The sky never changed. A frozen crescent moon hung overhead, casting its pale light across the dunes of Hueco Mundo. Endless sands stretched in every direction, broken only by the twisted silhouettes of quartz-like trees. This was no place for the sane.
And yet… here I was.
My name used to matter. I used to matter. A person, a human. A fanboy who knew every detail about Bleach—its twists, betrayals, timelines. But now? I'm something else. Something broken.
[New Quest Received: Survive]
Objective: Endure 1,000 years in Hueco Mundo. Progress: 417/1000
I laughed—a dry, ragged sound that echoed from behind the jagged bone mask fused to my face. My mind fractured like shattered glass, memories of another life flitting in and out. The voice of the Gamer System was the only thing that reminded me I still had some kind of purpose. Even if that purpose was as cursed as this place.
The system told me I could level up by killing. So I did.
[EXP Gained: +50]
[Hollow Defeated: Menos-class]
[Level Up! Stat Points +5]
I checked my status screen. Something in me found comfort in the numbers—Strength, Speed, Reiatsu, Control. Stats I could manipulate, unlike the chaos in my head. My sanity flickered like a weak signal, and I didn't even know what timeline I had landed in.
Aizen could already be plotting. Ichigo could be a child. Yhwach might be stirring. Or maybe none of it had happened yet.
I didn't know.
All I knew was that one day, I would claw my way out of this sandpit. Whether I came out a Hollow, an Arrancar… or something entirely new? That part was up to me.
And when I did… I'd break the story.
-significant amount of time later.
[Quest Complete: Forge in Isolation]
Reward Unlocked: Skill – Spiritual Blacksmithing (Passive/Active)
You may now condense and shape items from raw spiritual pressure. Item rank depends on current level and spirit control.
He stood, or rather loomed, among the dunes like a dark monument—one of countless Gillian, indistinguishable in size and shape. All wearing the same elongated, white masks. All trapped in the same maddening hunger.
Except him.
Inside this grotesque amalgamation of Hollow souls, one mind hadn't faded.
Mine.
[New Skill Gained: Cero – Lv. 3]
[Passive: Hardened Slashes – MAX]
[Skill: Bite – Lv. 7]
I stared down at the sand. My consciousness buzzed, full of static and fractured memories—some mine, some not. The others inside this body whispered, screamed, clawed at control. But I held the reins. I always had.
And now I had something they didn't.
I extended my massive hand and focused my spirit energy. The air shimmered and condensed in my palm.
A black, jagged blade began to form—uneven and crude, but undeniably mine.
[Crafting: Hollow Iron Blade – Rank D+]
Durability: 45/45
Bonus: +5 to Attack while equipped. Minor Spirit Drain effect on hit.
It wasn't much, but it was me. A weapon forged in solitude, by will alone.
If I had to eat my way to the next stage—devour hundreds, thousands—I would do it. But I would do it my way.
With crafted weapons. With Gamer logic. With all the fractured knowledge of a fan who remembered a future he couldn't reach yet.
-Several decades pass
The moon never moved. Time didn't pass—it bled. For centuries I wandered the dunes, alone but not aimless. The bow on my back was primitive—just condensed spirit energy, hardened into tension. The arrows were jagged and unstable, but they flew true when I needed them to.
The daggers? They were personal. Quick kills. Silent. Up close, I could almost hear their thoughts—faint echoes of hunger and despair from the thousands of souls crammed into every Gillian.
Like me.
[You have slain Gillian-class Hollow (x2)]
[EXP Gained: +600]
[Hunger Sated: 9%]
[Crafting Material Acquired: Gillian Bone Fragments]
The system kept track of everything. Kills. Souls devoured. Even how full I was. But I could feel it now—the shift. My body had grown stronger. The whispering inside my mind grew more aggressive, each consumed soul pressing against the edges of my identity, trying to take over.
But I was no ordinary Gillian. I had purpose. I had progression.
I had control.
I stood atop a dune, watching a pack of Gillian lumbering through the sands. Huge, identical beasts. I notched an arrow. Drew it back. Let it fly.
[Critical Hit! Skull Penetration]
[Target Stunned]
I dashed down the slope, daggers drawn. Every fight was the same—brutal, quick, efficient. Feed. Level up. Repeat.
Soon, I wouldn't be one of them anymore.
I'd be something more.
I took a look at my system panel, my hub, and saw my progress.
[Evolution Tracker – Adjucha Stage]
Souls Consumed: 872 / 1000
Status: 87.2% — Instability Rising
I could feel it in every step—my movements more fluid, more mine. The echoing voices of the conjoined souls that made up my Gillian body had gone quieter, not gone but weaker. My will was crushing them under the weight of progress.
[Level Up! – Lvl 42 → Lvl 43]
+5 Stat Points
+2 Skill Points
The bow I once crafted from raw spiritual pressure now gleamed faintly with blue-black energy. Reinforced. Refined. My daggers had changed too—lighter, faster, deadlier.
[New Skill Unlocked: Reaper's Precision (Passive)]
Your crafted ranged weapons now deal +20% bonus damage to targets with equal or lesser spirit levels.
Each night, I would track new herds, set ambushes, rain arrows into their backs, then dart in and finish them off with dagger thrusts deep into their exposed masks. I wasn't just surviving anymore—I was hunting with purpose.
And every time I devoured another Gillian…
[Soul Consumed – 873/1000]
[Alert: You are approaching critical evolution threshold. Soul conflict increasing. Maintain mental stability.]
Yeah. That too.
The more I neared the threshold, the louder the others got. The ones inside me. The ones I had eaten. Their rage, fear, regret… all battering at the cracks in my mind like a tsunami behind a dam.
But I had something they didn't. I had a HUD. I had quests. I had clarity.
And I was almost free.
END
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