The stench of brimstone thickened as Jue advanced, his reiatsu subtly suppressed to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. But Hell was never truly silent—especially under Mephisto's reign.
From opposite directions, two forces converged. It didn't take long for the Duke—Jue's codename in the underworld—to notice the approaching patrol. Not wanting an open confrontation just yet, he descended quietly, hiding in the scorched shadows of jagged rock.
Then, a ripple of killing intent rose from beneath the ashen ground.
Jue's battle-honed instincts screamed. He launched himself skyward just as five or six horned demons clawed their way out of the molten crust—two of them wreathed in living flame. Unlike the feral, mindless spawn he'd seen earlier, these creatures bore intelligence in their burning eyes. They moved in a pack, communicating without words.
The patrol drew closer. The demonic presence multiplied. The Duke's mind worked fast—too many unknowns, not enough reason to risk damage to his soul. But then the demon captain emerged.
This wasn't some bottom-feeder. A mid-tier Hell Captain, its power amplified by the very soil and fire of Mephisto's domain. Here, in his master's world, the captain's every swing hit harder, every flame burned hotter. Under the Dark Lord's banner, his strength was formidable.
Jue met him in midair, Hakuda strikes ringing out like gunfire. He was holding back, unable to draw his Zanpakutō in his current state, but his martial precision kept the captain's claws from ever tasting flesh.
They clashed in bursts of speed—Shunpo versus winged leaps—each collision rattling the air. Jue was just about to tip the balance when the patrol arrived in full force. More intelligent demons, veterans of decades of fighting together, swarmed in perfect formation.
He could have ended it with a few high-level Hadō—maybe even level 88 or higher—but here in Hell, such an attack would cost him dearly. Damaging his soul wasn't worth it, not unless Mephisto himself appeared. And according to the Ancient One, Mephisto was trapped meddling in another universe. That meant Jue had time… and no need to hide.
So he shifted tactics—no more stealth, just open combat.
The patrol couldn't touch him. In fact, he cut down several of them, their corpses instantly devoured by lurking scavengers. The infernal food chain moved fast—lesser demons gorged themselves, mutating into new mid-tier captains… only to be hunted down in turn.
The chaos drew even more demons, both wild and cunning, from across the wastes. Nearby patrols abandoned their routes, joining the fray.
Jue almost smiled—this was like his early days in Soul Society, relying on lower-tier Kidō and Hakuda to survive outnumbered skirmishes. He danced through the battlefield with white strikes and Shunpo, peppering his movement with low-level spells:
Bakudō #1: Sai to lock claws mid-swipe.
Bakudō #4: Hainawa to bind a flanker.
Bakudō #8: Seki to deflect a flaming spear.
Hadō #1: Shō and Hadō #4: Byakurai to punish openings with precision bolts of force and lightning.
The sky above became a swirling storm of claws, wings, and burning air.
Then the wind captains arrived—demons whose mastery of infernal gales let them keep pace with his Shunpo. For the first time, pressure mounted. Jue opened the field, forcing them into roving combat, drawing them toward the maws of waiting ferals.
The battle was balanced on a razor's edge… until the ground trembled with a distant roar.
From the horizon, a wall of fire raced forward—Hell's Cavalry.
Flaming motorcycles and skeletal warhorses bore their riders into view, each a fiery demon knight. Their flames weren't as soul-searing as the Ghost Rider's hellfire, but their speed—boosted by Hell's very laws—outstripped any mortal machine.
They tore into the melee without hesitation, cutting down anything in their path. Fireballs exploded across the battlefield, killing wild demons and patrol alike. The wind captains abandoned Jue entirely to rally their scattered troops.
Patrol fought cavalry, cavalry fought ferals, ferals attacked anything still moving. Hell's hierarchy dissolved into anarchy.
And in that chaos… Jue vanished.
Suppressing his reiatsu, he slipped away to a jagged cliff, watching the carnage below.
So many demons in one place, so quickly. Hell's balance was fracturing—its numbers swelling faster than they should. Whether as a Shinigami or as a warrior with his own stake in this war, Jue knew one thing:
If Hell's growth wasn't checked, if Mephisto's forces weren't culled… this realm would spill into others. And when that happened, not even Soul Society—or Earth's defenders—would be spared.
