Right now, Cole's reiatsu had turned a blood-crimson, radiating pure malice and darkness. With that one arm fully hollowfied, he looked like a Menos masquerading as a shinigami.
He clenched his hand.
Crack—
The flaming blade—hotter than tens of thousands of degrees—shattered in his grip.
Cole flicked away the lingering sparks and grinned at Genryūsai. "Old man, how's my hierro (steel skin)?"
As his hollow power kept rising, entering this hollow state gave him a hollow's strength. The white-and-red substance on his body was exactly that—hierro of extreme hardness.
Genryūsai's face darkened. "In a thousand years, this is the first time a Menos has dared show itself before me."
If he hadn't already known the backstory of these hollowfication experiments, he would've cut the boy down on sight.
Shunsui and the others walked out from First Division, all staring in shock. Only one arm had hollowfied, yet the evil pressure rolling off Cole was darker than a hundred Gillian.
Urahara rubbed his chin. "Hirako and the others didn't hollowfy like this. Why does this feel… completely hollow?"
Normally, a hollow mask would surface—like with Hirako and the rest. Cole, though, wasn't just fully hollowfied; even a hole had opened at his chest—an emptiness at the heart.
Senjumaru flashed to Cole's side, curious hands assessing his condition. "It's true—the reiatsu is entirely hollow. And its scale is at an Adjuchas-class level."
Shunsui ventured, "Cole, can you hollowfy your whole body?"
"Of course."
Cole smiled. With a thought, the white-and-red plating on his arm shattered—yet the hollow pressure only grew more violent. A void opened at his chest. White matter gathered at the corner of his eye into a fragment of a mask. His whole presence turned wicked, as if wrapped in perpetual night—the birth of a human-shaped demon.
Every shinigami present twitched at the mouth. Genryūsai and even Abarai's captain—hands already on their zanpakuto—glowered black-faced at Cole. Talk about "point-blank ult." As shinigami, it was the first time they'd watched a hollow at arm's length—one that had the gall to wave at them, no less. A provocation.
Shunsui pressed down his hat with a sigh. "Live long enough and you see it all—Menos preening in front of shinigami…"
The other captain grimaced toward Genryūsai. "Captain-Commander, about recalling Hirako and the others—we may need to… rethink."
If seven or eight captains and lieutenants came back hollowfied like this, Seireitei would panic for months. And every Menos alert would start with, "Uh, check if it's our own captain first."
Genryūsai's temples throbbed. He'd been ready to reinstate Hirako's group after Urahara returned and the truth of the incident came out—Seireitei needed high-end combat power after Aizen's defection. But now? Forget it. Bring those eight home and Seireitei might as well rename itself Hueco Mundo.
Urahara's expression was all ellipses. "Captain-Commander, don't misunderstand. Hirako's hollowfication isn't like Cole's."
Looking at this mask shard and this pressure—if Cole walked up to Hirako's group, they'd assume an Espada had arrived.
Senjumaru, saying nothing more, traced a fingertip across the white-and-red fragment. Surprise still widened her eyes. "This is Vasto Lorde-class—rare even in Hueco Mundo. How did you get this form?"
Unlike shinigami, who train souls, hollows mostly rely on instinct to evolve. Across a million years, true heavyweights among hollows have been few; Vasto Lorde are rarer still. And even among them, the shape Cole wore would be top-tier.
"Must just be my natural talent," Cole said breezily, waving it off. He raised his hand and pointed at Genryūsai, smiling. "Careful now, old man."
The old man had carved him once; courtesy demanded he return the favor.
Genryūsai snorted but didn't move. He wanted to see how strong this hollow state really was.
A glaring red light bloomed at Cole's fingertip. His already tremendous reiatsu, tainted by hollow power, turned even more ferocious. The radiance flickered madly—as if a blood-red sun condensed at his hand.
Faces around the square grew grave—everyone felt the danger piling up.
Under those stares, Cole chuckled. "Gran Rey Cero!"
In an instant, red flared like a scarlet meteor, ripping the sky. The beam practically reeked of blood—evil made light. Wherever it swept, the ground's surface was planed away in a long red gouge.
Chōjirō—Genryūsai's most devoted lieutenant—sprang out without hesitation. "Captain-Commander! Let me, as your lieutenant—"
"Bankai—"
Golden lightning crackled over him—one of the rare lightning-type blades. After the zanpakuto rebellion, his Bankai was no longer secret; at least he might earn a word of praise.
Genryūsai simply palm-checked him aside. "Stand down."
Chōjirō's face fell. He didn't know what he'd done wrong—
Red flashed.
A world-shaking detonation crashed over the court as the crimson cero smashed head-on into Ryūjin Jakka. Power met power; the backlash frothed outwards in a raging ring.
Closest to Genryūsai, Chōjirō was flung like a rag doll—
Thud!
Shunsui caught him with a palm to the back and slid him to a stop. Both of them stared at the center with shocked faces.
Within that storm of pressure—Genryūsai… stepped back. Then another step. Seven, eight strides before he planted his feet.
With another thunderous boom, the crimson cero burst, gouging a massive crater where it struck. Genryūsai stood uninjured, but his breathing had thickened. He eyed the hollowfied black-haired youth, solemn. "A cero of this level…"
By his reckoning, it was only a notch weaker than a casual strike in his Bankai state. And from Cole's expression, this was just a standard technique.
