SLAM!
"AH!"
BAM!
"NO! NO! NO!"
RIIIP!
"IT'S A MONS—AHH!"
CRASH!
The next soldier didn't even have time to scream. Spiritual pressure crushed his skull like an eggshell, and he was dead before he hit the ground. Terror etched itself into the faces of the remaining men as they were torn apart mercilessly, bodies falling to razor-sharp claws and devastating reiatsu blasts.
"Oh god..."
"M-monster..."
"Demon..."
The towering Hollow—a grotesque fusion of bone and shadow—slowed its rampage only when it spotted the nobleman. This particular coward had been content to slaughter helpless villagers, playing at being a great warrior. But with a Hollow in the equation, he felt nothing but primal terror.
"I'm not supposed to die like this!" the wretch shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at his men. "Buy me time! Be my shield!"
His soldiers remained frozen in place. The Hollow turned toward the nobleman, its crimson eyes blazing through the eyeholes of its bone mask.
Backing away in horror, the nobleman tripped over a mutilated corpse, landing in a pool of spreading blood. "MONEY!" he screamed desperately at his paralyzed men. "I'LL GIVE YOU MONEY!" He tried crawling away, but his soldiers didn't move an inch.
The Hollow leaped with predatory grace and landed with a bone-rattling force directly over him. Its mask split open, revealing rows of serrated teeth as it released a soul-chilling roar into his terrified face.
"AHHHH!" The nobleman's voice cracked as the spiritual monster loomed above him. The creature's claws extended, positioning themselves inches from his face—not to kill, but to savor his terror. The Hollow found deep satisfaction in the despair it created.
"Two hundred gold pieces!" he gasped. "N-no, five hundred!"
The soldiers watched, paralyzed by the overwhelming spiritual pressure. The Hollow placed one massive claw on the nobleman's chest, applying just enough force to make breathing difficult.
"ARGH!" The man wheezed as his armor began to buckle. "One thousand gold pieces..."
Slowly, deliberately, the creature increased the pressure. Metal groaned. Bones cracked.
"SAVE ME! PLEASE, I'LL DO—"
CRUNCH.
His words cut off as the Hollow's claw pierced through his chest, crushing his heart. Only wet, gurgling sounds escaped his lips as blood filled his throat and spilled from his mouth. His desperate flailing gradually slowed, then stopped entirely as his soul was devoured.
The remaining soldiers stared in horror. Their commander stepped forward on shaking legs.
"Oh god..." one whispered.
"NO, NO, NO!" another began to panic.
"CALM DOWN!" the commander barked, trying to assert control. "RETREAT! When I give the signal, call for the horseback archers! The rest of you will buy us time!" His men raised their swords with trembling hands. "ATTACK!"
The Hollow began stalking forward—fluid, predatory, completely unbothered by their pitiful weapons. The first soldier to rush it was bisected by razor-sharp claws. The second had his spine snapped by the creature's powerful jaws. The third was obliterated by a concentrated blast of spiritual energy.
Man after man charged forward. Man after man died screaming.
The commander watched, building courage for his own assault. When he saw what looked like an opening, he charged with a desperate war cry. The opening vanished as the Hollow's claws separated his head from his shoulders, sending a fountain of blood arcing through the air.
The commander's head remained conscious long enough to see his own body collapse. The four remaining soldiers couldn't even move, their spirits crushed by overwhelming reiatsu.
The Hollow prepared to continue its feast when a voice—silken, commanding, impossibly calm—rang out from above.
"That's quite enough."
Everyone—survivors and villagers alike—looked up to see a figure of ethereal beauty floating in the air. Long silver hair cascaded like liquid moonlight around a face that seemed carved from marble. His single black wing spread majestically as he descended, radiating an aura of divine authority. Beside him hovered a figure in white robes with a serene smile that somehow seemed more terrifying than the Hollow's rage, and two village girls.
"ENRI! NEMU!" a villager shouted in recognition and fear.
"We're safe!" Enri called back, though her reassurance did little to calm their terror.
The silver-haired figure touched down gracefully, his movements flowing like poetry in motion.
"Greetings." His voice carried the weight of inevitability itself. "I am Sephiroth." Each word was measured, deliberate, as if spoken from on high. "How... disappointing to witness such crude brutality upon my awakening." His emerald eyes—beautiful and terrible—fixed upon the four surviving soldiers with the intensity of a predator studying prey. "Depart. Now. Carry word of what you have witnessed to your masters. Know that the next time your kind spills innocent blood in my presence, my Hollow will not be so... restrained." He gestured elegantly to the bone-masked creature. "Consider this divine mercy."
A soft footstep announced the approach of another figure—tall, composed, with kind eyes that belied the dangerous smile playing at his lips. He moved with the unhurried confidence of someone who had never encountered a problem he couldn't solve.
