That day, after receiving Makoto's report, the expeditionary force's general staff meeting dragged on for a grueling thirteen hours.
In the end, only three resolutions were reached: deploy more scouting units to the surrounding areas, immediately consolidate forces back to the base, and request research and military aid from Soul Society headquarters.
Szayelaporro's actions had an unimaginable impact on Hueco Mundo.
At the same time, they placed immense pressure on the Soul Society's security and management.
Though Makoto had flippantly remarked during the confrontation, "What's it got to do with us?" That didn't mean Captain-Commander Yamamoto would entertain such nonsense.
Since the Gotei 13 had established a stable hierarchy with the Soul King Palace, they were now an integral part of maintaining the balance of the three worlds.
A disruption in Hueco Mundo's Reiatsu distribution would inevitably upset that delicate equilibrium.
The consequences of such a disturbance were beyond what anyone could bear.
Moreover, the artificial creation dubbed "Frankenstein" from Szayelaporro's handiwork had caught the attention of several seated officers from the 12th Division.
Almost immediately after the meeting, their reports were sent to the research headquarters.
This construct, capable of forcibly breaking the evolutionary barriers of Hollows, held significant implications for the Shinigami. If Szayelaporro could shatter the limits of Hollow evolution, could the same method allow Shinigami to surpass the boundaries of captain-level strength?
The mere suggestion of such a possibility was promptly escalated to top priority.
Driven by the lure of breakthroughs, the expeditionary force's research division sprang into action, issuing multiple tasks to "search for Frankenstein remnants" on the battlefield.
The scouting teams, barely back at base and still catching their breath, were immediately dispatched with new navigation orders.
Even the youngest member, Sōsuke, was dragged from his tent to head toward the battlefield.
Clearly, the research division wouldn't lack experimental directions for the next fifty years.
None of this, however, concerned Makoto.
…
Swish!
A thrust of his blade, its force channeled through his spine, pierced the air with a whistling gust.
Makoto halted, his gaze fixed on the tip of his sword, exhaling slowly.
As expected.
Insights into Bankai had little to do with swordsmanship.
He sheathed his well-maintained Asauichi and strolled toward his tent.
Since defeating Yhwach three hundred years ago and claiming a massive trove of treasures, Makoto had barely earned any talent points.
Though relentless training had honed his Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hoho, and Kido to remarkable heights, without the aid of "point allocation." His progress had inevitably stalled.
Bankai had become an insurmountable hurdle.
No matter how many deep discussions he'd had with Unohana or how many specialized training sessions he'd endured, Makoto hadn't mastered it.
Only yesterday, after witnessing Katori's Bankai and earning a single talent point, had a glimmer of hope appeared.
According to Unohana, to achieve Bankai, one must first materialize their Zanpakuto's spirit and make it submit, revealing its "true name."
Under normal circumstances, Makoto should have accomplished both long ago.
He'd even delved into the three forms of his Zanpakuto during his first complete Shikai.
As for "making her submit"? That was a given.
Makoto knew her preferences down to the smallest detail, their coordination seamless enough to make her melt with a single tap, practically begging for more. Submission was an understatement, she'd even strike playful poses.
By all accounts, transitioning from Shikai to Bankai should have been natural.
Yet, he'd only managed a half-finished product.
…
"My true heart… huh?" Makoto murmured.
In that moment, he finally realized what he'd been missing these past three hundred years.
And, faintly, he began to see the path he should pursue.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he approached his tent and spotted a tall, sword-wielding figure standing respectfully at the entrance.
"Makoto-sama." Harribel greeted with a slight nod.
"What's the matter?"
"That Vasto Lorde has been secured in the underground prison." Harribel replied, her usual calm and serious demeanor intact. "How should we proceed?"
"Neliel…" Makoto mused for a moment. "Has she shown any interest in joining your corps?"
"None."
"Then take me to her."
At his words, Harribel seemed to exhale in relief, though a trace of concern flickered across her face, her expression complex.
As the first to evolve to Vasto Lorde under Makoto's command, and the greatest beneficiary of his leadership, Harribel's feelings toward him were deeply conflicted.
She was prepared to sacrifice or devote herself to him at any moment, yet she feared his ruthless efficiency when dealing with Hollows.
And then there were the rumors, no, the increasingly confirmed quirks of his.
As a Hollow, she lacked the standing to offer counsel.
This time was no different.
Surely Makoto-sama won't resort to extreme measures, right? Harribel thought as she led the way.
After all, according to Captain Katori's hint, Neliel was already slated to be the "vice-captain."
And…
Harribel stole a guilty glance back at Makoto.
Makoto-sama seemed particularly interested in Vasto Lordes, didn't he?
The shark-like Hollow's thoughts were delicate and tangled.
As they entered the Hollow Division' base, the chaotic clamor within the mountain stilled instantly, as if an invisible mute button had been pressed.
The silence was deafening.
Only the crisp footsteps of Harribel and Makoto echoed.
Thankfully, this man had no patience for weak or unremarkable creatures, sparing them not even a glance.
In the hushed tension of the Adjuchas, they descended underground.
A collective exhale followed from the Hollows.
In any other context, they'd have mocked each other for the noise.
But now, not one dared to speak.
Makoto's name carried that kind of weight among them.
A reputation forged in blood and iron.
…
Clang.
The moment the door creaked open, Neliel, feigning sleep, lunged forward with lightning speed.