Sweat beaded Chōjirō's brow. He swallowed hard. So that's why the Captain-Commander wouldn't let him block it. He couldn't have. If he were lucky, he'd only have been blown away—more likely, the cero would've done him real harm.
Cole lowered his finger and grinned. "How about that? Not bad, right? When I'm hollowfied, a cero is basically my zanpakuto."
Even in this state, he still had his original reiatsu—wilder than before, yes—but to fire a cero felt almost like casting kido. Only… stronger.
Shunsui quipped, "Show up in Hueco Mundo like that and the hollows might adopt you on sight."
Jushiro gave a rueful smile. "Hierro, cero—are you sure you haven't just turned into a hollow?"
They swore: if this weren't Cole, they'd have subdued him first and asked questions never. Fallen was fallen—and he looked more hollow than hollows.
Cole shook his head and drew his right hand through the air. Space quivered—and then smoothed. He sighed. "Still a bit short. A real hollow can tear open a garganta (black cavity). I can't do that yet."
He had hierro, sonido (sound step), cero, high-speed regeneration—the whole set. But he still couldn't rip a spatial rift. Conclusion: he hadn't fully mastered hollow power yet.
The captain couldn't help himself. "You still want to tear space? Planning to be king of Hueco Mundo?"
Hueco Mundo was as separate a realm as Soul Society. For shinigami to invade it took monumental effort. If Cole truly learned garganta, he could come and go at will—maybe even rule there.
Cole drew breath to answer—only to see Genryūsai charging in, face thundercloud dark.
"Brat! If you've fallen to hollowhood, I have no choice but to stop holding back. Prepare yourself!"
Cole started, backpedaling as he raised his hand again. "Old man, your eyesight is going. I'm Cole—the hero who saved Soul Society!"
"Gran Rey Cero—volley!"
Crimson shots hammered out in a barrage. Each was weaker than his first, but the sheer number streaked like a flock of sparrows. Genryūsai had to hew them down one by one—let even a single blast slip through and Seireitei would pay dearly.
"Move!"
Soi fong flashed to Cole, seized his arm, and bolted, wind knifing around them. "What are you jawing with the old man for? Can't you see he just wants to thrash you?"
"Thrash me? Why?" Cole blinked.
She'd meant to keep a straight face—but couldn't help a faint laugh as they ran. "Because you've been sucking up reiryoku everywhere. The old man had no place left to sleep—he spent three nights on the grass."
The image of the ever-stern Captain-Commander sleeping on the lawn… even Soi fong nearly giggled. In a thousand years, this might be his first time so bedraggled.
Cole looked sheepish. "I only absorbed a little. Just a few passes. That shouldn't make him that mad…"
"'A little,' huh?" Soi fong snorted. "In the last few days, Seireitei's been rebuilt three times—more than in centuries. Ordinary shinigami are ready to explode."
If Cole hadn't been the hero who saved them—and monstrously strong—half the rank and file would've teamed up to pound him by now.
Cole wilted further. "So… where are we going? Don't tell me there's an ambush ahead."
"Relax. Second Division." Soi fong's confidence was iron. The Executive Militia obeyed only their commander. Even if Yoruichi showed up, they'd take orders from Soi fong alone. Without her word, no one would lay a hand on Cole.
Inside Second Division, rows of black-clad operatives saw Soi fong lead Cole in. Respect flickered in their eyes—for her—and something far less friendly for him.
"Commander…"
"And that human…"
"He's torn down our Second six times in three days…"
With military discipline drilled to reflex, they rebuilt the moment Cole drained a district—so he'd hit them again. And again. Three days: six runs. Twice the rate of anywhere else. Their jaws ached from clenching.
Trailing Soi fong, Cole felt the stares and whispered, "You sure they won't jump me? Looks like they'd eat me alive."
Soi fong laughed on the inside but kept her face cool. "Scared now? You weren't scared before."
"Can't be helped," Cole groaned. "World of the Living or Soul Society—only Seireitei's this dense with reiryoku."
He'd tried the Living World; even in Karakura's heavy spirit zone, it wasn't one-thousandth as rich as Seireitei.
Soi fong shook her head as she walked. "I don't know why you need so much, but you're done here. One more cycle and the shinigami will lose it."
Seireitei had a thousand years of history, but only this week had they been forced under the open sky with bare ground for beds.
Cole sighed and followed her into her room. "You're stingy. I helped subdue Ryūjin Jakka. Can't I take a little more?"
"You can," Soi fong said.
"Really?" Cole's eyes lit.
She nodded. "In the captains' meeting just now, Shunsui suggested we let you become a shinigami early. If you were one of us, maybe they'd let you… take a few extra laps."
Race was race; as long as Cole stayed human, there'd be limits. If he became a shinigami, under the chain of command plenty would willingly contribute reiryoku.
"Become a shinigami early?" A bad feeling prickled Cole's neck.
Soi fong's smile turned sly. "Die into Soul Society sooner. Then you'd be a shinigami, right?"
Cold sweat tracked down Cole's temples. "That—feels against the rules. Aren't shinigami supposed to protect humans?"
"It used to be like that. Your strength breaks precedents." She couldn't help a chuckle. Across all Soul Society's long years, a human shinigami was practically a miracle—and once such a person died, they arrived with a shinigami's battle strength already in place.
"Pass," Cole said quickly. "I'm not planning on dying yet."
Hearing that, a faint flush touched Soi fong's cheeks. She lifted a slender forefinger and gently poked his cheek. "Then… what if I wanted you to come to Soul Society?"
(End of Chapter)
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