gaze.
"Good momentum. Unfortunately for you… this place is the dominion of wind."
Ulquiorra's pupils shrank. In disbelief, he watched as the ferocious Lanza del Relámpago halted midair, seized by an unseen hand. The Gran Rey Cero froze as well, its destruction bound in stasis, struggling helplessly in the invisible current.
Ouroboros' shock was no less than Ulquiorra's. The very notion seemed impossible—Gran Rey Cero was destruction incarnate, a force no wall could withstand, yet here it hung immobile, like prey caught in a storm's grip.
Moyu's gaze shifted toward the imitation that bore his face, eyes narrowing.
"You wear my face well enough… but I do not tolerate it on another."
The black winds surged. An endless storm howled to life, sweeping across the battlefield. The Gran Rey Cero shattered instantly within its grasp, devoured until nothing remained.
Ouroboros' pupils contracted in terror. Survival instinct overtook him and he tried to retreat. Unlike other Hollows, loyalty to Aizen was shallow in him; he had been created, not born, and sacrifice had always been for himself. To claim Moyu's power he had abandoned everything, yet what he gained was not what Aizen had promised.
The storm did not care. It advanced mercilessly, consuming Ouroboros whole. His Reiatsu flickered, then vanished utterly.
Ulquiorra's eyes widened. Where the artificial Espada had stood, only drifting dust remained. Reiatsu erased, body obliterated—killed in a single breath, without resistance, without mercy.
Moyu turned, wind shrieking at his command, and fixed his eyes on Ulquiorra.
"Now… it's your turn."
The storm shifted, locking on to him.
Ulquiorra felt it instantly, the sensation of the world itself rejecting his existence. Malice crushed him, filling every nerve with suffocating dread. His black wings beat furiously, scattering debris, but his will did not waver. Aizen's order was absolute. No matter the cost, he would obey.
Resolute, he forced his spiritual energy higher, his very soul cracking as he poured everything into the release. The second stage of his Resurrección twisted, deepened. Dark green Reiatsu bled into the air, condensing into a massive beam of power.
The pressure swelled until even Moyu's brows drew together. This potential—once fully unleashed—was enough to rival the very peak of Espada strength.
Ulquiorra's arms rose to the heavens, Reiatsu bursting upward. Above, the skies blackened. Clouds surged violently, spreading across Las Noches in a choking canopy. Green lightning writhed within them, rolling like serpents. Each thunderclap split the air, shaking even Moyu's bones.
The pale Espada, his face now drained of all color, looked half-dead already, as if this act consumed life itself.
"The end of life does not mean the end of destiny."
His indifferent tone carried no tremor. Cold eyes fixed on Moyu.
"Even at the cost of all I am… you will end here."
Thunder Trial.
The words triggered the storm.
The clouds split. A colossal bolt of green thunder, several meters thick, tore down from the heavens, lancing straight for Moyu.
For the first time, Moyu frowned, faint surprise flickering across his face. He called the wind, but when it rushed into the thundercloud, it was devoured, assimilated instantly, transformed into fuel for the storm itself. Ulquiorra's technique was strange—unnatural.
The green column expanded, bearing down, the air sizzling with a heat that threatened to incinerate everything beneath it.
Yet Moyu's expression remained steady, unshaken. The difference between them was a gulf no technique could cross. Ulquiorra could burn his soul, yet the outcome was unchanged.
The markings on Moyu's forehead flared, his Reiatsu spiking to an even higher realm.
His lips parted, voice calm, resolute.
"Lan Zhu."
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