Unlike the crude failures of Kensei and Takasugi, Szayelaporro, through exhaustive soul fusion experiments, knew his work teetered on a forbidden precipice: the boundary between souls.
If Takasugi's Shinigami-Hollow fusion relied on "Pluses'" anti-membrane threads to forcibly graft Hollow elements, Szayelaporro's pinnacle, born from countless failures, shattered the souls of dozens of Adjuchas, forcibly blending them into one.
Compared to the Hōgyoku's creative autonomy in the original manga, Szayelaporro's method was primitive, almost barbaric.
Yet, in an era where no one had breached the soul's limits, he stood unrivaled.
From this bloody, savage experiment emerged his greatest creation, a mindless, ego-less monster, stronger than an average Vasto Lorde, endlessly devouring reiatsu.
Frankenstein!
And crucially…
"Kill, kill!" Szayelaporro whispered, as if seeing his old foe through Frankenstein's eyes across vast distances. "Chōjirō Sasakibe."
His lips split into a grotesque grin, his voice eerily calm. "If it's you, you can do it, can't you? Activate all the Frankensteins. Let me witness it, beneath Hueco Mundo!"
As his voice echoed, countless eyeball-like insects, identical to the one Makoto first seized, crawled from the pale giant trees surrounding Makoto's group, Ryoma's squad, and Frankenstein. They emerged with faint rustles, scuttling from the trunks' cores to their surfaces.
If the scattered reishi in the air could materialize, the Shinigami would see their dense, radiating reiatsu being devoured at an alarming rate by these unassuming creatures.
The reiatsu didn't linger in the insects but surged through glowing tracks in the trunks, funneled deep underground.
And so, massive eyes opened.
…
"Dodge!" Jūshirō's shout rang out.
Sōsuke vanished, his Shunpo carrying him dozens of meters in an instant.
In that brief window, a colossal arm swept through where he'd stood, its deceptive slowness belying its speed.
From afar, the motion seemed unremarkable. But Jūshirō, standing close, felt its overwhelming presence. The arm, seemingly distant, churned the air faster than the eye could track, slamming into him like a tidal wave. His black shihakusho clung to his frame, his lengthening white hair pulled taut, sand grains slicing his skin like knives. Sound itself vanished.
Boom!
Only as the arm passed did hearing return amid the howling wind, followed by a deafening roar that threatened to rupture eardrums.
The white sand ground now bore a chasm-like trench.
Jūshirō had never seen such a monster.
He couldn't even confirm how many comrades remained.
No time to think.
As the arm swept by, his sharp eyes caught a glowing flicker in the creature's maw.
His nerves tightened.
"All waves, become my shield! All lightning, become my blade, Sōgyo no Kotowari!"
One of only two dual Zanpakuto in the Soul Society materialized, twin short blades linked by a red cord and tag, poised in a staggered stance.
The moment his Zanpakuto released, Frankenstein's cyan Cero erupted.
A Gran Rey Cero!
The pillar-like beam shattered the atmosphere, a torrent of light aimed at Ryoma's dust-engulfed squad.
Before it struck, one of Jūshirō's blades intercepted it without hesitation.
"Jūshirō-senpai!" Sōsuke shouted, eyes wide.
Hum!
The beam shook the air.
But the expected devastation didn't follow.
Instead, the immense Cero was absorbed by the fragile-looking blade, swallowed into a void an inch from its edge. Cyan reishi coursed along the blade, through the cord, and into the second blade.
Jūshirō pointed the second blade forward.
Boom!
A refined, concentrated Cero surged forth.
The towering monster, unreacting, stood motionless.
Bang!
The explosion's dust cloud engulfed its massive form, the shockwave's heat curling the squad's hair.
If that had hit us… Sōsuke shuddered, his pride from graduating Shin'ō Academy as a prodigy dimming.
It's done, right?
He extended his reiatsu senses.
His expression froze.
Behind the dust, Frankenstein's silhouette loomed like a mountain in fog.
Sensing malice from the "insects" below, it lowered its head toward Jūshirō and Sōsuke.
Its fleshy face, framed by a half-bone mask on its jaw, gazed down like an impassive deity.
Whoosh!
Eight of its supporting arms rose, blotting out the sky like wings, then encircled Jūshirō and Sōsuke, trapping them within their reach.
Its maw tore open, a grin stretching to its ears.
