The matches continued one after another, each clash between the Lesser Sins carrying its own distinct flavor of violence and spectacle. No two battles were alike. Some were decided by overwhelming force, others by clever exploitation of abilities, and a few devolved into drawn-out wars of attrition that left the arena scarred and screaming.
From his throne, Gabriel watched it all in silence.
His gaze moved methodically across the arena, across the fighters, across the stands. His soldiers were strong—stronger than they had been weeks ago—and more importantly, they were changing. Pressure, conflict, and desperation were doing exactly what he intended: sharpening them. Power was blooming, techniques evolving, instincts hardening.
And yet... something felt wrong.
A faint tension settled in his chest.
His End Sight—his ever-present certainty of futures yet to come—was missing. Not blocked. Not distorted.
Hidden.
Gabriel exhaled slowly.
Only one being was capable of doing that.
Lucifer.
The realization soured his mood. The fact that the devil could conceal certain endings from him meant something was being set in motion—something deliberate. Something that required preparation, patience... and secrecy.
Gabriel's brow furrowed.
He couldn't allow that bastard too much freedom to scheme.
For a stretch of time, he paid little attention to the ongoing matches, his thoughts elsewhere, calculating, reassessing. Still, even through his distraction, certain developments caught his notice.
Lázaro Desgarrar, for one.
The man had grown—significantly.
His ability had evolved beyond its original parameters. Where once he could only steal raw attributes, he could now manifest them.
If Lázaro stole an opponent's speed, he could create a clone wielding that stolen speed—forcing the victim to fight their own strength turned against them. And while that clone engaged them, Lázaro himself was free to close in and steal something else.
At a baseline, each clone manifested at roughly Lieutenant-level durability. They could be destroyed—sometimes even in a single decisive strike—but doing so came at a cost. Once a clone was destroyed, the stolen attribute it carried returned to its original owner.
That was the tradeoff.
There was no known limit to the number of clones Lázaro could create.
The implications were terrifying.
If he stole strength, perception, reaction speed—those could be managed. But if he stole more fundamental traits...
Breathing. Blood coagulation. Balance. Spatial awareness.
The victim wouldn't even realize what was missing—only that something was wrong.
The technique wasn't without restriction. Lázaro still had to make physical contact. Five fingers. They didn't need to touch simultaneously, but each finger had to make contact once—and only once. No repeats. Whether those fingers had to come from the same hand or could be split between both remained unclear.
Still, with the right setup, the ability bordered on monstrous.
Gabriel's attention drifted back fully to the arena as the announcer's voice rang out once more.
"Next match: Lázaro Desgarrar versus Caeloro Fortuna."
A slow smile crept onto Gabriel's lips.
"Oh," he murmured, eyes glinting with interest,
"this will be fun."
For the denizens of Hueco Mundo and Gabriel's forces, it was anticipation.
For Soul Society—
It was different.
Lázaro's face was not one they could forget, especially Shunsui, who was currently remembering the jumping of a lifetime he received from those two.
They cornered him in such a way he couldn't use his Bankai, and they just beat on him. Anytime he tried to get away from them, they simply wouldn't follow and would instead proceed to slaughter any Shinigami nearby.
In their words, they didn't have to follow him. He was the protector, after all. They were the Hollows. TL;DR—he was forced into a situation where he couldn't win.
His only usable eye twitched. The hole where his left eye used to be itched a bit.
They did quite a lot of damage to him, though Kisuke did find something to replace that eye. It would take a while to fully grow back. Until then, he was kind of nerfed.
"That one... he doesn't feel like the others," Soi Fon said quietly.
Byakuya's brow furrowed a bit. Not him. Internally, he was still looking for that one person—and Lázaro wasn't it.
He was looking for the man who had destroyed him that day.
On the opposite side of the arena, Caeloro Fortuna stretched lazily, grinning like he was about to walk into a festival instead of a deathmatch.
The contrast was jarring.
Caeloro looked like excess incarnate—too much light, too much confidence, too much everything.
Lázaro looked like a man who would take what you had and leave you wondering why you were suddenly empty.
Among the visiting factions from other realms, reactions varied.
The northern warriors under Hrólf Stormbearer leaned forward, interest sparked rather than fear. One of them chuckled darkly.
"Good," Hrólf rumbled, lightning faintly crawling along the head of his hammer.
"Two monsters. Let them test each other."
From the southern delegation, Ixbalanqué Ajaw-Tezcat watched in silence, eyes narrowed, fingers tracing sigils in the air. His shamans murmured prayers—not for victory, but for containment.
Back among Gabriel's forces, there was no concern—only expectation.
Starrk yawned, resting his cheek in his hand.
"So a battle between someone with too much Reiatsu and someone who steals it. Greed vs thief." He yawned once more. "This could be fun."
Harribel's gaze lingered on Lázaro a second longer than necessary. Calm. Assessing.
"He has changed."
Grimmjow looked rather bored.
"He is still too weak," he said, annoyed. In the beginning, Lázaro could give him a challenge. Now, Grimmjow's sin—or authority—had evolved so much it wasn't funny anymore. Once you became prey and he became predator, he practically turned into Mahoraga while you passively got weaker.
As Lázaro lifted his eyes toward Caeloro, the arena seemed to quiet—like even the air was waiting to see what would be taken first.
Shunsui leaned back slightly, shadows under his hat deepening.
"...Let's see what kind of tricks he has."
Across the arena, Caeloro laughed, loud and fearless.
Lázaro smiled.
This was going to be fucking awesome.
The bell rang.
A/N Hey...so I totally didnt drop it, got busy, i do not plan on staining my writing reportoir by having unfinished story, so the story will be done, especially since, only 1 arc remain, hell if the chapters goes as i plan, probably wont reach 200.
Anyway, the next few chapters will vary in lenght 1k minimum, but average around 2 to 3k words,so extra long, so i can cover more, this also mean more time between upload, but oh well, better later than never