But before she could take more than a few steps, her chained body slammed into an invisible wall, the clatter of chains sending her tumbling back.
Opening her eyes, she saw Makoto and Harribel standing before her.
The Antelope Knight fell silent for a long moment, her voice still clear but tinged with gloom. "Are you here to kill me?"
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd have died the moment you attacked." Makoto replied, his expression shifting to a gentle smile, his tone softening. "Harribel's already told you about the Hollow Division, I assume."
"If Nel-san agrees to join us, it'll save us both a lot of trouble."
…
Save a lot of trouble?
What would happen if she refused?
Unbidden, the thought crept into Neliel's mind.
The moment it surfaced, she tried to shake it off, but it clung stubbornly, resurfacing again and again.
She didn't notice that as the thought took hold, the fading light in her eyes flared brighter, blazing, even!
Driven by this inexplicable impulse, her tone grew resolute. "I'll never agree!"
"No matter what you do to me, as a Hollow, I'll never abandon the freest soul in this world!"
"No matter what you do!!"
Her defiant words carried an odd trace of excitement.
But the instant they left her lips, her rationality snapped back, as if reclaiming control, leaving her faintly bewildered.
Huh?
Why did I say that?!
If their grudge was already settled, what harm was there in serving under him for a few days?
In that fleeting moment, she'd felt an overwhelming urge to "become part of this man." as if ready to offer everything to him.
Yet that strange "illusion" vanished as quickly as it came, as if it had never existed.
Watching the Antelope Knight suddenly so adamant about "being punished." Makoto's calm demeanor turned peculiar.
That felt… odd.
She's getting fired up on her own?
Not only Makoto but even Harribel, hearing Neliel's words, looked up, her emerald eyes wide, nearly popping out.
Wait a second!
Didn't I tell you to cooperate?!
If this continued…
A sense of foreboding gripped Harribel as she glanced at Makoto, so close beside her.
Sure enough.
The moment Harribel's gaze shifted, Makoto cleared his throat, his voice carrying a cold edge of intimidation.
"If that's the case…"
His Zanpakuto familiar voice rang out in everyone's ears.
[If that's how it is, we won't hold back!]
[Oh, Nel-chan!]
[Don't make that weird face, all flushed like that!]
[Makoto-sama, that perverse weirdo, might not be able to resist stuffing something strange into your Hollow hole!]
[By the way, where is your Hollow hole, Nel?]
As the words landed, Harribel and Neliel instinctively covered their lower abdomen and goat-like rear, respectively, the latter's small hands barely reaching.
Both looked as if their lives depended on it, staring intently at him.
Makoto-sama's tastes were truly deplorable.
Harribel thought this with heartfelt sincerity.
…
On the surface, at the boundary between the pale desert and the night sky, the grotesque, massive form of a Frankenstein lumbered forward, moving unhesitatingly toward its preassigned destination.
These crude prototypes, crafted from Gillian and Adjuchas as raw materials, were utterly devoid of self-awareness due to their tainted souls, their intelligence inferior even to that of insects.
But as weapons, this trait was a distinct advantage.
In the war between Szayelaporro and the Hueco Mundo Council, these expendable creations were exceptionally cost-effective, especially against opponents as rare and formidable as Vasto Lordes.
Because of this, the council's Vasto Lordes had recently begun diversifying their countermeasures.
Thud.
A heavy elephantine foot sank deep into the sand.
The Frankenstein paused, its movements sluggish as it scanned its surroundings.
"Just one today?" a calm, almost indifferent voice called from the sky. "That's rare."
Bat-like wings fluttered faintly as a lean figure stood in the center of the night sky, looking down on the mindless monster with faint disdain.
Screech.
The Frankenstein's grotesque maw split into a twisted grin beneath its hideous mask.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Without warning or possibility of dialogue, several Ceros erupted from the giant creature's front.
Ulquiorra Cifer's slender form flickered under the moonlight, weaving through the blazing channels of Ceros. Like a seabird in a storm, he surged forward amidst the terrifying roars, charging straight at the witless abomination.
After days of battles and skirmishes, the Hueco Mundo Council members, sharing intelligence, had pinpointed these creatures' weaknesses.
Though their vitality was immense, a single devastating blow could prevent even a Frankenstein from recovering.
The most effective targets were the head and upper body.
With this in mind, Ulquiorra silently conjured two javelins of crackling lightning in his hands, each thrumming with destructive power.
Hum!
In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance to the monster.
Yet the Frankenstein stood motionless.
Instead of dodging, it charged headlong toward him.
As if sensing something, Ulquiorra's peripheral vision darted behind him.
Three more Frankensteins, nearly identical to the first, emerged from a cloud of sand.
Black-red Ceros, radiant as suns, rapidly formed around his position.
Ulquiorra's expression remained impassive.
Boom!
A chaotic dust storm erupted, shockwaves rippling outward.
Beneath the pitch-black night, it was as if a brilliant sun had risen, swallowing both the massive and the diminutive figures.
But before the three creatures could advance, that same cold voice echoed from the storm's center.
"Only four, then?"
"It seems he's caught on."
Amid the dispassionate words, Ulquiorra's half-damaged body rapidly regenerated in midair.
Two other equally small figures stood on distant dunes, forming a loose encirclement.
The Frankensteins stared blankly, oblivious to being ambushed.
Soon, another explosion roared.
The night returned to silence.
***
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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