"The sky… it split open?"
A young 13th Division member stood frozen, eyes wide, throat parched as he stared upward.
Beside him, his companion clutched a trembling Zanpakutō.
"Is… is that a Hollow? That size is insane!"
"I—I wanna go back…"
Before the last word could leave his lips, a crushing torrent of spiritual pressure surged from the newly fused rift in the heavens, crashing down across the battlefield like a tidal wave.
Every combatant, Hollow or Shinigami alike, faltered.
The weaker ones collapsed outright, faces pressed into the blood-soaked mud, unable even to lift their heads.
Low-level Hollows closest to the rift were annihilated on the spot, reduced to fragments of Reishi without so much as a scream.
Only the stronger fighters—those nearing Seated Officer level—managed to remain standing, and even then, barely. Their necks strained against the weight, veins bulging as they forced themselves to look skyward.
And there… they saw it.
Emerging from a gaping rift as large as a mountain, came a colossal, pale white mask.
"…It's over," someone whispered. The despair in their voice was sharp and cold. "It's just like the textbook said. That's a Menos Grande."
"Even Captain-class Shinigami might not survive that…"
"I guess this is where we die."
The color drained from the 13th Division's faces. Their bodies wanted to retreat, but fear and sheer pressure rooted their legs in place.
By contrast, the 11th Division—though no less grim—stood with clenched jaws, eyes flashing with stubborn resolve. Not a single one stepped back. Their blades only gripped tighter.
If they were going to die, they'd die cutting that thing down.
But despair loomed.
That face alone—just the exposed portion—was dozens of meters tall, nearly filling the entire rift.
Then came the hands.
Two massive, clawed hands gripped the edges of the rift… and tore it open wider.
CRACK—
The sky itself split apart.
A black gash stretched across the heavens like an unhealing wound.
Then came the foot. A single, monstrous foot stepped through—each toenail taller than a full-grown Shinigami.
When the beast fully emerged into the World of the Living, the pressure doubled again.
A few remaining Hollows were pulverized on the spot by the sheer weight of its spiritual presence.
"…Tch."
Shiki dropped from the air, supporting a panting Ashido, and landed next to Kenpachi Kuruyashiki.
The 11th Division Captain was lazily rotating his neck, vertebrae cracking, wearing the look of a man who'd just woken up with a stiff shoulder.
Shiki felt the weight in his chest lighten.
The crow's curse came true. A Menos showed up.
But if that's all it is? It might not even be enough to make him try.
Unless it was a Vasto Lorde—the highest echelon of Hollows—this one might not even qualify as a warm-up.
"Kuruyashiki-taichō!"
Shiba Kaien stumbled over, sweating heavily from resisting the Menos' spiritual pressure.
But when he looked at Kuruyashiki—so relaxed he seemed bored—he sighed in relief.
Then he saw Ashido panting and drenched in sweat… and Shiki standing there as if nothing happened, his uniform pristine, not even his hair tousled.
Kaien's eyes bugged out.
"Why… why are you fine?!"
Shiki didn't even blink. Wearing his ever-unmoved aristocratic mask, he answered flatly:
"Because I'm handsome."
Kaien choked. "I—I mean, yeah, sure, you look good, but what does that have to do with enduring a Menos' pressure?!"
Shiki turned, staring him dead in the eye, and said four more words:
"Handsome is strength."
Kaien opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then opened it again.
He had nothing.
Shiki ignored him and turned toward Kuruyashiki.
"Captain. Time to act. If we wait any longer, people will start dying."
"Ahh, my bad, my bad." Kuruyashiki scratched his head, chuckling.
"Old habits. I always like to see if they've got anything interesting to show."
He paused, eyes drifting toward the massive Hollow now scanning the battlefield like a diner picking appetizers.
"But it's rude to keep a guest waiting, huh."
He raised his Zanpakutō.
No chanting. No buildup. No dramatic pose.
Just a clean, casual swing—straight through the air.
The moment his blade moved, everything stopped.
A crescent-shaped slash of pure spiritual pressure erupted forward—silent, elegant, and absolute.
It cleaved the ground, the sky, and the air itself. Even light seemed to bend away.
The arc of purple light passed through the Menos Grande's throat.
And then… the pressure vanished.
Just gone.
Many of the Shinigami who had been gritting their teeth against that unbearable weight suddenly collapsed forward, losing balance as the strain holding them up disappeared.
"GUH—!"
A final guttural wail rang out above.
The mountainous Hollow shattered—from the neck down, blue Reishi scattered like embers in the smoke-stained sky.
"…Tch. Boring."
Kuruyashiki rested his blade on his shoulder and sighed.
That swing… felt no different than the ones he'd used to chop through regular Hollows. Just a bigger target.
No thrill. No heat in his blood.
Just another bug crushed.
"Ashido," he called over his shoulder, "clean up the stragglers. We're heading back. This place stinks."
"Understood, Captain," Ashido said, already issuing orders.
Around them, the survivors slowly stirred.
"Did—did you SEE THAT?! One slash! One!"
"That's a Kenpachi for you! The strongest!"
"That damn Hollow—didn't stand a chance!"
"…I really thought I was gonna die. Hah… hah…"
Tears, laughter, disbelief, and exhaustion burst out across the field.
Some Shinigami collapsed into the dirt, sweat and grime coating their faces, but all of them were smiling—relieved, foolishly grinning smiles.
Kaien wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to help coordinate aid for the injured.
But Shiki…
Shiki didn't celebrate.
He didn't glance at the crowd, or even at the returning Kenpachi.
His eyes stayed locked on the sky.
Because the rift…
Was still there.
And it wasn't closing.