"What a… surprise!"
Inside the grand hall of Las Noches—its towering pillars gleaming under the cold, artificial moonlight—Ichimaru Gin's ever-slitted eyes widened slightly as he stared at the image projected before him.
The screen displayed Tousen Kaname standing amid a smoking crater, his Zanpakutō lowered calmly beside the corpse of Mask "The Superstar".
Gin's grin curved wider, but for once there was a trace of honest surprise in it.
He hadn't expected this outcome.
When Kariya Jin—who once held the upper hand—had begun faltering, Gin assumed the five warriors Mazuru had dispatched would lose across the board. Even Ulquiorra's duel against Askin didn't look promising; one glance was enough to tell that the tide was turning against them.
And yet, here it was. Tousen Kaname had delivered an unexpected reversal.
A rare glimmer crossed Gin's eyes. "Well now," he muttered under his breath, "the blind monk still has a few tricks left."
He didn't particularly care about victory or defeat in this round of clashes. Even if all five of Mazuru's combatants had fallen, it would not have disturbed him.
Because one look at Mazuru told him everything.
The man seated upon the obsidian throne at the heart of the chamber remained utterly composed. His crimson eyes flickered with quiet amusement; his reiatsu radiated control rather than concern. There was no anxiety, no tension—just certainty.
For Mazuru, these quincy invaders were not a threat. They were an experiment.
'No matter how strong they are,' Gin mused inwardly, 'they're still dancing in his palm.'
"Even if they're all quincy masters," Mazuru finally said, his tone soft but cold, "there are still differences between the superior and the inferior. It seems your guess was correct."
Gin smiled lazily, scratching the back of his head. "Heh, lucky guess—maybe ninety-seven percent right~."
"Ninety-seven percent," Mazuru replied, "is good enough."
The room fell silent again. On the screen, Kaname stood motionless, his figure half-obscured by the dissipating haze. Mask's body lay twisted beside James, who had collapsed beside him, screaming incoherently.
Mask had once overwhelmed Kaname in combat, but the moment he released Bankai, the balance shattered instantly. Mask didn't merely lose—he perished, consumed by the silence of darkness itself.
Was Kaname's Bankai truly that strong? Certainly. Yet even that power had limits. As a member of the Sternritters, Mask should have possessed multiple trump cards. He never had the chance to use them.
The cause was clear. His strength depended on his supporter, the ever-shouting James. When James fell silent, Mask's power crumbled like paper.
Mazuru watched the scene without emotion. "Unexpected," he said at last, "but a good outcome."
It meant that even the Sternritters—the supposedly invincible elites of the Wandenreich—had limits. They could bleed. They could most certainly die.
And their deaths carried meaning.
For Mazuru, that meaning went deeper. Capturing a quincy alive had been his original plan. Through them, he could extract information about the Invisible Empire. If he couldn't take one alive, he could at least imprison their soul.
Although he had once learned secrets from Ishida Soken, that information was outdated by decades if not centuries. The quincy had evolved—and the Wandenreich had hidden itself beyond even Soul Society's perception.
'So,' he thought, 'I'll carve the truth from their ashes.'
He closed his eyes briefly, extending a hand. Crimson light flickered across his palm. The reiatsu gathering there was heavy, deliberate.
Deep beneath Las Noches, Kenpachi Azashiro—merged with most of the fortress itself—felt the spiritual pressure shift.
"He's doing it again." Kenpachi muttered from the shadows. "What's he up to this time?"
A faint tremor rippled through the hall. Mazuru's eyes opened slowly. A single thread of crimson light coiled upward from his palm, wrapping around a small figure—a shape faintly glowing before vanishing into the ether.
Above the square, the air warped.
…
Bazz-B was halfway across the battlefield, heading toward the fight between Askin and Ulquiorra. He'd wanted to watch Askin's smug grin fade when Ulquiorra sliced through his tricks—but Mask's death froze him mid-step.
He turned sharply toward the blast crater.
James was still shrieking over Mask's remains, his voice cracking, body trembling uncontrollably. Bazz-B's eyes narrowed, his lips curling in disdain.
"Pathetic."
James had always been little more than an amplifier for Mask's ridiculous theatrics. Without Mask, he was worthless.
"So, the one who killed Masch was Tousen Kaname, huh?" Bazz-B muttered.
He knew the name well. The former captain of the Gotei 13's Ninth Division. Once an ally of Aizen Sosuke. Later, one of Kyo Mazuru's right hands.
He'd written the man off as a relic from a bygone war—a blind swordsman clinging to ghosts. But seeing Mask's corpse proved otherwise.
"Heh," Bazz-B sneered, "guess the old shinigami still bites."
He raised a hand. Flames ignited at his fingertips, spiraling upward. His reiatsu surged violently, a furnace ready to burst.
"Unfortunately," he said coldly, "you're still a shinigami."
He hated them—every single one. Even if his long-term goal was to kill Yhwach, that hatred for Soul Society's soldiers burned deep.
His right arm flared, spiritual fire condensing into pure destruction.
Burning Finger—Three!
*BOOM!*
A roaring column of fire erupted, engulfing James completely. The man's scream dissolved into the explosion, leaving only a smear of burning sand.
"Consider that a favor." Bazz-B muttered. "Go join your hero in hell."
Without pause, he turned the inferno toward Kaname.
The flames tore across the desert, scorching everything in their path.
Kaname moved instantly. His Shunpo carried him out of range, sand erupting in his wake as the inferno struck where he'd been standing moments before.
Through the vibrations of reiatsu, Kaname sensed Bazz-B's location clearly—the pulse of that raging flame was impossible to miss.
He raised Suzumushi, still in its Shikai state, and swung.
A rain of lethal blades burst forward, slicing through the air like a storm of knives.
*Swish—swish—swish!*
Bazz-B grinned, fire wreathing his body as he dodged the incoming barrage. Sparks danced across the desert.
"Now that's more like it!" he shouted.
The two spiritual pressures collided, and the battlefield ignited once more. Kaname and Bazz-B's reiatsu waves rippled outward, shaking the remains of the square.
…
At the far edge of the battlefield, Ulquiorra and Askin were still locked in combat.
At first, Ulquiorra had the upper hand. His movements were clinical, emotionless, efficient—each blow measured to kill. Askin's casual smirk barely concealed his mounting frustration.
Then suddenly, Ulquiorra's breath hitched. His chest constricted; his vision blurred. A sharp pain shot through his veins.
*Crack!*
The sand beneath his feet split as he stumbled, blood spilling from his lips.
"What… did you do?" he demanded quietly, voice low but edged with venom.
Askin chuckled, straightening his posture. "Do you know what a lethal dose is?"
Ulquiorra's gaze hardened, silent.
"The lethal dose," Askin continued, twirling a vial of violet reishi between his fingers, "depends on species, body mass, metabolic rate… you name it. Every organism's got its own threshold." He tilted his head slightly, smiling. "That's where my fun begins."
"The LD50—the half-lethal dose. The exact point where half of anything dies."
*****
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✓ Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!
✓ Naruto: Senmei Asahi
✓ Naruto: Uchiha's Intelligence Dealer
✓ Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle
✓ Naruto: Who Made Him a Ninja?
✓ Bleach: In My Second Reincarnation, I Became The Ninth Kenpachi
✓ To Love-Ru: Spoiler Route [R-18]
✓ Naruto: The Accidental Incubus [R-18]
✓ The Academy's Saint Is Too Popular, But He's Not the Protagonist [R-18]