Yammy's condition was so miserable that even the Espada—Arrancar who were themselves apex predators—were stunned.
Half his body was nearly erased, blood pouring in sheets, eight "stomach bands" visible before, now only four remained. The twelve pillar-thick legs of his Resurrección were down to four. His dinosaur-like tail was blasted off. He looked like he had only one breath left, leaning on Ulquiorra as he staggered out.
Starrk rubbed his hair, helpless. "Really now… how do you end up like that? Isn't that basically dead?"
Among the Espada, each person embodies one form of death—the ten factors that claim human lives. It's not only their philosophy and reason to exist; it's also the source of each Espada's power.
As the Primera, Starrk's aspect was "solitude." Before meeting Aizen, he had wandered Hueco Mundo for who knew how many years. Tormented by loneliness, he eventually split his very soul to create his Fracción, Lilynette. That was why he had agreed to join Las Noches—at least there were peers to talk to. Seeing a fellow Arrancar near death tugged at something old and sore inside him.
The other Arrancar kept their silence, eyes heavy as they took in Yammy's state—yet shock churned under the surface. Yammy wore the 10 tattoo, but everyone knew that number was deceptive. His death aspect was "rage." When he released in extreme anger, his rank shifted from Décimo to Cero. That didn't strictly make him the strongest, but in theory it tracked—his power rose with wrath. If his fury could keep climbing, so could his strength.
Of course, even a "Rage" aspect can't be angry without end. But even without infinite fury, Yammy was undeniably powerful.
And there he was, half-ruined and on the verge of collapse.
While they weighed it, Ulquiorra set Tatsuki Arisawa down and forced barely conscious Yammy to spit out Hiyori Sarugaki and Lisa Yadomaru.
"Aizen-sama, we brought them back."
Aizen glanced over the three, then withdrew his eyes. "Did you encounter those humans?"
Ulquiorra nodded, voice flat. "We did—Cole and Kurosaki Ichigo. Their Hollow forms surpass Yammy's and mine. Either one, alone, could kill me."
He recounted the Karakura fight in detail. The Espada listened closely; these were enemies they would soon face. But as Ulquiorra went on, looks shifted from cool to shaken.
"Ulquiorra, are you serious?"
"Humans?"
"Those weak little things?"
"They can't be human!"
"Humans becoming Vasto Lorde-class Hollows—didn't you say they were Shinigami?"
The murmurs rolled. It wasn't that they thought Ulquiorra lied; they were simply rattled. Humans—short-lived, frail, fit only to be fodder for small fry Hollows—how could such monsters come from that stock? Even if a human survived to become a Shinigami, what time did they have to grow that strong—much less manifest such terrifying Hollow forms?
Aizen, however, showed no doubt. He had long known Ichigo's potential—why else stalk the boy so intently? Only Cole was the outlier, a variable he had not accounted for—someone already strong enough to cross blades with him.
Ulquiorra ignored the protests. When he finished, he turned toward a pink-haired, bespectacled Arrancar in a white coat. "Szayelaporro. Can you treat Yammy in this condition?"
Hueco Mundo was a slaughterhouse of the strong devouring the weak. "Doctors" didn't exist—either you regenerated or you returned to the sands. Szayelaporro, the Octava, wasn't a doctor, but he was a depraved scientist with a cabinet of grotesque inventions. Perhaps he had something.
Szayelaporro's tongue flicked as he eyed Yammy's ruined bulk, fanatic light in his gaze. "With wounds like these, even I can't save him. But… I might be able to turn him into a puppet."
He'd been tinkering with a new technique—implanting ovules via tendrils to gestate new life. With Yammy's body as a vessel… what sort of terrifying puppet could be born?
Even half-dead, Yammy jackknifed up like a corpse in a horror play, snarling, "Szayelaporro—this granddaddy'll kill you!"
Better to let Ulquiorra eat his body than become that maniac's lab stock.
Szayelaporro opened his mouth to press his case—Espada-grade "materials" were rare—but Aizen's eyes warmed with interest at a different idea. He patted Yammy's shoulder.
"Ulquiorra, bring him to my lab. I've developed something new. It might save him."
Ulquiorra nodded and hefted Yammy, following Aizen away.
As the three left, several Espada turned their attention to the human on the ground—Tatsuki Arisawa. Nnoitra's stare chilled. He clenched the crescent-scythe blade and laughed, swinging down.
"Such a pathetic weakling. I'll put you out of your misery."
He cut toward Tatsuki. In his creed, the weak had no right to live—especially weak females.
A few Espada frowned at his brazenness. Aizen had ordered those three taken alive; they might be useful. But none moved to stop him. It wasn't their problem.
Just as the crescent fell, a gleam blossomed at Tatsuki's chest—a golden staff flashed into being and smashed into Nnoitra's blade.
"Clang!"
