Why would someone from Las Noches target a weakling like her?
Halybel's streamlined, fish-like form leaped and twisted across the pale desert under the cold moonlight. The tight blue leather accentuated her mature, curvaceous figure, exaggerating the swell of her chest and hips before tapering into a massive, fused tail.
Still an Adjuchas, she was a colossal mermaid over three meters long.
However, her head and neck remained encased in a white bone mask, with a sharp, sword-like dorsal fin protruding from her spine. Only a slit of jade-green pupils was visible through the mask.
The explosions behind her sent waves of terror through Halybel's heart—terror she couldn't put into words.
Adjuchas were the most unstable stage in Hueco Mundo's ecosystem.
To evolve, every Adjuchas had to fight, kill, and devour others of their kind until they became a Vasto Lorde—the ultimate victor.
But if even a fragment of their mask was eaten by another Adjuchas or a higher-tier Hollow, their growth would halt forever, trapping them in this stage.
Thus, every Adjuchas lived in constant fear—fear of evolution and fear of death.
Halybel was no exception.
So, in her battles against others, she had always avoided major threats, lurking at the edges of Hueco Mundo.
Cautious. Meticulous.
Barragan's Las Noches was at the top of her list of places to avoid.
Yet, for some reason, three days ago, this inexplicable Vasto Lorde had appeared, demanding she return with him—in the name of Las Noches.
Halybel didn't know why, but she knew one thing:
Nothing good ever came for free in Hueco Mundo.
So, she ran.
Now, after four days and nights of fleeing, she still saw no chance of escape.
Just as the thought crossed her mind—
DANGER.
"Ssshhhk—"
Another Cero slashed through the air, carving a kilometers-long scar into the pale desert.
Halybel barely dodged it.
Behind her, the Vasto Lorde stood with blade-like arms, watching her coldly.
But then—
Both Halybel and the Vasto Lorde froze, their heads snapping toward the distance.
Two overwhelming spiritual pressures loomed there.
The moment she sensed them, Halybel had one thought:
Stir the waters.
"Damn it!"
The Vasto Lorde realized her plan instantly. No longer caring about Szayelaporro's order to "capture her unharmed," he surged forward at full speed.
After wandering Hueco Mundo for so long, he knew how rare it was to find an Adjuchas with such distinctly feminine traits.
"BOOM—"
The explosion erupted where Halybel had just been, sending sand cascading like a waterfall.
But she had already burrowed deep underground, swimming through the dunes like a true fish, racing toward the source of those two spiritual pressures.
She had to drag others into this.
---
"Here they come!"
"Damn, Makoto, you're pretty sharp!"
Fujitou Burabushi stood proudly, releasing her spiritual pressure without restraint.
She held the auto-tracking device but didn't even need the mirror anymore—the approaching spiritual pressure was obvious.
The twin-tailed girl's single eye gleamed with excitement, her lips curling into a wicked grin as her tongue flicked out to lick them.
But the moment Fujii Makoto raised his hand, she recoiled, laughing.
"Hah! You think I'd fall for that twice?!"
"Nyahaha~"
"Dumbass!"
Makoto lowered his hand, sighing dramatically.
"You make it sound like I'm that kind of guy..."
"Hah?"
Burabushi glanced at the tabi socks on his sword's sheath, then at his face, and scoffed.
"Yeah, Makoto's still an idiot. Not sharp at all."
"Watch me steal your kill later!"
"Hey, hey?!"
As they bickered, Halybel burst from the sand in a desperate, life-or-death sprint.
Her massive mermaid form soared through a geyser of pale sand, her eyes locking onto the two figures brazenly flaring their spiritual pressure.
Her heart skipped a beat.
So small.
Vasto Lordes?
No—
Shinigami?!
Having survived in Hueco Mundo for so long, Halybel knew the basics of the world's hierarchy.
But why were Shinigami here?!
Before she could process it, her body crashed back into the dunes, diving underground again.
Yet neither Makoto nor Burabushi spared her a glance.
Their eyes were fixed on the tiny figure streaking across the desert, kicking up a storm of sand in its wake.
Burabushi's grin widened.
But Makoto spoke first:
"Let me handle this one."
"Who said I'd let you?!" Burabushi glared.
"An opponent like this is rare." Makoto planted his shabby sword in the sand, cracking his neck. "Good for testing limits."
Burabushi's eye gleamed with realization. Her smile turned wild.
"You're even crazier than I thought."
"Not really."
Makoto's grin was calm.
If he wanted to break through the limits of Kidō and Hakuda, mastering all four combat arts to reach Third-Class Spiritual Pressure—
Wasn't there an obvious way?
Let me see your limits,
System.
My peerless talent.
His shabby sword seemed to sense his thoughts, its childish voice whining:
[When you need me, I'm your sweetheart. When you don't, I'm just some old hag!]
[Tch. Bastard.]
[At least catch that mermaid for me!]
[I want to snuggle with her!]
Burabushi blinked, glancing between Makoto and the sword.
"Wait… the sword's talking?"
"You just noticed?!" Makoto groaned.
But then—
A humanoid figure appeared before him.
Makoto's lips twisted into a savage grin.
No words were needed.
In Hueco Mundo's endless desert, every living thing was either prey or an enemy.
The moment their eyes met, the killing intent was mutual.
Trash.
Pest.
In the next instant—
Makoto's toes curled in his straw sandals. His thighs and back tightened, power coiling up his spine like a dragon before exploding through his arm.
His fist blazed with spiritual light.
"Ikotsu!"
The Vasto Lorde's blade-arm hesitated for a split second, instincts forcing a slight dodge.
Fist met bone.
A shockwave rippled out, sand erupting in concentric rings beneath them.
The air itself screamed.
Burabushi watched, her grin widening.
As someone who thrived on battle, she loved nothing more than meeting others just as insane as her.
And Makoto…
He was even crazier than she'd imagined.
Everyone knew Zanpakutō were a Shinigami's standard weapon—the key to manifesting their "heart's power."
But before the standardized Asauchi, how did Shinigami fight?
Like this.
Fists. Spells. Whatever tools they could grab.
True Zanpakutō were rare, reserved for the elite.
In a way, Menos Grande were like the earliest Shinigami—those without Zanpakutō.
And now, Makoto was abandoning his weapon, fighting these beasts with his bare hands.
It was…
"Beautiful."