Sephiroth's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "I trust I've made myself clear?"
The soldiers' terror reached new heights at the sight of this third supernatural being.
"I believe they understand perfectly," the newcomer said, his voice warm honey laced with poison. "Though perhaps a demonstration would ensure the message reaches its intended destination?"
"How many messengers does one need, Aizen?" Sephiroth asked, his tone conversational.
Aizen's smile widened as he drew his zanpakutō in one fluid motion. "Traditionally? One."
"W-who are you?!" one of the villagers stammered.
In a display that seemed to bend reality itself, Aizen's blade flickered through the air. Three of the fleeing soldiers collapsed without a sound, their bodies separating cleanly. The fourth stumbled but continued running, now carrying a message written in blood.
"Who am I?" Sephiroth placed a gloved hand over his heart, the gesture almost theatrical in its perfection. Then he smiled as the two girls rushed forward.
"He's Lord Sephiroth!" Nemu exclaimed with childlike wonder. "He saved us from those bad men! He's like an angel!"
Aizen chuckled softly at their enthusiasm, sheathing his sword with practiced ease. "From the mouths of babes. How perfectly fitting."
Sephiroth inclined his head graciously. "Your people have forgotten us, but we have not forgotten you. I am what you might call... a god of this world." The crowd gasped at his casual declaration of divinity. "I have slumbered for countless years, and I awakened to find your village in flames. Such... waste... displeases me."
The villagers stared at their silver-haired savior with mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"Do not mistake my intervention for universal benevolence." His voice carried the weight of absolute judgment. "I am not moved by sentiment, but by a sense of... proper order. Those who live without honor die without dignity. Your people showed courage in the face of death. Therefore, you deserve to live."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—relief mixed with nervous reverence.
"I do not require worship," he continued, raising one elegant hand as several villagers began to kneel. "Faith without understanding is meaningless. Only through knowledge and strength can one truly ascend." His emerald gaze swept over them with almost paternal authority. "From this moment, you are under my protection."
Many villagers cheered, though they remained awed by his presence. Aizen observed with quiet satisfaction—his lord's performance was masterful as always. Meanwhile, Albedo struggled to contain her admiration for Sephiroth's commanding presence, finding his god-like authority intensely attractive.
For Sephiroth himself, this role came naturally. Unlike crude deception, this was simply... management. Presenting himself as he truly was—superior, protective, destined to rule—while allowing these simple mortals to draw their own conclusions about his nature. The slight tension in his shoulders came not from acting, but from restraining his true power in the presence of such fragile beings.
He approached the village chief with fluid grace. "Forgive my ignorance, but my long slumber has left me... disconnected from current affairs. Perhaps you could enlighten me about this world's present state?"
Information was the foundation of all power, and Sephiroth would not act from ignorance.
After deflecting more attempts at worship, Sephiroth gathered crucial intelligence. The local currency system, the three-way political dynamic between the Re-Estize Kingdom, Baharuth Empire, and Slane Theocracy. The endless cycle of limited warfare that kept the region in perpetual tension.
"Fascinating," he murmured, studying the crude map with tactical precision. The Baharuth Empire's strategy of controlled aggression was sound—bleed the enemy slowly while building strength. But the attack on this village suggested a different hand at work. "The Theocracy seeks to inflame tensions between its neighbors. How... predictable."
"Is something troubling you, my lord?" the chief asked nervously, noticing Sephiroth's contemplative silence.
"Merely planning," Sephiroth replied smoothly. "Tell me of the nearest city."
"E-Rantel, my lord. Adventurers frequent the area, hunting monsters and taking guild contracts. The roads are... relatively safe."
'Adventurers.' Sephiroth's eyes gleamed with interest. Information networks, combat assessment opportunities, political connections—all accessible through a single institution. How efficient.
Later, as the villagers gathered their dead with Aizen's assistance, Sephiroth maintained a respectful distance. Death was sacred, after all, and even gods should not intrude upon grief.
As he prepared to withdraw, he felt the gentlest touch on his gloved hand. Looking down, he saw a small girl—perhaps six years old—gazing up at him with tear-filled eyes that seemed to look straight through to his soul.
"Lord Sephiroth?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
A young woman in the crowd noticed her sister was missing and searched frantically before spotting her with the silver-haired deity. Others watched with held breath, uncertain what their savior's reaction would be.
Sephiroth knelt with fluid grace, bringing himself to the child's eye level. His movements were precise, controlled—the same care he might show when handling fragile crystal. "What troubles you, little one?"
She hesitated before finding her voice. "You're really a god, aren't you?" The innocent faith in her words stirred something deep within him—a memory of his own childhood, of looking up at those who held power over life and death, of believing that divinity meant the ability to fix what was broken.
