Is this the pinnacle of a Shinigami's existence?
Sōsuke watched silently, lips pursed, his loose robes whipping in the backdraft's gusts.
Though he'd imagined and calculated Makoto's strength countless times, witnessing it was another matter entirely.
The man who usually lounged carelessly, flitting between women, had suddenly turned serious, revealing a peerless edge that defied defiance.
This stark contrast left a mark in Sōsuke's heart, one that centuries might not erase.
Naturally, he wasn't the only one struck by this thought.
Boom!
The storm of residual currents swept away the dust rising from the explosion's epicenter.
The Forest of Menos reappeared, scarred as if struck by countless meteors. Lava and high-heat crystals dotted the landscape, the terrain utterly transformed.
The ancient great trees, standing for untold ages, had collapsed, with only a few broken stumps remaining.
Once lush and thriving, the desert forest now looked as if a giant spoon had scooped out its center.
The glowing tracks and surveillance devices woven through the area were likely obliterated as well.
Makoto's goal, it seemed, was achieved.
"Let's move."
"There's nothing left to see here."
"Ryoma, take point."
"Watch for ambushes at the exit."
As the group stood dazed, Makoto sauntered to the front, his demeanor suggesting the display was but a fraction of his power.
As if it meant nothing.
Standard procedure, no big deal.
In truth, he hadn't exerted much effort.
If Captain-Commander Yamamoto unleashed his Bankai at full strength, the Soul Society itself risked structural collapse from spiritual destabilization, potentially leading to ruin.
For a powerhouse like Makoto, the Three Worlds were fragile enough to break.
Destroying a small area was no challenge.
The gap between tier-1 reiatsu and tier-3 was likely greater than that between a captain and a common seated officer.
Such was the harsh reality.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Ryoma snapped out of his daze, responding loudly and leading his team forward.
Yet his mind replayed that scene endlessly.
He'd thought his unique Bankai's destructive power had brought him close to Makoto's level.
How wrong he was.
"That blast covered at least forty kilometers, didn't it?" He muttered, the thought slipping out.
Jūshirō paused mid-step.
"Ryoma." He said suddenly.
Ryoma turned, puzzled.
Jūshirō flashed a hearty grin, open and warm. "Looks like we're still far from being 'true captains,' huh?"
"…"
Ryoma blinked, then let out a long breath, growling, "Damn right! These endless duties, I don't know how much longer I can take this!"
"It's killing me."
"Hey, you slack off plenty!" Jūshirō shot back. "I'm the one handling all of Captain Makoto's paperwork!"
"That's fieldwork, fieldwork! I'm running around everywhere…"
Their bickering filled the air, and Sōsuke's gaze lingered on their faces.
Both Vice-Captain Kuruyashiki and Third Seat Jūshirō burned with a spark in their eyes, ignited by ambition.
True captains… huh?
Sōsuke recalled the earlier spectacle.
Had these two stayed in the Ninth Division as subordinates because they saw Makoto as their goal?
He hadn't forgotten Ryoma's Bankai.
That terrifying power surpassed most official captains.
"Fools who invite their own suffering…" Sōsuke murmured, as if mocking himself.
Soon, with Ryoma's team at the vanguard, the scouting party returned to the surface.
Hueco Mundo's night sky remained dim, but compared to the underground's eternal moss-lit gloom, the desert's scattered starlight offered some guidance.
Makoto stepped to the front, gazing across the boundless desert, his brow slightly furrowed.
Even from such a vast distance, his senses clearly detected massive reiatsu reactions flaring recklessly far away.
"As expected."
"Those monsters aren't limited to a couple."
"And the other side… Vasto Lordes?"
Though ignorant of Szayelaporro's plans, Makoto instinctively sensed…
Hueco Mundo was on the verge of upheaval.
As he pondered, his gaze froze.
The Shinigami behind him noticed the anomaly in the sky, gasping in unison: "W-What is that?!"
Sōsuke looked up, following their stares.
A blinding white beam shot from the horizon, piercing the sky, forming a colossal pillar that illuminated Hueco Mundo's night.
…
"Damn bastard."
Baraggan drove his blood-stained black axe into the sand, his reiatsu manifesting as tangible black smoke, coiling and rising like steam.
