And the next second, the explosive spiritual pressure flooding the desert confirmed his fears.
"BOOOM—"
The air itself warped under the crushing weight of Burabushi's reiatsu, a subsonic hum vibrating through the sand.
Dragon Azrael's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
This… this spiritual pressure…
Pre-Arrancar Vasto Lordes weren't as strong as those enhanced by Aizen's experiments.
Most had merely brute-forced their way to Third-Class Spiritual Pressure through endless cannibalism.
And this one—ranked below Barragan and Szayelaporro—was among the weaker Vasto Lordes.
Against Burabushi, that difference was glaring.
"Took you long enough."
Burabushi strolled up, her posture lazy.
"If it were me, this guy would've been dead ages ago."
Makoto chuckled. "Then show me."
"Gladly!"
Burabushi turned to Dragon Azrael, her grin twisting into something monstrous.
"Devour all, slaughter all—
"Palace of Blood Hunt."
The moment the words left her lips—
Her blade melted, reforming into a sleek tachi with a violet hilt and star-shaped guard.
At a glance, it seemed unremarkable.
But both Makoto and the Vasto Lorde sensed the change.
All her spiritual pressure had been compressed into the blade.
Unlike the later-generation captains—many of whom hadn't even lived 300 years—these original Gotei captains had spent millennia in the Rukongai, honing their abilities to perfection.
Their mastery of reiatsu and Zanpakutō was beyond compare.
Burabushi sauntered forward, her tone almost playful as she explained:
"My Palace of Blood Hunt has a simple ability."
"Rip through flesh, drink the blood, make it mine."
"Healing. Killing. Defending. Even… eating."
"It can do it all."
Her tongue flicked out.
"So… try not to get cut, okay?"
The moment she finished speaking—
Dragon Azrael's eyes bulged.
Burabushi's petite form blurred, appearing at his side in an instant, her twin tails streaming behind her like ribbons.
CLANG!
He barely raised his blade-arm in time—
Only for the bone to split under the impact, a deep gash forming.
Too fast!
Before he could react—
"SCHLICK!"
Burabushi's blade pierced his calf, sending blood arcing through the air.
"BAM!"
She pivoted like a monkey, using her small frame to twist around his leg before kicking him square in the back.
BOOOOM!
Dragon Azrael crashed into the dunes, barely stabilizing himself with his blades.
His mind reeled.
Not just speed—her strength outclasses mine too!
This power… it's not Barragan-level, but it's close to Szayelaporro's!
The difference between Vasto Lordes was like clouds and mud.
But before he could locate Burabushi—
"SCHLICK!"
A blood-blade erupted from the wound on his calf, carving a deeper gash.
"Wha—?!"
He looked down—
And in that split second of distraction—
Burabushi slammed down from above, her sword aimed at his skull.
"RRGH—!"
He severed his own leg and regenerated it instantly, leaping back—
Only for three more wounds on his arm, chest, and back to burst open, blood-blades crisscrossing violently.
"SCHLICK! SCHLICK! SCHLICK!"
Three cuts became six gaping holes.
Burabushi tilted her head, her smile deranged.
"Silly~"
"That wasn't one slash."
"It was four."
As if to emphasize her point, the severed leg exploded, its blood swirling around Burabushi like a crimson shield.
Dragon Azrael stared, realizing the insurmountable gap between them.
Despair filled his eyes.
"Lord Barragan…"
Burabushi flashed past him.
His head hit the sand with a thud.
His final whisper faded into the wind.
"...long live the king."