He nodded once, recognizing the pain behind her question.
"Then... then you can bring people back, right? Like mama?" Her composure crumbled as she threw her small arms around his neck, sobbing into his silver hair. "Please, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good..."
The watching villagers held their breath as Sephiroth's expression softened almost imperceptibly. He wrapped his arms around the child with infinite gentleness, one hand stroking her hair.
"There, child. Let your grief flow freely. Even gods cannot heal a heart that will not grieve."
When her tears finally subsided, he pulled back and cupped her face in his gloved hands, speaking loud enough for all to hear.
"Death is not the end, little one, but a transformation. While I cannot restore what was lost..." He paused, his emerald eyes reflecting depths of ancient knowledge. "I can offer something different. Not resurrection, but... reunion. Your loved ones can return as my servants—Arrancar—beings of immense power who retain their hearts and memories."
The crowd stirred with sudden hope and fear. Sephiroth continued, his voice carrying absolute authority.
"But this gift comes with understanding. They will be changed, elevated beyond their mortal forms. The choice is yours to make."
Several villagers approached and knelt, pleading for their lost family members. A man wept for his wife. A woman begged for her son. Others joined in desperate supplication.
"Rise," Sephiroth commanded gently. "Gods do not require groveling. They require respect, understanding, and acceptance of consequence."
He walked toward the graves with measured steps, raising one hand skyward. His spiritual pressure began to build, reality itself seeming to bend around him.
"Behold the power of creation," he intoned, his voice carrying impossible authority. "By my will, let the boundary between life and death be... renegotiated."
The air shimmered as a dimensional rift opened above the cemetery. Through it descended something that defied easy description—a crystalline structure that seemed to exist in multiple planes simultaneously, humming with otherworldly energy.
"This is my Hōgyoku," Sephiroth explained with calm confidence. "It serves as a bridge between states of existence, allowing souls to transcend their mortal limitations and become something... more."
The device pulsed with brilliant light before releasing a wave of energy that made the very air sing. Glowing orbs of spiritual energy rose from the graves—some stable and bright, others flickering and unstable. Three shattered entirely, their light scattering like broken glass.
"What happened to those?" someone cried out in anguish.
"Some souls are not ready for transcendence," Sephiroth replied with infinite patience. "They have chosen to move on to whatever lies beyond. We must respect their decision."
This was partially true. The Hōgyoku could indeed transform souls, but success depended on the subject's spiritual strength and will to return. Sephiroth had chosen this method over simpler alternatives because it served multiple purposes—protecting the village, proving his power, and creating loyal servants who retained their original personalities.
The remaining souls blazed with increasing intensity as spiritual bodies formed around them. Unlike the crude forms of Hollows, these new beings appeared almost human—their Hollow holes small and unobtrusive, their mask fragments elegant rather than monstrous. The men retained their masculine builds while the women kept their feminine grace, all elevated to supernatural beauty.
The newly formed Arrancar looked around in wonder, their enhanced senses taking in the world with new clarity. One female Arrancar's eyes widened as she spotted someone in the crowd. She took a tentative step, then another, before running toward a blonde, bearded man.
They embraced with desperate intensity, and she tried to kiss him before realizing her altered anatomy made it impossible. Her expression fell for just a moment before her husband cupped her face.
"You're still the most beautiful woman in any world," he whispered, producing a simple ring. Her eyes—now bearing flecks of gold—lit up with recognition and joy.
"I kept it safe," he said, slipping it onto her finger. "It still fits perfectly."
She examined the ring with wonder before pulling him into another embrace, her enhanced strength carefully controlled to avoid hurting him.
Similar reunions played out across the group. The little girl found herself lifted into the arms of two Arrancar—her parents, transformed but unmistakably themselves. She laughed through her tears, finally at peace.
Not everyone was so fortunate. Enri and Nemu watched their father's soul scatter among the failures, but they found joy in their neighbors' happiness.
Having witnessed the mixture of miracle and tragedy, Sephiroth dismissed the Hōgyoku and stepped back, allowing the families their precious moments of reunion.
"Remember," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the village, "power without purpose is meaningless. These Arrancar are not merely your returned loved ones—they are my servants, bound to protect this place and all who dwell within it. Through them, you will always be under my protection."
As he prepared to depart, Sephiroth reflected on the elegant solution he'd crafted. The village now had powerful protectors who were emotionally invested in its welfare. He had demonstrated his divine power convincingly. And he had begun building a network of loyal servants who would help him understand and eventually control this new world.
Most importantly, he had shown these mortals what true power looked like—not the crude brutality of common soldiers, but the refined authority of a god who could grant life as easily as he could take it.
Perfect, as always.