"Tch…"
"Ikkaku, Yumichika… what the hell are you two babbling about?"
Kenpachi Zaraki bared his teeth in irritation, his growl echoing across Squad 11's barracks.
He looked annoyed—visibly so.
He wouldn't deny it.
That strike from Kyōraku Shunsui had been brutal.
The kind of raw, refined power even he had to acknowledge for an instant.
But that was it.
The man called Kenpachi Zaraki—
the one who grew up knee-deep in corpses in the slums of Zaraki—
was not someone who'd be shaken by a single flashy blow.
If anything, what annoyed him most wasn't the power,
but that damned Shikai's bizarre, rule-twisting nonsense.
Games. Rules. Tricks.
Things he couldn't be bothered to understand.
"Tch."
"Children's games, that's all it is."
"Swing your sword, cut the enemy down—that's the only truth that matters."
"What's the point of fancy tricks when a single slash does the job?"
Kenpachi's grin widened, white teeth glinting.
Confidence burned in his eyes.
He could acknowledge Katen Kyōkotsu's power—
but he'd never admit anyone could out-slash him.
"Shame, though…"
"My Zanpakutō doesn't even have a name."
"Otherwise, maybe I'd be up there on that ranking too."
Those wild, beastlike eyes locked onto the glowing screen.
A quiet murmur followed—
"Someday, it'll be my turn."
Yes.
As the man who carried the title Kenpachi,
he wanted to appear on that list.
To show the entire world just how overwhelming his strength truly was.
Back to the footage—
The battle had reached its final stage.
"Well then…"
"Come, Espada. Let's move on to the next game."
At the edge of a shattered crater, Starrk reappeared, breathing heavily.
Kyōraku's twin blades flashed; in an instant, he was before him again.
"Takaoni… Gray Demon!"
A meaningless word to outsiders—
yet one that multiplied the power of his slash.
"Shhhk—!!"
Blood sprayed.
A clean strike.
Starrk's arm was split open; crimson soaked into the fur of his coat
until the once-white garment turned a deep, dreadful red.
Across Hueco Mundo, outrage erupted.
"What the hell is this?!"
"Another trick?! Another rule?!"
"That damned sword—Katen Kyōkotsu—it's cheating!!!"
Inside Las Noches, silence fell.
The Espada—
the Menos, the countless Arrancar—
all stared at the screen, faces pale.
For the first time, they truly understood—
Rule-type powers were a horror beyond brute strength.
They crushed everything—
even savagery itself.
"Hey, Lilynette…"
"…You see it too, right? The me on the screen—there's no trace of you there anymore."
"Looks like I'm alone again."
Black curls shaded Starrk's downcast eyes.
His voice was quiet, almost wistful.
Even now, anyone watching could see it—
the battle was over.
The instant he'd stepped into Katen Kyōkotsu's "game," the outcome had been sealed.
But Starrk never cared for winning or losing.
He only ever feared being alone.
Born from loneliness itself,
he had split his own soul in half just to have a companion—Lilynette.
For a time, they'd wandered Hueco Mundo together,
until Aizen's hand had reached out,
offering a place, a title—"Primera Espada."
He'd thought the loneliness was over.
Yet here he was again.
Fading, isolated, dying alone.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips—
the sigh of a tired wolf who'd seen the end coming long ago.
"Katen Kyōkotsu—Color Demon, Black!"
Kyōraku's voice carried calmly through the smoke.
The twin blades arced down.
A single clean line carved across Starrk's chest.
"Game over, Espada…"
"This match ends here."
The blades fell still.
The body hit the ground.
And thus, before the eyes of all worlds—
Coyote Starrk, Primera Espada, fell.
When his eyes closed, they were gentle, not angry—
and in their depths lingered only solitude.
A warrior who had no desire to fight,
killed by the playful game of a man who smiled as he slew.
The strongest Espada—
reduced to a stepping stone.
Katen Kyōkotsu had proven its power completely.
"It's over…"
"Starrk's… really dead."
Inside Hueco Mundo, Nnoitra's voice trembled.
He stared blankly at Kyōraku's back on the screen.
For the first time, the arrogant Espada felt fear.
Not long ago, during the first rankings,
he had laughed at the very idea of Zanpakutō power—
called it worthless,
said no sword could pierce an Arrancar's hierro.
But this—
This was undeniable.
A single Shikai ability had obliterated the strongest Espada.
No Bankai. No allies. Just rules and death.
Now even Nnoitra's bluster faltered.
For the first time in his life,
he bowed—if only inwardly—to a Shinigami's blade.
Then Ulquiorra spoke, voice low and precise:
"If its Shikai already transcends physical limits—
then what of its Bankai?"
"That kind of power…
Only someone on Lord Aizen's level could face it."
The cold gleam of his green eyes silenced the hall.
Everyone knew he was right.
A Shinigami's true form, its Bankai,
was always the final trump card.
If this was the strength of Katen Kyōkotsu unsealed—
then the thought of its full release
was enough to chill even the bravest Arrancar.
Despair seeped through Las Noches.
Then—
The image shifted.
The ruined city of Karakura vanished,
replaced by another familiar landscape—
The Royal Realm.
The floating fortress, the True World Castle, shattered and burning.
The war had moved on.
A shadow appeared above a devastated platform.
Kyōraku's voice echoed again:
"The doll's fallen down…"
"Looks like I've found you, pureblood Quincy."
The camera turned—
There stood Lille Barro, the Sternritter Grandmaster.
Their eyes met.
Blades gleamed.
And so began—
another one-on-one battle.
(End of Chapter)
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