Beneath his skeletal crown, ghostly flames flickered in his hollow eye sockets.
His once-regal purple robe, symbolizing supremacy, was now riddled with tattered holes, much like Ichigo Kurosaki's post-Bankai attire, which reflected his spiritual state.
Baraggan's robe was an extension of his body… or rather, his reiatsu.
Its ruined state betrayed his poor condition.
But…
Thud.
The horned creature's body tipped sideways, its frame, eroded by the mist of aging, reduced to a skeletal husk, yet still impossibly heavy.
Most of the Adjuchas who followed Baraggan were dead, leaving only a few exceptionally talented or survival-savvy stragglers.
Even they, seeing the motionless corpse, felt lingering dread.
"Is… is it dead?"
"Probably."
Nnoitra Gilga's left arm was severed, his leg once cleaved, now crawling as high-speed regeneration repaired his body.
By sheer luck, his mask remained intact.
Even so, he lacked the strength to move further.
What a monster.
His gaze darted between Baraggan and the corpse, a trace of irrepressible wariness in his eyes.
Having witnessed a Vasto Lorde at full power, he realized the chasm between them.
He was as frail as an infant.
Among them, only Baraggan stood tall, sensing something and gazing into the distance.
A faint grinding of teeth could be heard.
"What kind of monster is this?"
Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck gripped her knight's lance, her hooves kicking up faint dust on the sand.
Her delicate features remained taut as she pointed the lance's bone tip at the Frankenstein collapsed in the center of a crater.
With no other Adjuchas or Vasto Lordes nearby, this creature, unfortunately, hadn't "evolved" To the next stage.
Without the glowing tracks' support, it endured thirteen blasts of her Gamuza's Lance before finally succumbing, blasted into a pulpy mess by Nelliel's relentless assault.
Yet, even in this shattered state, the Frankenstein in the crater continued to writhe like a slug, creeping toward the rim.
Cautious by nature, Nelliel kept a safe distance.
Having survived in Hueco Mundo for nearly a millennium, she'd never seen such a thing, and curiosity tugged at her.
As she prodded a sticky segment with her lance's tip, the viscous mass began devouring the weapon's reiatsu, startling her into hurling the lance away.
Boom!
Another explosion rocked the crater.
"Better stay far back."
Nelliel made the prudent choice.
As she pondered, a pillar of light suddenly rose from the distant horizon.
"…"
"What's that now?"
Today's oddities were piling up.
…
The sight wasn't limited to these three groups.
Nearly half of Hueco Mundo witnessed the torrent piercing the black night sky.
Some Vasto Lordes, fresh from surviving Frankenstein attacks, linked the light to their encounters and began heading toward its source.
Beyond them, the Wandenreich, hidden within Hueco Mundo, detected the phenomenon.
After heated debate, they opted to tighten their defenses and hold back.
…
When Makoto led his group to the light's origin, they found unexpected company.
Several Vasto Lordes, each distinct, kept wary distances, eyeing their rare "kin" with suspicion or indifference, maintaining wide gaps between them.
Baraggan's territory, bolstered by his few surviving Adjuchas subordinates, was notably empty, his reputation and power unmatched even among Vasto Lordes.
Only when Makoto's group arrived did he turn, his ghostly flames locking onto Makoto, his tone icy.
"Hmph…"
"No proper welcome, I'm afraid."
"Didn't expect a stir in Hueco Mundo to draw you Shinigami here."
"Like cockroaches that won't die."
Three hundred years later, Baraggan's appearance hadn't changed.
But Makoto, once youthful, now carried the mature, reliable air of an adult, complete with the weary edge of an overworked salaryman.
"Been a while, Baraggan-san."
Makoto's tone was even, his gaze casually noting Baraggan's disheveled state. He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, chuckling softly. "Three centuries, and you're being bitten by your former lackeys?"
"Hardly befitting you."
Baraggan's ghostly flames flared, his unrestrained reiatsu roaring like a hurricane, its immense, near-crushing force sweeping down.
Makoto stepped forward, his own reiatsu erupting, its oppressive might outstripping Baraggan's as it blasted outward.
Their energies clashed in the air, sparking faint, indistinct hums.
The mere shockwaves left every Shinigami and Hollow present with heavy chests, as if an invisible weight pressed on their shoulders.