A malevolent grin.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
If one palm's descent roared like a hurricane tearing the June coast, the eight palms crashing down like drums unleashed a cataclysm, earthquake, tsunami, and volcanic eruption combined, pulverizing everything into dust.
The massive palms slammed the ground, white dunes quaking like a trampoline. Billowing dust swallowed the Shinigami's tiny forms, their traces lost. The wind surged, flattening the dust with brutal force.
The frenzied, venting assault seemed to purge the monster's fused soul's darkest impulses. Its explosive reiatsu, palpable even miles away, radiated unrestrained violence.
Yet, its movements halted abruptly.
Zing!
Ryoma appeared in the clearing's center.
A flash of arcing light flickered before Sōsuke's eyes.
Only the clear ring of a blade lingered in his ears.
Thud.
A massive wrist fell, blood spraying skyward, raining down with chunks of flesh in a crimson deluge.
Ryoma, blood-soaked, wiped his lip with his thumb, a thrilled grin spreading. "It's been a while since I've met someone as tough to cut as you."
His words went unanswered.
Frankenstein's shattered, fused soul couldn't grasp their meaning.
It stared at its severed palm, sluggish, as if only slowly registering the gushing wound.
"Rrr…" A low, unintelligible rumble escaped its maw.
Then, to the squad's shock, its house-sized palm regenerated, flesh knitting at a speed rivaling an Adjuchas.
"High-speed regeneration!" Jūshirō blurted. "At that size?!"
"Not just regeneration." Ryoma said, eyes gleaming as he studied the bone armor on its palm. "Call it high-speed evolution!"
"But…" He grinned wider. "Gagaku Kairō!"
Before his words faded, he shot forward like an arrow, charging Frankenstein's colossal form.
With him surged several maws, larger than bears, their pure-white fur cloaking gaping jaws, Gagaku Kairō.
Ryoma's grin turned primal.
This was what he craved, a foe worthy of Gagaku Kairō's bite!
Crunch! Crunch!
As Ryoma charged, Gagaku Kairō's tearing jaws sank into Frankenstein's thick hide, ripping scarlet chunks like grappling hooks.
Whoosh!
Ryoma leaped to his peak, gripping his blade with both hands, pupils narrowing.
"Die!"
The blade plunged, its tip channeling dense reiatsu, leaving a radiant trail in the air.
Will I win? Ryoma wondered as his blade fell.
But his heart answered instantly.
I will! Let Makoto-san see my progress!
…
"Oh, he's done for." Makoto said, perched on a treetop, shading his eyes to watch Ryoma's squad.
"Nonsense." Katori countered, gazing at the distant battle. "Ryoma's handling it fine."
Their mission was to serve as the final safeguard for multiple advance teams, not to babysit. In the Shinigami world, life and death were routine.
Their presence ensured things didn't spiral to the worst.
For now, Katori deemed the situation within Ryoma's squad's capabilities.
Others might not know, but as one of Makoto's few close friends in the Soul Society, she knew Ryoma's strength. Had he not refused to leave the Ninth Division, a Gotei 13 captaincy would've been his.
Still, seeing Makoto's furrowed brow, she added, "Besides, Ryoma hasn't used his Bankai, has he?"
"It's not that he won't."
"He can't. Despite training in the Dangai, he still can't control his Bankai's range. One slip, and Sōsuke and the others could get caught in it. It's a dangerous Bankai."
Katori blinked, recalling Makoto's mention of Ryoma's first Bankai test in the Dangai. It devoured more than nineteen kilometers of space, leaving him unable to use even Shikai for half a year. Since then, they banned its use in the Seireitei.
"What a terrifying young man."
Makoto chuckled, turning to her. "What's that? Talking like some old hag."
"Haven't you thought it secretly?" Katori teased, her eyes twinkling behind round glasses. "Like, Captain Unohana's a thousand-year-old hag?"
Makoto's expression froze, serene as still water. "You said that. My Zanpakuto will back me up."
[Makoto said it too!]
[I'm telling Unohana-mama so she'll let me nap on her big booba!]
It went wild again.
Smack!
Makoto, face darkening, slapped the scabbard.
This thing always spoke at the worst times.
Katori's eyes sparkled with amusement. Makoto's so entertaining.
Then, her pupils contracted.
Behind Makoto, a palm large enough to grasp an entire pale giant tree emerged silently from the ground, casting them in shadow.
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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