"Sing it, Gazelle Knight."
With that voice of release, Nilu's figure shifted, her body reshaping with a dazzling surge of reiatsu. A moment later, the childlike form was gone, replaced by a half-goat knight standing proud. Her slender legs had become four hooves, the fragments of her broken mask stretched into long segmented horns that swept back over her head, while white armor covered her upper body like a gleaming cuirass. The Zanpakutō in her hand had become a double-headed spear of pure snow-white steel. She radiated heroic strength, like a warrior from myth reborn in the heart of Hueco Mundo.
Her turquoise hair rippled, her bearing fierce and unyielding, eyes like frozen blades fixed upon Nnoitra. He stiffened beneath that gaze, his expression twisting in ugliness.
"Bitch…" His voice dripped venom, his killing intent erupting as he snarled, "Go to hell!!"
Four scythes tore through the air as Nnoitra charged, his form like a cannonball hurled forward. Yet Nilu showed no fear; her expression remained cold as the storm of reiatsu detonated between them, the air erupting with a shockwave that shook the chamber apart.
—
At the same time, within Las Noches' Ninth Hall, Rukia stood alone, her breaths ragged and shallow. Wounds laced her body, scarlet lines of blood dripping from the blade of her sword and pooling beneath her feet. Across from her, the man who wore Shiba Kaien's face smiled gently.
"What's wrong, Rukia? Still hesitating?" Aroniero's voice, perfectly mimicking her fallen superior, rang out smooth as silk. His eyes were soft, his tone warm, yet within it was the cruel edge of manipulation. "You struck me down once. Don't you think it's time to atone for that sin?"
Her chest tightened. The weight of memory bore down—the man she admired, the comrade who treated her with kindness above all others, the one whose soul had been consumed by Hollow possession. And in that night of tragedy, it was her blade that ended him at his own desperate plea. That guilt had festered for years, a thorn that pierced deeper than any wound.
"Come, Rukia," the imposter whispered as he approached, voice soft as spring wind. "Do it yourself. Redeem your sins. If you close your eyes, all of this will be forgiven."
Rukia bowed her head, her face hidden in shadow. Aroniero's mouth curled into a cruel smile as he raised his spear to strike. Yet in the instant the blade fell, her eyes lifted—clear, cold, unshaken.
"You are not Kaien-dono."
The false Shiba froze, his pupils narrowing.
"He never spoke such words. He never placed blame upon another for his death. You… are not him." Her voice was ice, cutting deeper than her blade.
The snow-white Zanpakutō gleamed, poised at his chest.
"San no mai. Shirafune."
The thrust pierced through flesh. Blood exploded from Aroniero's body as the blade drove home, the illusion shattering under her strike.
—
Elsewhere, Grimmjow knelt in a pool of blood, the edge of Kurosaki Ichigo's blade dripping scarlet. His breath was ragged, his death cloak torn to tatters, yet his will still burned.
Grimmjow coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips. "You… damn brat… you actually…" He laughed weakly even as his vision blurred. "Surprising…" His body collapsed, and the feral eyes that had stared at the sky now dulled.
Ichigo, swaying on his feet, almost broken, exhaled heavily, eyes shutting for a heartbeat before forcing himself forward. "Ha… ha… Now… tell me… what is your rank?" His chest heaved, his voice cracked.
Grimmjow's lips moved faintly, naming his number before he finally fell silent, his reiatsu fading into nothing. Ichigo bowed his head briefly, then turned, his steps heavy, moving deeper into the endless palace.
Not far away, Ishida Uryū and Sado Yasutora, having dispatched the 105th Arrancar, pressed forward toward the inner sanctum of Las Noches as well.
—
Meanwhile, in the present world—Karakura Town.
The sky split. A black garganta tore open above the city, and more than ten figures emerged from its void. At their head was Aizen Sōsuke, his smile faint, eyes shining with quiet triumph. After centuries of deception, his plan had reached its final stage. The creation of the Ōken demanded a city, and tonight Karakura would be sacrificed.
"The air…" Ichimaru Gin's sly voice broke his reverie. "Ah, smells familiar, doesn't it?"
Aizen's gaze sharpened, catching sight of four massive pillars in the far distance—the Kakaku-chō Transfer Technique. His smile thinned. "So… they moved the entire city into Soul Society." The words were calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed amusement. "It makes no difference. Whether here or there, I will erase you all and claim the King's Key."
At that moment, light flared across the battlefield. Multiple Senkaimon opened in unison, and figures stepped forth.
From the First Division: Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni with his loyal vice-captain Sasakibe. Second Division Captain Sui-Feng with Marechiyo Ōmaeda at her side. Fourth Division's vice-captain Kotetsu Isane. Seventh Division Captain Komamura Sajin with Iba Tetsuzaemon. Eighth Division's Kyoraku Shunsui and Ise Nanao. Ninth Division's Hisagi Shūhei. Tenth Division's Hitsugaya Tōshirō and Rangiku Matsumoto. Thirteenth Division's Jūshirō Ukitake.
The might of Gotei 13's sharpest blades had gathered.
But they were not alone. Across from them, eight masked warriors appeared—Hirako Shinji, Sarugaki Hiyori, Yadōmaru Lisa, and the rest of the Visored, their reiatsu flaring. On the ground below, Urahara Kisuke, Shihōin Yoruichi, and Tsukabishi Tessai took their positions, prepared for the inevitable clash.
Yamamoto's eyes narrowed, his voice iron. "We made it in time."
Aizen descended a step, his smile like a blade. "In time? You misunderstand. Relocation of Karakura means nothing. Once I crush you here, I will simply go to Soul Society and forge the King's Key there." His words, drifting on the breeze, carried disdain as if he were already the victor.
The atmosphere thickened, a suffocating weight pressing down as killing intent filled the night. On one side, the might of Soul Society and its allies. On the other, Aizen and his Espada.
The silence before war shattered—Karakura Town had become the battlefield of fate.
The great clash was about to begin.
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