"Who are you calling a poor copy?!"
Szayelaporro's voice rang out, shrill with outrage, still brooding over Mazuru's sharp comment.
"What qualifications do you have to call the great Szayelaporro-sama a mere replica?" he sneered, his voice hoarse and trembling with fury. The emphasis he placed on "great" and "master"—titles he arrogantly gave himself—made it clear that his ego had taken a severe blow.
In terms of scientific brilliance, few in Hueco Mundo or even the Soul Society would dare dispute his intellect. Szayelaporro, former researcher of Las Noches, had crafted countless terrifying inventions and weapons, placing him on a level equivalent to Kurotsuchi Mayuri of the Gotei 13. Even Mazuru, who held nothing but contempt for him, couldn't deny that contribution.
But the one standing here now—this Szayelaporro—wasn't the original.
And Mazuru knew it.
"What now?" Mazuru said coldly, his crimson eyes locking onto him. "Do you want me to prove you're a replica? And even if, by some stretch, you're the original... so what? You're still just a dead soul."
That last word—dead—struck Szayelaporro deeper than any blade could.
Even though he was but a replication, he carried the original's memories, thoughts, and pride. He inherited not just knowledge but the emotional depth of Szayelaporro's downfall.
And that emotion boiled now.
"You're courting death!" he roared, unhinged.
(T.L Note: He said it!!)
With a sudden, jerking movement, he drew the blade hanging from his waist. "Sip — Fornicarás!"
As the liberation command echoed, Szayelaporro shoved the blade deep into his throat, and in a grotesque display, his body began to contort.
Muscles stretched, skin split, bones reshaped. His body grew larger, his lower half bursting into a writhing mass of pink tentacles that whipped violently around him. The air thickened with spiritual pressure.
Mazuru's eyes lit up in rare intrigue.
"Oh? Interesting."
He hadn't expected this. A replica so complete that it could even replicate the Resurrección—Szayelaporro's signature transformation. Even the original's grotesque abilities had been faithfully recreated.
If this copy had enough time to grow, to assimilate the remnants of the original's soul and evolve step by step...
Then, perhaps, it would no longer be accurate to call it a poor replica.
"I originally intended to wait until I fully recovered before seeking revenge." Szayelaporro growled, voice deep and otherworldly now. "But since you took the initiative to appear before me—I'll teach you a lesson now!"
Tentacles flared outward. Dozens of them curled together, converging into a point where spiritual energy condensed with brutal intensity. A pink-hued orb crackled into existence at their center, the spiritual density pressing like a vice on the surrounding air.
Gran Rey Cero!
*Fwoooom—!!*
The pink beam exploded forward with tremendous speed, screaming toward Mazuru like a wrathful god's decree.
And yet...
Kenpachi Azashiro stood nearby, completely unmoved. He didn't flinch, nor did he attempt to dodge. Though he had recently arrived in Hueco Mundo, his spiritual connection to the space had already partially integrated his presence. He could have avoided the blow with a mere thought.
But he didn't need to.
Szayelaporro's Gran Rey Cero may have seemed threatening—but Azashiro had seen enough to know it wouldn't matter.
As the beam thundered forward, Mazuru calmly lifted one finger.
A single orb of red light shimmered to life at his fingertip.
Not a Bala, nor a simple Cero, but something far denser.
Gran Rey Cero!
Yes, it was the same technique. Only his glowed with deep crimson, almost black at its core.
*BOOM—!!*
The moment Mazuru's Gran Rey Cero was unleashed, the two energy waves collided. Szayelaporro's pink beam shattered like fragile glass, consumed by the deep crimson tide that surged forward unchecked.
"What...?!" Szayelaporro gasped.
His jaw hung open as Mazuru's Gran Rey Cero overwhelmed his own and kept advancing—ruthless, unrelenting.
"You must be joking!" he cried out, eyes wide in disbelief. "That... that thing looked like a child's trick! How the hell is that a Gran Rey Cero?!"
The wave of crimson swallowed him whole.
"Aaaaarrrgghhhhhhh!!"
The screams tore from his throat like wild animals, shaking the dunes of Hueco Mundo. His freshly restructured body, proud and grotesque, collapsed into ribbons under the spiritual onslaught.
Flesh tore apart. Bone cracked. The tendrils writhed in agony before burning to ash.
And yet... he didn't die.
Not completely.
As the light faded, what remained was not a body—but a translucent phantom floating over melted flesh. Szayelaporro's spiritual consciousness, barely intact, hovered midair.
"Damn it... damn it all!"
He screamed in bitter rage, his spiritual form flickering weakly. All his efforts, all those years spent gathering fragmented pieces of his former self, preparing to return to his prime—it had all been undone by one flick of Mazuru's finger.
Szayelaporro burned with hatred. But that hatred was tempered now by something else.
Fear.
That power... it was on a different plane. Mazuru wasn't just a threat. He was a reaper of beings like him.
'I can't win.' Szayelaporro realized grimly. 'Not like this.'
And so, with what remained of his consciousness, he surged away from the battlefield.
His ghostly form darted toward Roka, who had silently observed the battle from the distance. He intended to possess her again—merge his consciousness with hers and command her to open a Garganta so they could flee.
But before he could touch her...
*Fwoom—!!*
Another streak of crimson energy lanced through the air, far more precise than before.
Szayelaporro froze mid-flight. Though incorporeal now, the beam pierced into his very soul, wrapping around it like chains.
"No—wait—!"
Too late.
The beam yanked him back, dragging his spirit toward Mazuru's outstretched hand. With a smooth motion, Mazuru unsheathed a black-lacquered Zanpakutō. The spiritual chains retracted into its blade.
*Clang*
The sword was sheathed again.
Szayelaporro's remnant, screaming in frustration and defeat, was sealed within it.
Mazuru looked down at the now-quiescent weapon, eyes calm. "Even as a ghost, you were annoying."
Kenpachi Azashiro, who had remained a spectator to the entire event, finally let out a breath.
"You truly live up to your title as the King of Hueco Mundo." he said slowly, sincerely. "Your power is... undeniable."
Mazuru turned slightly, his expression unchanging. "But we still have to fight, don't we?"
His grip tightened around his sealed blade.
The tension in the air spiked again.
Azashiro gave no answer, only stared at him with the same calmness. He didn't care whether Szayelaporro lived or died. But Roka... she mattered.
And for her sake—
A battle between monsters was inevitable.
*****
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