The obsidian gates of Aizen's throne room open with a deep groan as Tōsen enters, accompanied by the bruised and battle-worn Arrancar — Grimmjow, Ilfort's corpse slung across his back, and the damaged, lifeless bodies of Shawlong and Neroxis dragged by two silent Adjuchas.
Aizen sits at the far end of the vast chamber, his chair bathed in pale light. Gin stands to his right, eyes narrowed, grinning.
Aizen:
"Welcome back… Grimmjow."
Aizen's voice is calm, laced with curiosity rather than concern.
Grimmjow:
Tosses Ilfort's body forward with a sneer.
"Tch. Waste of time. These Soul Reapers brought backup… but that damn Mohit—"
Tōsen (stepping forward, tone sharp):
"Lord Aizen, permission to discipline Grimmjow for disobeying your direct order to retreat. His arrogance cost us six Arrancar."
Grimmjow (growling):
"Those bastards were weak! They weren't Espada! And just to remind you—"
He steps forward, voice rising.
"—they were my Fracción. My pawns!"
Gin (grinning slyly):
"Mm… I don't recall Neroxis being yours, Grimmjow. He always seemed… a bit more self-directed."
Grimmjow snarls, his spiritual pressure flaring.
Tōsen:
"You dare speak so lightly of the dead… Neroxis was a valuable asset. His spiritual adaptability and resilience had the potential to evolve past you."
Before Grimmjow can retort, Tōsen draws his blade. In a blink, he slashes Grimmjow's right arm — blood sprays as it ignites in a glowing orange blaze.
Tōsen (coldly):
"A lesson in humility."
Grimmjow stumbles back, clutching the charred stump. Aizen raises a hand calmly.
Aizen:
"That's enough. Grimmjow… you're dismissed."
Grimmjow glares at all of them, eyes burning with fury — but he doesn't argue. He turns and storms out, dragging his pride with him.
Scene Change: Private Strategic Chamber – Minutes Later
Aizen, Tōsen, and Gin enter a hidden chamber deep within Las Noches. The door seals behind them, soundproof and protected by layered barriers. On the floor rest the heavily injured bodies of Shawlong, Ilfort, and Neroxis.
Tōsen:
"They died fighting Mohit. I used a modified Kido to extract the final visual memories from their decaying consciousness."
Tōsen raises a hand and chants. A glowing orb rises from the corpses and expands into a projected holographic memory. It shows:
Mohit dodging a Resurrección-level lunge from Neroxis effortlessly.
Spiders swarming and immobilizing Shawlong midair.
Mohit never releasing Bankai, calmly evading attacks, countering with surgical precision.
Neroxis screaming in rage as he's pierced by a hardened silk spike.
Gin (arms folded, smirking fades):
"Well, well. He was just playing."
Tōsen:
"This is the threat we face. Mohit's Shikai alone dismantled two advanced Arrancar. It wasn't a contest. If he's hiding a Bankai… the scale tips."
Aizen watches the recording intently, expression unreadable.
Aizen:
"The danger isn't simply his power. It's his restraint. He understands control. Precision. Patience. He must be countered."
Gin:
"So what's the play, boss?"
Enter: Szayelaporro Granz
A mechanical door hisses open, and Szayelaporro enters, hands behind his back, intrigued by the call.
Szayelaporro:
"You summoned me, Lord Aizen?"
Aizen:
"I have a task only your expertise can fulfill."
Aizen steps aside and reveals the three Arrancar corpses. With a wave of his hand, a crystalline machine floats down from the ceiling — glowing tubes and sensors descending.
Aizen:
"I want you to combine them. Neroxis will be the dominant personality — retain his hatred, adaptability, and potential. Use Shawlong's tactical genius and Ilfort's brute strength. You'll also be given soul samples from former seated officers. Use whatever Arrancar are required."
*Aizen walks over to Neroxis's corpse. With frightening calm, he tears open the skull and removes the still-glowing brain matter. A dark sphere of condensed soul essence floats out, and Aizen traps it in a Reiatsu-sealed containment cube.
Szayelaporro (eyes gleaming):
"Fascinating… A gestalt Arrancar, reinforced by spiritual engineering. A synthetic Espada?"
Aizen:
"Yes. Stronger than Espada #2. Smarter than Espada #5. Nearly a perfect anti-Mohit weapon."
Tōsen:
"Design him to consume or disable Mohit's silk. Break the link between his vision and his spiders. Render his Shikai useless."
Szayelaporro:
"Oh, I'll do far more than that, Lord Aizen. When I'm done… this creature won't just counter Mohit. It will hunt him."
Aizen steps back, handing the containment cube to Szayelaporro.
Aizen:
"I'll expect a demonstration soon."
The scientist bows with theatrical flourish.
Szayelaporro:
"Then let the vivisection begin."
Szayelaporro Grantz stood in the heart of his massive subterranean lab—lit by eerie, pulsing green lights—as machines buzzed, tubes hissed, and consoles blinked rhythmically. According to Lord Aizen's orders, he had begun work on a project unlike any he'd attempted before. This was no mere experiment—this was war preparation.
He had scoured the vast deserts and towering cliffs of Hueco Mundo, hunting with surgical precision. Seventy-six Arrancar had been carefully selected and harvested—some unwilling, others broken and lured into death. From the shadowy canyons, he tore 200 promising Gillians, each showing signs of evolution, freezing their progression just before they transformed into Adjuchas. Their potential would be weaponized. And finally, fifty-seven captured Soul Reapers—failed scouts, stragglers, unlucky warriors—all donated by Aizen from secret operations over decades.
