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[Your Reiatsu has sensed the pressure of Espada-class spiritual energy. It resisted, struggled, and improved your training efficiency.]
The moment Moyu laid eyes on the figure standing before him—with short pink hair, a peculiar white uniform, and grotesque bone-like glasses embedded into his face—he instantly recognized the infamous presence.
Szayelaporro Granz, once the 0th Espada and now ranked 8th, stood with theatrical arrogance.
As Hueco Mundo's chief scientific officer and the most deranged intellect among the Espada, Szayelaporro's legacy was one of sadistic brilliance. Not only did he lead in research and intelligence-gathering, but his derangement also earned him comparisons to Kurotsuchi Mayuri—the self-proclaimed "perfect being" in a twisted mirror of Soul Society's own monstrosity.
Szayelaporro's entire existence was a grotesque parody of perfection, both physically and psychologically.
What had always unsettled Moyu the most wasn't the eccentricity or the flamboyant madness—it was the symbolic horror of Szayelaporro's Hollow hole placement, which reflected a depravity that transcended intellect.
Although he was frequently dismissed for his vanity and flair for theatrics, his strength could not be underestimated. Had he focused more on refining his abilities instead of flaunting his genius, he might never have lost the 0th Espada position to begin with.
Yet even as the 8th, Szayelaporro remained far from weak.
No Espada could be called one and still be fragile.
"Adjuchas?" Moyu asked, his voice calm but tinged with disdain as he assessed the enemy before him. "You look... different."
"Ha!" Szayelaporro scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt as he spread his arms flamboyantly. "Don't confuse my flawless form with those pathetic beasts. I have transcended the limitations of Hollow-kind. I now wield the power of a Shinigami!"
Moyu's expression didn't shift. There was no need to react.
His knowledge of Hollow evolution far surpassed that of Szayelaporro—possibly even that of Aizen himself. Hollows who shattered their limits by removing their masks were reborn with humanoid features and the spiritual tools of Shinigami, gaining weapons akin to Zanpakutō.
Such beings were known as Arrancar.
Most Arrancar evolved from Adjuchas-class Menos Grande, granting them base strength equivalent to Vasto Lorde-level Hollows—formidable creatures in any era.
"Humble Shinigami cannot fathom a perfect being like me," Szayelaporro declared, his voice theatrical as he posed like an actor presenting himself before an invisible audience. "Even if I'm not the strongest Espada, crushing someone like you is little more than routine maintenance."
Moyu's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the corner of his lips rising into a restrained, mocking smirk.
"The 8th Espada," he murmured, his voice almost amused. "Is that title truly enough to justify such arrogance?"
Turning slightly without breaking eye contact, he called over his shoulder, "Saimu."
Mikami Saiki, battered but still conscious, turned weakly toward him.
"You're done here," Moyu said firmly, his tone allowing no argument. "Fall back. Whatever comes next, you cannot interfere."
Thanks to Moyu's timely arrival, Szayelaporro hadn't yet begun the cruel experiments he was known for. Had he done so, rescuing Saiki would've been far more difficult—possibly impossible.
"Without my permission—" Szayelaporro began, stepping forward with menacing confidence, intent on reclaiming control—
—but he never finished.
A thunderous pressure crashed down from above like an invisible meteor, silencing him completely.
"Did I say you had permission?" Moyu's voice rang out like steel drawn from a scabbard—cold, merciless, and absolute.
The overwhelming weight of Moyu's Reiatsu smashed into the Espada like a tidal wave of raw authority, stunning him into immobility. His words caught in his throat, his mind blanked, and his instincts screamed caution in the face of such dominance.
Even Szayelaporro, so accustomed to instilling fear in others, faltered beneath the suffocating pressure now bearing down on him.
Freed from that terrifying aura, Mikami Saiki shook off his daze and vanished in a practiced Shunpo step, retreating far beyond the perimeter of the battle. He soared across the ruined district until the pressure had lessened and the battleground was little more than a speck on the horizon.
Only after reaching safety did he allow himself a glance back, eyes filled with worry and admiration.
"Lord Moyu... please don't die..."
Though not the sharpest man in Soul Society, Mikami Saiki's loyalty ran deep—and that, Moyu remembered.
Earlier, the man had used his final strength not to call for rescue, but to urge Moyu to flee, choosing sacrifice over survival.
In this war-stained world, such souls were increasingly rare—endangered even.
And worth protecting.
Once Mikami was gone from the scene, Moyu turned his full attention back to the Espada before him.
Szayelaporro had recovered from the initial shock, and his Reiatsu now flared upward in response, matching Moyu's pressure with defiant arrogance.
"I thought I had found just another worm crawling through Karakura," Szayelaporro sneered, his twisted grin spreading again. "But you... you're quite the catch."
"Such potent spiritual pressure—how fortunate I am!"
He raised his arms high as purple light began to pool in his palms, drawing in the surrounding energy until the air itself seemed to vibrate and crack. Reiatsu surged and twisted into a spiraling, unstable core, forming a beam that shimmered ominously as it reached toward the sky like a signal flare or a challenge.
"Just imagine the possibilities," he crooned, eyes gleaming with madness. "A powerhouse like you, transformed into my personal living specimen."
His voice faltered into deranged excitement, the line between joy and psychosis vanishing completely.
Szayelaporro's grin widened until it seemed to split his face in two, warped with delight as he roared the invocation:
"Cero Oscuras!"
In the same instant, the gathered energy erupted from his hand in a torrent of destruction.
The sky above Karakura did not merely crack—it was torn open as if slashed by a divine blade.
A Wang Xu's Flash answered in return.
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