Hueco Mundo.
A crescent moon hung high above the eternal night, casting its cold, silver radiance over an endless sea of pale sand.
From time to time, gusts of wind swept across the desolate expanse, caressing the quartz-like dead trees and stirring up clouds of silver sand. Together with the moonlight—unchanging for ten thousand years—it painted a picture of lifelessness, desolation, and utter solitude.
Suddenly—
A series of scarlet flashes tore through the darkness.
Boom—!
A deafening blast echoed across the desert as a blood-red Cero shot through the sky, stirring up massive pillars of dust. Beneath the blanket of sand, the explosion revealed a hidden Shinigami—his Death Tyrant uniform now bathed in silver light.
"Captain Kurozane… those Gillians—they're mad! They're still chasing us like rabid beasts!"
The voice of a Shinigami rang out in bitter despair.
What could they do?
They had been pursued for a full week.
Seven days and nights, endlessly hunted by a swarm of Gillians.
If Gillians weren't mindless hollows—if they had wives, children, or parents—many in the squad would've started wondering if they had slaughtered their entire families to earn such unrelenting wrath.
"There's something wrong…"
"Something's definitely wrong with this."
"Otherwise, why would Gillians chase us for thousands of kilometers… and still not give up?"
Kurozane Masakane's face darkened, his expression still like water before a storm.
As a seasoned expedition commander who had fought in Hueco Mundo for years, he'd initially assumed they'd just had the misfortune of stumbling into a Gillian horde.
But after being relentlessly pursued for days, how could he still believe it was mere bad luck?
Even if Shinigami were their most coveted prey, it was still impossible—hundreds of Gillians wouldn't chase the same targets for this long without stopping.
More importantly… they had tried everything.
They hid their Reiatsu.
They cast barriers.
They split up and scattered.
They buried themselves in the dunes.
Nothing worked.
These Gillians were like hounds with an unshakeable scent. No matter what tactics they employed, the expedition force couldn't shake them off.
"Captain… the team can't hold on much longer. Our physical and spiritual energy are almost completely drained."
Lieutenant Miyano Fujimaru delivered the grim report, his voice heavy.
"…We move."
"Head for the Menos Forest."
Kurozane Masakane's eyes glinted as he gave a command no one expected.
"…What?"
Miyano Fujimaru was momentarily stunned.
"Gillian is mostly mindless. Think about it—if a foreign force like us storms into the Menos Forest… what do you think will happen?"
Kurozane's words made the others exchange nervous, uncertain looks.
"It may be reckless. But it's our only chance."
"If you trust me, then bet your lives on this."
"If this gamble fails… Kurozane Masakane will fall before any of you."
With that, he was the first to sprint forward—straight toward the Menos Forest.
The hundred or so surviving Shinigami stared at each other for a brief heartbeat.
Then, one by one, their gazes sharpened.
They followed.
They were all veterans of Hueco Mundo.
Everyone knew where the Forest of Menos was.
And no one knew it better than Kurozane Masakane.
Led by their captain, the group surged forward through the dunes.
Each time someone fell behind, or was about to be struck down by a blast of Cero, Kurozane would stop, vanish with Shunpo, and reappear with his blade drawn to shield them.
His unrelenting will sparked a fire in those who had begun to fall into despair. Many had considered surrendering to exhaustion, to death—but gritted their teeth and forced themselves onward.
They ran for a full day and night.
Still, the Gillians did not relent.
Still, the chase did not end.
And just when every last trace of Reiatsu, stamina, and will seemed to have been wrung from their bodies—
The Forest of Menos appeared at last.
An endless, oppressive woodland of black stone pillars and towering shadows.
"…We've made it."
"There it is."
Kurozane Masakane's voice trembled with barely restrained joy, as though a drowning man had spotted land.
The other Shinigami looked up, and their eyes brightened. They clenched their jaws, hearts steeled once again.
But—
Snap.
In an instant, every member of the expeditionary force froze in place.
Even Kurozane stopped.
Their expressions collapsed.
Hope shattered.
For in the depths of the Forest of Menos… countless red eyes suddenly gleamed in the dark.
One after another, the ghastly clown masks emerged from the gloom.
One… two… ten… twenty…
Dozens upon dozens of Gillians stepped out from the trees.
Not just a few.
There were hundreds.
And behind them, the original horde was still in pursuit.
All told—nearly four hundred Gillians now surrounded the expedition force.
If even three or four of them awakened full consciousness… devouring each other would be enough to birth several Adjuchas.
It was clear the Menos had come to a silent understanding.
Upon seeing the Shinigami collapse, exhausted, unable to go any farther—those emerging from the forest and those who'd given chase halted in unison.
And then—
Tsk—tsk—tsk—
With a chorus of dreadful clicks, dozens of mouths opened at once.
Red light flared across the horizon.
From every direction, Reiatsu spheres glowed like malevolent stars, aimed directly at the Shinigami.
The scent of death.
The pressure of killing intent.
The weight of unshakable spiritual force.
It all closed in.
Even Kurozane Masakane—who had led them with iron will until this very moment—was struck with despair.
He could run. He could abandon them and survive.
But the words he had spoken earlier still rang in his ears.
Clang.
Kurozane's grip tightened around his Zanpakutō.
Without hesitation, beneath the stunned gazes of his men, he released his blade, summoned every last scrap of Reiatsu left in his body, and charged the oncoming Gillians alone.
Not for victory.
But for his word.
He would die before any of his soldiers.
Poof—
The blade flashed.
Kurozane vanished into Shunpo, piercing directly through the mask of a Gillian with deadly precision.
And in that moment—
He braced for the end.
He expected to be swallowed by a storm of Cero, to vanish into ashes.
"…Huh?"
A second passed.
Then two.
The expected annihilation… never came.
Kurozane blinked, turned his head—and before he could make out the scene—
BOOM—
A tide of Reiatsu surged over him like a tsunami.
He had only brushed against its edge, yet his body was slammed down from the sky, crashing into the sand. His limbs trembled violently. He couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
For one terrifying instant, he thought his heart might stop from the sheer pressure.
After catching a single breath, he finally forced his head up and peered around him.
Even without sensing it—just with his eyes—he saw it.
Golden Reiatsu.
Thick, radiant, and substantial—like an ocean, like a hurricane, like a mountain descending from the heavens.
It surged in every direction, rippling the very air, distorting it with visible tremors like waves across a lake.
Every Gillian it touched froze.
Crushed.
Paralyzed.
Even their Ceros disintegrated mid-air, unraveling into harmless motes of spirit energy.
They couldn't even move.
A calm voice rang out in the silent void.
"Pardon the delay."
Under the dazed stares of Kurozane Masakane and the battered Shinigami who had given up all hope—
Two figures walked slowly through the moonlight.
With every step, it was as if the aloof crescent moon high above had lowered its haughty head, draping a silver curtain of light at their feet, laying down a silent path for the two who had come—
To walk upon the very light of Hueco Mundo itself.
...
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