The collision rang like thunder. Nnoitra reeled back uncontrollably, skidding dozens of steps before he dug in and steadied. He stared, stunned, at the golden staff. "Oi, what is this crap? Didn't Ulquiorra say she was just a normal human? Why does she have that?"
He could tell the weapon had no master present—yet an ownerless tool had battered his blade aside.
Not far away, Tōsen felt the reiatsu pulsing from the staff. His body answered before thought, his own pressure spiking as he roared to the sky, "Cole!!!"
"Cole?" Grimmjow's eyes gleamed. "You mean the human Shinigami who messed up Yammy and Ulquiorra?"
"That's right," Tōsen hissed—anger scalding his face as a milky substance bubbled across his skin. He had not forgotten the beating Cole gave him. "That human… hid his zanpakuto inside this woman…"
His gaze went glacial on Tatsuki.
And then—eyes.
Under the creeping white of Hollow matter, a blank white mask formed, two huge yellow compound eyes glaring. His body blackened and fur sprouted; a hole opened at his chest. Two more forelimbs extended, ending in needled points. Four wings spread from his back, and a black tail lashed—less a handsome "black-winged demon" than… a fly.
With that form came a feverish ecstasy. He lifted into the air, cackling. "I can see. I can see—Cole—this is your zanpakuto? Such a slender, golden stick…"
Born blind, Tōsen had known only emptiness. Even after becoming a captain, he'd "seen" only through spirit threads—a world of outlines. He loathed his useless eyes. Now, at last, he had sight—and not just sight, but a panopticon, a wall of compound eyes taking in nearly everything.
Across the plaza, expressions shifted. Some were disgusted. Some intrigued. Some amused.
Grimmjow sneered. "What is this shape supposed to be? A fly?"
Barragan's voice was bored death. "More and more farcical—Shinigami becoming Hollows; Hollows wearing Shinigami faces…"
Harribel's mouth tightened. "Hideous. Keep away from me."
Even Hollows had aesthetics. Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, Harribel—their Resurrección forms were "beautiful." Tōsen, Szayelaporro, Zommari, Aaroniero—their forms were grotesque even by Hollow standards.
Tōsen didn't hear the reviews. He was drunk on vision. Even though this was the second time he had "seen," the world still dazzled him.
Gin watched, sighing, and turned away, padding back the way he'd come. "Is this what you wanted, Captain Tōsen?"
To a Shinigami, Hollow power and form were ugly to the core. When Tōsen's thrill drained, regret would gnaw—because that form was truly vile. Not just in looks; even the spirit wallowed in mud.
His zanpakuto tugged at him; Gin rested fingers on the hilt, smile thin. "…It's fine, Shinso. Even if I die, I won't turn into that."
Shinso quieted.
When Tōsen leveled out, he ignored Gin entirely. The fly-eyes fixed on the golden staff. "Arrogant—throwing your zanpakuto here, thinking you can keep this girl safe? Don't be so conceited, human!"
"Seichū Hyakushiki: Kyōgakishishō (Suzumushi Hundred Styles: Maddening Cricket)!"
With his bellow, Tōsen's reiatsu surged again—far beyond the pressure he'd unleashed with bankai before. The domain of bankai was gone; in falling to Hollow, his bankai had become Resurrección.
The huge paired eyes locked onto the staff. A blinding green flashed within—cero gathered at his pupils.
Zommari's brows rose. "A cero of that level…"
Yes—they had underestimated this former captain. In Hollow form he had grown stronger. Among the Espada, he might well force his way into the top six.
"Fssht!"
"Fssht!"
Twin green beams lanced out like lasers, smashing into the golden light the staff projected.
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
Explosions hammered the plaza. Dust swallowed Tatsuki whole—then cleared to show her untouched. Within the golden glow, not even a fleck of ash had settled.
Eyes narrowed around the circle. Two blasts like that should have shattered a barrier—yet the staff held. If a single zanpakuto could repel that much force… how strong was its master?
Tōsen's jaw worked, something sour curdling under his fury. He had betrayed Seireitei for power—and for sight. He had sacrificed so much. And he couldn't even break a single zanpakuto's ward?
Are "geniuses" really so untouchable?
Cole. Kurosaki Ichigo. Hitsugaya Tōshirō.
Rage bloomed. Tōsen's mouth opened and a deep green shockwave howled free—an ultrasonic roar.
"Kyūsō Rensatsu (Ninefold Aspect Kill)!!!"
Reiatsu became sound. Anything it touched was ground to dust by subsonic shattering. The ring struck the golden light—ripples spread like circles on a pond. The barrier did not break.
"AAAAAAH!"
Tōsen snapped. Wings like a fly's droned; he dove and tore at the golden radiance with his claws in a frenzy.
At that same moment, far off in the Forest of Menos, Cole paused and glanced toward Las Noches, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Someone's attacking my zanpakuto?"
He chuckled. "But… that's awfully weak, isn't it?"
(End of Chapter)
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