Using his Temporal Acceleration Capsule, one year of uninterrupted research passed for Szayelaporro, while only four days trickled by in the real world. In that accelerated space, he performed grafts, restructured DNA strands, reconstructed spiritual matrices, and fused spiritual pressure channels. Every scream of the creatures involved was archived, every fluctuation studied. This creation would be unmatched.
Finally, he stood before the result.
The creature—no, the new Artificial Espada—was complete. It stood nine feet tall, its body covered in segmented white armor resembling carapace. A jagged hole was visible in its abdomen, remnants of its Hollow nature. Its face resembled Neroxis but carried additional features from Lilfort and Shawlong—feral eyes, muscular build, long predator-like hair that crackled with residual energy.
With solemn precision, Szayelaporro placed the consciousness of Neroxis, extracted from his dying brain by Aizen himself, into the control core of the being. Then, he placed the Hōgyoku fragment, encased in black crystal, into the chest cavity.
The creature twitched violently.
Then, silence.
And in a breathless moment, the being awoke.
Its eyes snapped open—black sclera, silver irises.
The laboratory trembled with the sheer weight of its spiritual pressure. Screens exploded. Machines ruptured. Assistants collapsed to their knees.
Szayelaporro smiled. "Magnificent… just as I expected."
Aizen stepped forward, hands behind his back, his calm voice cutting through the chaos.
"Welcome back… Neroxis. I know you're confused. But I brought you back—stronger, better, more complete."
Neroxis slowly turned his head toward Aizen. His voice, deeper and layered, echoed.
"…What…am I?"
"A sword of vengeance," said Aizen, smiling. "A creation born not only to be powerful, but to kill Mohit, the one who humiliated your former self. That is your purpose."
Gin chimed in with his usual sly grin. "And you won't be alone. You'll be Espada No. 1 now… shared rank with Starrk. Quite the honor, isn't it?"
Neroxis lowered his head slightly. He didn't speak. He was listening—to the power humming in his body. Every heartbeat was thunder. His limbs crackled with raw spiritual force. His skin itched with phantom memories from three different beings. But above all, the hatred for Mohit… burned like a star.
Aizen continued, "Train. Master your body. Your consciousness needs time to settle into its new foundation. You'll spar with Starrk in the Time Capsule. When the war begins… you will be our executioner."
In the World of the Living: The Storm Before the War
Ichigo's foot slammed into the ground as he dodged another high-speed strike from Love's zanpakutō. Sweat trickled down his brow. His training under the Vizards had grown more brutal. Each session pushed him past exhaustion—mentally, physically, and spiritually.
He stood in the middle of the abandoned warehouse now home to the Vizards. Hiyori shouted from the side, "HEY IDIOT, DON'T BLOCK LIKE A DAMNED TODDLER! USE YA BODY!"
Ichigo grit his teeth. Why is she so angry all the time?!
Love swung again. Ichigo barely dodged, responding with a wide arc of his own blade. Love caught it mid-air.
"Not bad, kid," he said. "But you're still stiff. You need to flow with your Hollow power, not fight it."
Nearby, Arthur—the leader of the Vizards—watched with arms crossed. His presence was quiet, commanding. He said nothing, but Ichigo could feel the weight of his stare. It made him push harder.
Kensei and Lisa sparred in another corner. Mashiro danced around, tossing random commentary. Rose played a haunting tune on a flute-like weapon.
Ichigo could feel the transformation. It wasn't just raw strength he was gaining—it was control. He could activate his Hollow mask without fear now, hold it for minutes. His movements had refined. He was no longer just instinct and rage.
Elsewhere: Orihime's Moment
Orihime skipped lightly toward her apartment, a warm bento box in hand. "Ichi-kun is skipping school again… I wonder if he's okay," she murmured, her brow creased in concern.
The garbage man waved. "Hey, kid! Be careful—your new house guests brought in something huge earlier."
Curious, she rushed home. When she opened the door—
A massive, pulsating TV-like monitor stood in her living room.
"Woooow~!" she gasped. "It looks… alive?"
Mohit stood beside the monitor, arms folded. Rangiku, sipping sake, nodded to her lazily.
Suddenly, the monitor crackled and hummed, displaying an ancient, weathered face—Head Captain Yamamoto.
"Good morning, Head Captain," said Mohit with a respectful bow.
Orihime backed up. "I-I'll leave you to it—"
"No," Yamamoto growled. "This concerns you too, young human."
The room fell silent.
"It has been four months since Aizen's betrayal. We recently recovered a hidden journal from Squad 5's ruins. In it… we discovered his ultimate goal—the Ōken."
Rangiku's eyes widened. "No… That's the key to the Royal Palace…"
Mohit's jaw clenched. Even Orihime could feel the heaviness in the air.
Yamamoto continued, "To forge the Ōken, Aizen needs 100,000 souls during a Soul Rain, a phenomenon occurring once every 1000 years. It will happen… this December in Karakura Town."
Orihime's heart sank. My town…
"But do not fear," Yamamoto said, voice firm. "We will defend Karakura with our lives. And we will need yours, too. Tell Kurosaki Ichigo to prepare for war."
The screen cut out.
Mohit turned to Rangiku. "Inform Renji, Rukia, Ikkaku, Yumichika. Get ready."