****
From high above, Jue drifted through the crimson skies of Mephisto's realm, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. For a time, he simply observed—watching skirmishes flare below as hordes of demons converged on distant battlefields. The commotion proved useful; the path ahead lay strangely open, and only the occasional stray demon dared block his way. Those that tried fell quickly beneath his blade, their bodies dissolving into ash.
The journey remained almost uneventful—until Paradise came into view.
It was then that the realm's true defenses revealed themselves: aerial patrols of winged wind demons slicing through the air in tight formations, fire demon cavalry thundering across the scorched plains, water demons guarding the molten riverbanks, and massive earth demons looming at fortress gates. Jue descended, keeping low, weaving between patrol routes to avoid detection.
Paradise itself was breathtaking in a grim, medieval way—a sprawling, European-style castle of white marble perched upon a gentle slope, its towers stabbing upward like accusing fingers. Around it lay a town reserved for high-ranking demons, each with power equivalent to at least a Demon Captain. Lesser demons were banished to the surrounding camps, their tents forming grim rings around the fortified heart.
Moving with care, Jue reached a sluggish river whose water ran deep red, reeking of sulfur. A strange familiarity prickled at his senses. Kneeling, he cupped the viscous liquid in his palm.
It's like spiritual drinking water… but there's something else—something alive.
The flow traced back to the castle itself. Whatever its origin, this "water" held power.
Before he could study it further, a guttural voice rang out behind him.
"Who told you to touch the magma?"
He turned just in time to see a lance of water slicing toward him. With a burst of spiritual pressure, he Flash Stepped clear, appearing before his attackers in the blink of an eye. His counterstrike hit hard, yet these water demons were far stronger than the fodder he'd faced outside; the blow drove them back but didn't kill them.
The clash drew attention immediately. More guards poured in from the riverbanks, encircling him. Jue had anticipated this and retreated along the escape route he had memorized, the air behind him hissing with missed water strikes. The demons weren't physically strong, but their relentless ranged attacks kept him in motion.
Wind demon scouts swooped in overhead, coordinating with fire demons on the ground. Earth demons rumbled beneath the surface, trying to cut him off. Realizing he couldn't outpace them forever, Jue leapt skyward. But in the open air, without a firm surface for Shunpo, his speed faltered, and the encirclement tightened.
Channeling his focus, he raised both hands—scarred from countless battles—and unleashed the Eight Rebukes of Binding. Ethereal bands snapped out, momentarily disrupting the assault. Jue surged forward into the fray, using enemy bodies as shields against the incoming barrage.
It wasn't enough.
Attacks came faster, sharper, more coordinated. A wind blade grazed his face; a fireball scorched his shoulder. His Death God's robe was shredded, his captain's haori in tatters. Spirit particles flickered around him like dying fireflies. The demons adjusted, refusing close combat, peppering him with ranged strikes from all sides. His back was flayed open in places, bone flashing white beneath.
Still, he fought on—buying seconds, and then more seconds—because he needed only one perfect moment.
When it came, he moved.
With the last of his internal reiryoku, he unleashed Binding Path #21: Red Smoke Release, cloaking the battlefield in a dense crimson fog. The demons, wary of ambush, stayed outside the smokescreen, hacking at it from a distance.
That was their mistake.
In the cover of smoke, Jue pressed his left palm to the air, calling on the Hollow energy sealed within. The incantation spilled from his lips like a curse:
"In my right hand, place the Stone of the Border Connection; in my left, grasp the Sword of Reality Binding. The Black-Haired Shepherd's Gripping Chair. Clouds gather—we hunt the ibis."
The fabric of reality tore, revealing a jagged maw of darkness. Without hesitation, Jue stepped through.
When the smoke cleared, the demons found nothing. Chaos erupted—lesser fiends devoured each other in frenzied attempts to claim credit or power.
Meanwhile, on the U.S.–Mexico border, a ragged, blood-soaked Shinigami tumbled from a black void, collapsing onto the sand. He lay there for a long time, unable to rise. The desert was silent. No human eyes had seen him.