The endless solitude of Hueco Mundo could unravel even the strongest will. Beneath the eternally black sky, Cangmu stared blankly into the void. His heart felt as stagnant as the air—though, in truth, he no longer had a heart at all. A gaping hole occupied the center of his chest, the mark of all Hollows, and he had grown long accustomed to its presence.
Yes, he had transmigrated—crossed into the world of the dead. More specifically, into Hueco Mundo, the desolate realm ruled by sand, darkness, and death. His white, bone-like skin was numb to sensation. Whatever shred of humanity remained inside him barely kept in check the primal hunger that clawed at his mind. Bloodlust and an insatiable urge to kill were constant companions.
Most days, Cangmu wandered mindlessly across the bleached desert, hunting, feeding. He devoured countless Hollows—Menos Grande, Adjuchas, and all manner of weaker souls. In this unending cycle of consumption, a full thousand years passed…
But then, something changed.
One day, without warning, his dormant mind stirred. His memories returned—fragments of a former life, flashes of emotions long buried. And with that return, the madness that defined his existence began to fade.
"Raaagh!!!"
A howl tore from his throat, reverberating across the empty sky. The sound was monstrous, chilling even to the most feral Hollows. Gillians and Adjuchas alike fled instinctively, for they knew this cry. It was the call of death—the same one that had echoed across Hueco Mundo for a millennium. Every Hollow that approached it vanished, never to be seen again. They whispered of it like a myth: a cursed roar that none could survive.
"Crack—!"
Pieces of his white Hollow mask splintered and fell to the ground, disintegrating into dust. Cangmu's monstrous frame shrank, reconfiguring—muscle, skin, human form reemerging beneath the armor of bone.
"Ahhh!!!"
His howl dissolved into a pained cry—a voice not of a beast, but a man. And from a dune not far away, two cloaked figures silently observed the transformation.
"Hey, Starrk… did he become one of us?" the smaller figure asked softly. It was Lilynette Gingerbuck, wary of disturbing the awakening being.
Starrk narrowed his eyes at the scene. "No… he's different. He found something we never did… he found his heart."
The Primera Espada turned, and together with Lilynette, left without interfering.
Back on the sands, Cangmu collapsed, his body drenched in sweat. He gasped, trembling.
"It… finally worked."
He had always known where he was. As a fan of the Bleach universe in his past life, he'd recognized Hueco Mundo the moment he arrived. But knowing the world didn't mean surviving it was easy. He'd allowed himself to succumb to the instincts of a Hollow, devouring to grow stronger, killing to stay alive. Every action had been intentional. Every step calculated. All to control, not be consumed by, the Hollow within.
And now… he had succeeded.
The mask was broken. The transformation complete.
Cangmu had achieved what few in history ever had—he had transcended the limitations of Hollows. He had forged a heart in a world built on emptiness.
This was the evolution that brought about a Vasto Lorde, and perhaps even something beyond.
To understand this, one must understand the nature of Hollows. They were once human souls, lost and forgotten. When a soul lingers too long without peace, its despair, regret, and desire twist into madness, birthing a Hollow. Most lose their minds, but some—driven by powerful emotions—retain intelligence. Such rare beings evolve, forming Menos Grande, then Adjuchas, and eventually Vasto Lorde.
Cangmu's transformation was different. He did not merely evolve; he restructured his very soul. His journey was not just physical but spiritual.
And now, as he stood in the cold desert wind with a heart beating once more in the void where nothing should remain, he smiled.
In the present-day Karakura Town, events were already unfolding. After Kuchiki Rukia passed her powers to Kurosaki Ichigo, the latter became a substitute Shinigami. His enormous Zanpakutō—reflecting his spiritual power—was already slashing through the first Hollow that attacked him.
As Ichigo landed the final blow and prepared to leave with Rukia, another figure watched from the shadows.
"A Zanpakutō…" the man murmured. His name was Aoki—Cangmu reborn.
This was no coincidence. Aoki had been waiting since the day he crossed into this world, planning carefully. Unlike Ichigo, he wasn't gifted the powers of a Soul Reaper. And unlike Rukia, he couldn't return to Soul Society. Not as a Hollow. Not yet.
Aoki understood the truth: entering Soul Society in his current state would only draw the attention of the Gotei 13—and a swift execution. So, he remained hidden, suppressing his reiatsu, refining his form, observing.
But now, he had no need to hunt. He was no longer driven by base hunger.
He was something else. Something new.
Watching Ichigo and Rukia disappear down the street, Aoki turned to leave—but paused. A flicker of movement in the alley beside him caught his eye.
A man with a green-striped hat and a cane stepped forward.
"Hmm? And who might you be?" Urahara Kisuke asked, tone light but eyes sharp.
Aoki's expression shifted into a smile.
Of all the beings in the Shinigami world, Urahara Kisuke was one of the few who truly fascinated him.
"Let's not waste time," Aoki said, his tone low and dangerous. "If we're going to fight, let's fight. I don't want to destroy this town by accident."
A pulse of spiritual pressure burst from Aoki's form, thick with bloodlust and ancient power. Kisuke's eyes widened—he had never felt anything like it.
Then, without warning—
Boom!
Aoki vanished, appearing in front of Urahara with impossible speed. His whip kick slammed toward Kisuke's vital point, but the former captain deflected it at the last moment, stumbling back.
"If I hadn't countered… I'd be out cold," Kisuke muttered grimly.
Aoki didn't press the attack. "Is that all?"
Kisuke's gaze sharpened. "No. Now I'm serious."
He drew his Zanpakutō, its curved edge gleaming under the moonlight.
"Cry, Benihime."
With a hum, the air vibrated. Reiryoku crackled as Urahara's Zanpakutō entered its Shikai state for the first time in a hundred years.
Aoki watched, elated. Despite everything, he was still Hollow. Still a warrior born in carnage. The blood soaked into his soul couldn't be erased so easily.
Aoki raised his arm—and the spiritual pressure he released was tainted by blood and shadow, far heavier than before. It pressed down like a storm, suffocating the air itself.
But then—he paused.
"No… you're not someone I can defeat quickly. And if we fight seriously… this city won't survive."
With that, Aoki turned away.
The battle would wait.
But war was inevitable.