"AAAH—!"
Orihime and Tatsuki screamed, frozen before the onrushing horde. Grotesque, twisted shapes—nightmares made flesh—surged across Las Noches. For a heartbeat it felt like hell itself had opened.
"Hey… if you two keep shrieking like that, I'll go deaf before any of these things can hurt me," Cole muttered, half-covering an ear.
Orihime flushed and clapped both hands over her mouth. Tatsuki gulped, face hot. "S-sorry… they just look like actual devils…"
"Actual devils aren't this ugly," Cole deadpanned—then blinked as Tatsuki pointed ahead, eyes saucer-wide.
"C-Cole! The whale—!"
A titanic Arrancar—towering nearly a hundred meters like a bipedal whale—thundered forward. Its fist, a mountain of bone and corded muscle, fell like a meteor; air boomed, sand geysered, pillars shuddered.
Cole's lips quirked. He knew this one: Choe Neng Poww—one of Barraggan's six Fracción. Raw power not far off the low-ranked Espada; too loyal to challenge for a number. In Karakura, he'd nearly pulped Ikkaku before Komamura put him down.
"Komamura could beat you," Cole thought, lifting one casual palm to meet the falling world.
Impact.
Silence.
Tatsuki pried an eye open—and stared. The "mountain" stopped on Cole's open hand. The tiles under his feet didn't even crack—he'd dumped the force into nothing.
The whale-man gaped, then roared and swung his other fist. "How!? I am Choe Neng Poww, strongest under Lord Barraggan! You're just a Shinigami ant—"
"Annoying," Cole sighed, cutting him off. "Among the strong, only reiatsu decides strength."
Poww's retort died. He knew that creed. But brute mass had always carried him through—
Suddenly his body lurched. "W-what are you—!?"
Cole pinched the giant's index finger between thumb and forefinger, spun once, and heaved.
"Dodgeball time, Hollows!"
Poww's scream dopplered as his leviathan bulk turned into a building-sized projectile. Arrancar blanched.
"He's throwing Choe Neng Poww!?"
"This 'Shinigami' feels more like a Hollow!"
"Get out of the way or be paste!"
Barraggan's other Fracción—Charlotte, Abirama, Findor, Ggio, Nirgge—snapped, killing intent flaring. "Touch him and die!"
KRRAAASH—
Poww slammed down like a black comet, pulverizing tile and pillar, a shockwave ripping outward. His skid threatened to plow straight through Barraggan's dais—until a single hand rose.
"Hmph. Trash."
Barraggan's palm halted the sliding colossus cold. Subordinates clawed out from beneath the rubble, livid eyes cutting to Cole.
"It's that damned Shinigami—"
SZZZT—
A black-crimson lance sheared the air. Ggio Vega, mid-snarl in his berserker-ape release, never finished the sentence—Gran Rey Cero (Royal Hollow Flash) erased him from his footing and hurled him, bleeding, through three walls. He crumpled in a heap, hierro split and leaking, and stopped moving.
"GGIO!" Nirgge howled—his massive green trunk coiled, proboscis snapping out to bind Cole—
SZZZT—
Another black-crimson streak. The "infinite" trunk snapped off inside ten meters; Nirgge and what remained of his nose tumbled like chopped timber, bouncing down the court.
SZZZT. SZZZT. SZZZT.
Black-crimson Ceros fell like rain. Each line of light stamped one name for the reaper—one beam, one body. Ordinary Adjuchas-grade Arrancar went ashen; to them, the black-haired boy was the only true demon here.
"Not good—!" Apache, one of Harribel's girls, stared at the incoming beam. Poww and Ggio were both stronger than her—and they'd been swatted like flies. Panic clawed up her throat. "Mila! Sung-Sun! Help!"
Mila-Rose and Sung-Sun snapped their left arms up, fingers setting to wrists. If they tore all three left arms free, they could force "Ayon" into being and maybe block the shot—
"Too late…" Apache whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
FWOOM—
Water roared.
The blast slapped against a surging shield, steam exploding across the tiles. Apache gasped and opened her eyes to the figure standing before her.
"Harribel!"
Sword in hand, water coursing at her feet, Harribel coughed blood and fixed Cole with a steady stare. "You three—back off. You can't buy even a heartbeat here."
Across the plaza, the perpetually languid Stark blurred into place to swat aside more incoming lines of light for the other side. He raked a hand through his hair, wincing. "Hey, kid… you've got your friend back. Think we can call it a day? I'm really not in the mood."
Cole glanced at Tatsuki—still staring at him as if he were some colossal beast—and looked away with a sigh. "I'd love to. But there are two more I haven't found. Where are they?"
"Hiyori and Lisa?" Stark thumbed deeper into Las Noches. "Taken inside. Even I don't know where."
"Then I can't leave." Cole's tone flattened. "If Aizen's not showing himself, I'll just walk in and take them."
"Stark—you dare consort with a Shinigami?" Barraggan's gaze slid to the Primera. He didn't hate Stark; all his rancor was saved for Aizen. But seeing a Vasto Lorde stronger than himself do nothing—submit to a Shinigami—scalded his pride.
Stark exhaled. "Yeah, yeah. Then we fight. Primera work hours, I guess." His chest flared—an azure Cero bloomed and screamed forward.
Cole arched a brow and raised his index finger. Black-crimson energy massed to a needlepoint.
"Gran Rey Cero (Royal Hollow Flash)."
KRAKOOM—
Blue and black-crimson met mid-air and canceled in a howl of pressure. Tiles peeled back to white sand; weaker spectators blew away like leaves.
"…You're strong," Cole admitted, withdrawing his finger. Stronger than the "slacker" act suggested—his Gran Rey had been met and matched. "Didn't think you were that strong."
"Come on," Stark said, showing the '1' branded on the back of his hand. "Primera, remember?"
Cole nodded. He knew Stark had once split his soul—creating Lilynette to stave off a loneliness that could kill. Even halved, Stark had still outranked Barraggan. If he were whole… he'd outstrip even Kyōraku in bankai.
Cole eased off. Stark, relieved, didn't press.
Barraggan had seen enough. "Enough prattle." His blade rasped free, killing chill rolling out in a tide. Pitch-black reiatsu bled decay; petals browned and crumbled, stone furred and sloughed to powder as the sand breathed its last.
The old tyrant's outline warped—
—and the "king" became death made flesh: a black-cloaked reaper hefting a scythe, time itself rotting in his wake.
"Resurrección—Arrogante (Arrogant)."
(End of Chapter)
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