"Wait—system," Shiraha murmured inwardly, his expression thoughtful. "Where's Dio's Stand ability, The World?"
Moments earlier, he had been too immersed in the elation of obtaining the power to stop time to notice something amiss. In the JoJo world, Dio's ability to halt time stemmed from his Stand, The World. Yet now, while his exclusive Dior Template ability had awakened and granted him time stop, the Stand itself seemed to have vanished.
"Host," the system's calm voice echoed in his mind, "the Stand ability has been absorbed to strengthen the exclusive ability, Time Stop."
"I see," Shiraha replied silently. That made sense. After all, Dio's most fearsome skill wasn't his physical strength or vampiric regeneration—it was his mastery of temporal manipulation. Losing the Stand didn't matter; as long as he had time stop, the essence of The World lived within him.
"Why don't you kill me?" Ulquiorra's cold, composed voice cut through the silence.
He had waited for some time. Shiraha had not moved to strike again.
"It's unnecessary," Shiraha replied lightly, sheathing his blade. "Besides, it would be a waste to kill you."
He truly meant it. Ulquiorra, among the Espada, stood apart—disciplined, calculating, and pure in purpose. To destroy him now would be like erasing a perfect piece of art before its meaning was understood. Moreover, Shiraha's Dior template granted him the ability of transformation. Though still rudimentary, its future potential intrigued him. Perhaps one day, he could reshape an Espada like Ulquiorra himself.
Ulquiorra's emerald eyes flickered with confusion. "I don't understand."
"One day, you will," Shiraha said with a faint smile.
A soft pulse of spiritual light rippled through the air. The reversal effect that had regressed Ulquiorra by a century dissolved under Shiraha's control. Instantly, Ulquiorra's true form returned—his mask fragments reappearing, wings unfurling. The arm Shiraha had severed moments ago regenerated swiftly, restoring him to his former state.
Ulquiorra glanced at his regained limb, then at Shiraha. He said nothing, offered no gratitude, yet his expression carried a quiet complexity—something between puzzlement and reluctant respect.
A familiar surge of Reiatsu filled the air as Aizen, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname appeared behind Shiraha in synchronized Shunpo.
Ulquiorra rose, walked toward Aizen, then dropped to one knee. "Lord Aizen," he said calmly, "I lost."
"Stand, Ulquiorra," Aizen replied softly, eyes steady. "I do not blame you. The battle was impressive. Against Shiraha's strength, your defeat was inevitable. Step aside."
Aizen's voice held no reproach, yet behind that serene mask, his mind turned rapidly. He was not shocked by Ulquiorra's loss—but by the power Shiraha had displayed. A Shikai that manipulated time itself was beyond even Aizen's predictions.
Ulquiorra obeyed, taking his place silently at Aizen's right.
"Ah, as expected of Captain Shiraha," Ichimaru Gin said with a sly smile, his narrow eyes gleaming. "That Zanpakutō of yours is truly terrifying."
Aizen's calm gaze settled on Shiraha. "Shiraha, would you tell me more about your Shikai's ability?"
"Of course," Shiraha answered with an easy smile. "After all, Captain Aizen and I are partners, aren't we?"
He didn't mind revealing it. Even if he refused, someone of Aizen's intellect would piece it together soon enough.
"My Zanpakutō belongs to the time system," Shiraha explained, drawing his blade slightly so its edge gleamed under Hueco Mundo's pale sky. "Its name is Baiyue. Its Shikai ability—Reversal. As the name suggests, anyone struck by it has their time reversed by a hundred years. Their physical state and spiritual power revert to what they were a century ago."
He paused, his tone smooth, controlled. "Unless I die—or willingly remove the effect—the reversal is eternal. And there's no limit to how many times I can use it."
The final line was a deliberate exaggeration, delivered with subtle amusement—a test, a feint, perhaps even a quiet intimidation toward Aizen himself.
In truth, Baiyue's reversal was capped at a century, no matter how many times the target was struck. Only through Bankai—or a Shikai evolution—could its power extend beyond that. And of course, Shiraha left out its secondary traits—aging acceleration and time compression.
The effect was immediate. Aizen, Gin, Tōsen, even Ulquiorra—all felt their pupils constrict.
A time-type Zanpakutō?
A weapon that could rewind existence itself?
If Shiraha spoke the truth, even the ancient Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai, over two thousand years old, would crumble into nothingness from a single cut—reversed beyond his birth, into pure void.
"Shiraha," Aizen said at last, voice calm yet edged with intrigue. "Your Shikai... is extraordinary."
He didn't fully believe Shiraha's "unlimited" claim, but the time-type nature was unmistakable.
"Captain Aizen," Shiraha replied pleasantly, "thank you. Without your generosity in lending me the complete Hōgyoku, I could never have perfected my Shikai."
"Hōgyoku?" Aizen's eyes flashed faintly.
For a heartbeat, something unreadable crossed his face.
"That's impossible!" Tōsen Kaname's composure shattered. "No Shinigami should possess such an ability! How could someone like you control a Shikai like that?"
His disbelief bordered on fury.
"Oh? Someone like me?" Shiraha tilted his head, smiling faintly. "And what kind of person am I, in Captain Tōsen's eyes?"
"You—!" Tōsen began, voice rising.
"Enough," Aizen interrupted coldly. "You've lost your composure. Apologize."
Tōsen's jaw tightened. He lowered his head. "My apologies, Captain Shiraha. I spoke out of turn."
"It's fine," Shiraha said mildly, waving it off. "No harm done, Captain Tōsen."
Gin chuckled softly, though his smile tightened. "Captain Shiraha, you're as dangerous as you are clever. If I'd been cut by you, I'd probably be walking around like Ulquiorra earlier—little more than a child."
Shiraha's eyes glinted. "Not too late to find out, Captain Ichimaru. Would you like to experience it?"
Before Gin could respond, the world shifted.
"Time... stops."
Instantly, the entire realm froze. The pale sands of Hueco Mundo, the faint drifting dust—all hung motionless. Aizen, Gin, Tōsen—locked in place like statues.
Only Shiraha moved.
In the stillness, he used Cang, appearing before Gin and Aizen in a flicker. Drawing Baiyue, he slashed once across each of them.
"Pfft!"
The blade bit into Gin's shoulder, a thin line of blood trailing down. As time resumed, Gin staggered, clutching his arm—only to feel his body compress, his form shrinking rapidly. His uniform sagged as his limbs contracted, Reiatsu collapsing until he stood no taller than a child of eleven or twelve.
The once-fearsome Captain of the Third Division had become a boy again, his spiritual energy now barely that of a seated officer.
"Clang!"
As for Aizen—when Shiraha's blade met his body, it struck an unyielding barrier. Sparks flared as the edge collided with his spiritual armor. The cut could not penetrate. Aizen's Reiatsu alone deflected the blow.
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