"…So it's you, brat."
Baraggan, more attuned to reiatsu than appearances, recognized him.
Yet his tone carried newfound wariness.
Unlike his own full exertion, this Shinigami was clearly holding back.
Noticing the other powerful Vasto Lordes nearby, Baraggan's mind clicked, naturally, the Soul Society still feared a unified Hueco Mundo.
However, the other Vasto Lordes maintained their aloof, wary stances.
For those who'd clawed their way from Adjuchas through slaughter and consumption, "trust" among peers was a luxury.
Only Nelliel, newly arrived, paused, her front hooves fidgeting in the sand, her long tail swaying lightly.
Up close, one might catch a fleeting pink heart in her eyes.
Has he reached this level already?
Nelliel tightened her grip on her lance, unsure how to face the Shinigami, and turned away, feigning unfamiliarity.
Makoto's gaze lingered on her, a knowing, almost mischievous smile curving his lips.
Hm?
Harribel glanced at him.
That look he gave the Vasto Lorde… why did it feel oddly familiar?
As both sides stood in tense silence, the white pillar, piercing the heavens, began to wane.
From the night sky's depths, Szayelaporro's figure appeared abruptly on the canopy.
"No."
"Just a projection?"
Ryoma's brow furrowed.
Then, Szayelaporro's affected, pinched voice echoed in everyone's ears.
"So many esteemed guests, it's truly an honor."
"Regrettably, my true self isn't here."
The skyborne hologram bowed courteously. "Oh, right, right."
"Many of you may not know me, so allow me to reintroduce myself."
"I am Szayelaporro Granz."
"And soon, I will unify all of Hueco Mundo, in my own way."
At those words, Baraggan, self-proclaimed king of Hueco Mundo, bristled at the affront. His black axe swung, unleashing a tangible, misty slash toward the sky.
But it merely cleaved through the projection.
The image restored itself instantly.
"No need to rush, Baraggan-sama." Szayelaporro said with a carefree smile. "You'll have plenty of chances to vent that boundless energy in the days ahead."
"What did you say?!"
The dismissive tone ignited Baraggan's ghostly flames.
"You've likely noticed the beam released earlier… pay it no mind; it wasn't aimed at you."
Szayelaporro's lips curled. "It's merely bait to spur all of Hueco Mundo's souls into slaughtering each other more aggressively."
"In the coming days, this entire realm will become my testing ground."
"Hollows will prove their souls' worth through combat, consuming each other to elevate their value, breaking the old order through relentless competition, until you're all drawn in, becoming nourishment for my boundless evolution!"
"And thus, I'll reach that distant place."
His words left both Shinigami and Hollows momentarily bewildered, struggling to grasp why he'd act this way or share his plans.
Yet the signs were clear: this madman had been scheming for centuries.
Imagining Hueco Mundo descending into mindless carnage, as Szayelaporro described, sent a chill through every Vasto Lorde present.
With everyone already pushed to the brink, he wanted to double down?
Was he insane?!
As the Vasto Lordes fell silent or bristled with killing intent, a voice piped up from the crowd, a bold soul raising a hand to speak.
"So, what does this have to do with us Shinigami?"
---
Hi guys, Elenea here! I just want to announce that starting now I'll be trying to focus on my own original fanfic, which I've been thinking about for the past few days (lol I really mulled this over briefly for a few days and decided I'm going to make it a full novel).
[Worse Than the Devil (DxD)]
Synopsis:
Devil.
An evil and chaotic creature, born from hell, which are often a scapegoat for humans. Blamed for the atrocities they themselves commit.
"The devil made me do it."
A phrase always uttered by humans after committing crimes, casting blame and responsibility for their wrongdoings onto the devil.
But not all humans are like that, for there is one man who would gleefully commit atrocities that would be condemned by all of human history and accept the blame and responsibility for those wrongs with open arms.
His name is Michael, but in stark contrast to the meaning of his name 'Who is like God' he is not a devout man who draws near to God's embrace. Instead… he is the one who sends lost sheep to meet God's embrace much faster.
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Btw, a quick note before you decide to read, if you have a heart as pure as glass, I suggest you don't read this because it REALLY gets dark to early. The first chapter will give you a little idea of what I might explore later on in this fanservice harem-themed world like DxD.
Adios!