It happened in an instant—a snap in the air where the world twisted, then settled into a cruel clarity.
The battlefield, once hazy with swirling reiatsu, suddenly stood stark and sharp. Blood soaked the earth, and the acrid scent of burning spirit energy clawed at every nostril.
All eyes turned to Mazuru.
His Zanpakutō had been shattered—obliterated mid-Bankai in a brutal clash no one believed he could survive. Yet here he was, standing tall, breathing steadily, and more terrifying than ever.
He tore open the barrier once more—not with the familiar blade of his Zanpakutō, but with something darker, something foreign to the Soul Society. An arrancar's Resurrección.
Shock rippled through the ranks of the Gotei 13. Such a fusion was unprecedented.
Mazuru was an enigma. His soul intertwined with Beelzebub—a hollow of immense power, once an Espada feared for his merciless command over blood and devouring.
If Beelzebub was truly a fragment of Mazuru's spirit, then the blade Mazuru now wielded wasn't merely an arrancar weapon. It was his own sword, reborn in hollow-form.
The Central 46 had only recently begun to acknowledge the terrifying possibility that Zanpakutō and arrancar powers might intertwine—and here, that theory exploded into brutal reality.
The Resurrección—once dismissed as an aberration—had become a new frontier in the war of souls.
And now, Mazuru stood at the epicenter of that war.
…
The air thrummed with tension.
Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stepped forward, his eyes aflame beneath his brows.
"Since this old man shattered your Zanpakutō," he said, voice low but carrying the weight of centuries, "I will also destroy your Resurrección."
His presence radiated overwhelming reiatsu, a searing inferno that warped the very air.
With a flash of movement—Shunpo—Yamamoto closed the distance in an instant.
His sword erupted in flame—Zanka no Tachi, Kita: Tenchi Kaijin—the North form of his Bankai, the burning blade that reduced heaven and earth to ash.
The fiery arc he swung carved through the battlefield, consuming everything: rock, soil, spiritual particles—all turned to molten ruin.
A fissure opened in the barrier, cracking its shimmering barrier.
For a heartbeat, hope surged.
But then the breach sealed itself, as if time reversed its damage.
Mazuru's voice whispered behind Yamamoto's back.
"Did you think the power I regained would be so weak?"
In a blink, Mazuru reappeared beside Yamamoto, his Resurrección blade gleaming with lethal intent.
Yamamoto responded instantly, his attack poised to strike.
But the flames licking his body—the Zanjitsu Gokui, said to incinerate even the smallest fragments of spirit—did not harm Mazuru.
His flesh did not blister. His blade did not melt.
Yamamoto's eyes widened in disbelief.
Even the sun—mighty and eternal—must one day wither.
…
Baraggan Louisenbairn, the former Segunda (2nd) Espada, had wielded the power of aging and decay. Yet despite his overwhelming authority, Baraggan's power was slow, weighed down by his own decrepit form.
Mazuru's bond with Beelzebub had transformed that power, sharpening it into something far more lethal.
His blade pulsed with the corrosive aura of time itself.
Yamamoto's flames blackened, corroded by the relentless decay.
Time began gnawing at the fabric of flame and flesh alike.
Yamamoto launched forward, moving with blistering speed—Shunpo honed over centuries.
Mazuru was faster.
He didn't just dash through space.
He folded it.
Hiraishin Zangeki! (Flying Thunder God Slash)
The infamous Flying Thunder God Slash from another universe.
Mazuru's blade flickered, warping space as it materialized inches from Yamamoto's throat.
…
A severed arm flew across the battlefield, trailing smoke and embers.
Yamamoto staggered back, breathing ragged, his Bankai dissipating.
His Zanpakutō snapped shut, sealing away its immense power.
…
"Yama-jii!"
Shunsui's voice broke through the roar of battle, disbelief ringing clear.
Mazuru, fully merged with Beelzebub, radiated an aura of deathly stillness.
The barrier pulsed with unstable power, its fiery heart reduced to ash beneath the relentless decay.
And with one ruthless strike, Mazuru had severed the arm of the strongest captain.
…
Suddenly, the battlefield exploded with light and sound.
A blast of spiritual energy—a black and crimson beam—ripped through the air.
CERO!
Starrk had fired.
Shunsui barely dodged the deadly attack, earth erupting where he had stood moments before.
Starrk's cold voice cut through the chaos.
"You worry about others... at a time like this?"
Shunsui's expression hardened. His resolve did not falter.
All across the field, shinigami surged forward—Captains, Lieutenants, Officers—ready to protect their Commander.
But the Espada formed a wall, ready to meet them.
Mazuru advanced, dragging the Resurrección, which thrummed with the slow, inevitable power of decay.
"Looks like I win."
Blood poured from Yamamoto's severed shoulder, but the Captain-Commander rose—unyielding.
With a roar that shook the battlefield, he lunged.
Hadō #96: Ittō Kasō!
The One-Sword Cremation.
A massive, flaming blade descended from the heavens, blazing with divine fury.
It slashed toward Mazuru, consuming the air with heat.
Mazuru's left hand rose lazily.
SNAP!
The burning sword evaporated—annihilated by an unseen force.
"Kidō attacks condensed with reiatsu? Useless against me."
Mazuru's voice was calm, deadly.
Before Yamamoto could retreat, Mazuru drove his blade deep into the old man's chest.
The blade pierced through, emerging from his back—blackened and bloodied.
"You lose, old man."
…
The battle had shifted.
Mazuru, the fusion of shinigami and hollow, wielded powers that bent the laws of both worlds.
His Resurrección was no mere transformation—it showed the ultimate evolution of spirit and decay.
Yamamoto, the eternal flame of the Soul Society, had been dimmed.
But the war was far from over.
*****
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