Chapter 870: Aizen's Invitation, The Temptation of the Complete Hokyoku
"Squad 44758 wiped out in its entirety. Presumed to have occurred within an Inuyasha derivative realm."
"The Devil Ray squad encountered an overwhelmingly powerful adversary in an unidentified secondary realm. Only a single novice survived; the captain and all veteran members were confirmed dead."
"That marks the seventh notable squad to suffer near-total annihilation in recent days... Something is wrong here, Old Black!"
Black Butler furrowed his brow beneath his shroud. Even within the physical world, he maintained his spatial avatar illusion; scarcely anyone within the Paradise had ever glimpsed his authentic face.
Even so, he recognized that he had unconsciously acclimated to the operatives gathered beneath this banner. Ambitions and wishes he had once deemed impossible were now tethered to the growth of this very Paradise.
Having Tenkyo address him as "Old Black" had become second nature. His frown deepened because the data lined up exactly as Tenkyo stated: across the vast operational theater of the Infinite Dimensional Space, losing seven squads was statistically negligible.
Yet for that many reputable teams to be wiped out within the span of a few days triggered every tactical alarm in his mind.
Tenkyo was accustomed to analyzing crises through statistical models. On his data sheets, the total eradication of Third and Fourth Step strike teams within standard mission worlds was an extreme low-probability anomaly.
Operatives who reached that threshold possessed formidable survival tools. Unless they crossed paths with rule-breaking monsters, losing a veteran or two was expected, but total wipeouts across the board...
There was a deliberate hand behind this!
Black Butler immediately activated relays with other information brokers, his expression darkening with every incoming dispatch.
Right at that juncture, Kenzo from the Eastland sent through an urgent, solemn communique.
Now that Tenkyo's operational presence had gone public, he served as the primary logistical conduit linking the Eastland authorities to the Paradise. With Lord Mercenary Tao voicing no objection, the Eastland had effectively become a strategic partner to the syndicate.
In the eyes of Black Butler and Tenkyo, this arrangement was likely Kaito Shirogane's final token of consideration toward his homeland. Li Qingzi, however, knew better: Kaito harbored no such sentimental impulses.
He had simply grown too detached to care.
Standing behind Black Butler and Tenkyo with arms folded across her chest, Li Qingzi had already deduced what was brewing across the network.
"The Eastland has also lost contact with several frontline squads. However, our scouts secured a lead."
Ryo's image flickered onto the terminal screen. Holding his sheathed blade in his arms, his complexion was grim, carrying a faint, lingering trace of lingering dread.
"It is the Throne of Virtual Reality. Our units engaged numbered squads under the Throne. Those operatives... are systematically butchering Reincarnators!"
Having once clawed his way out alive from the joint clutches of the Throne of Virtual Reality and Blue Sky, Ryo spoke with undeniable authority on the matter.
Synthesizing big-data algorithms with global networks, Tenkyo pulled up comprehensive casualty metrics within seconds.
It was not confined to the East District. Over the past several days, substantial numbers of Reincarnator squads across the remaining three quadrants had suffered total annihilation.
Every single one had crossed paths with adversaries operating far outside their tier.
Naturally, amidst a culling of this magnitude, survivors like Ryo had begun trickling back with eyewitness accounts. Numerous operatives testified that the vanguard elites leading those hostile squads were universally augmented with Zanpakuto armaments.
That signature practically signed the execution order with a name.
Within the Infinite Dimensional Space, that specific lineage of power was virtually monopolized. Deployments into the Bleach cosmos were vanishingly rare, and the few operatives lucky enough to breach that realm almost universally met gruesome ends.
Only a vanishingly fortunate elite ever secured authentic Soul Reaper enhancements.
A coordinated campaign fielding combatants of this caliber was unprecedented.
Across the entire Space, only two sovereign organizations possessed the hidden reserves to deploy such uncataloged titans: the Throne of Virtual Reality and Destiny.
Now, all incoming telemetry converged squarely upon the Throne of Virtual Reality.
The culprit was confirmed beyond doubt.
Yet Black Butler, Tenkyo, and the rest remained completely baffled: why would the Throne of Virtual Reality, which had maintained absolute silence and detached secrecy for ages, suddenly embark on an unchecked purge of Reincarnators at this exact hour?
No matter how they ran the tactical calculus, the motive remained opaque.
Atop the summit of the Black Tower, Kaito Shirogane waved an indifferent hand, dismissing Victor and White Face. Victor had indeed mastered the techniques of Phase manipulation, but anchoring an authentic Phase into the mortal realm demanded astronomical reserves of mana.
It was an energetic load even an apex Reincarnator could not bear alone; it had to be realized through alternate esoteric engineering.
White Face happened to be a savant in ritual construction. Kaito opted to task the duo with an independent operational directive, instructing the rest of the Paradise to support them with logistical resources and personnel.
His sole condition was absolute: upon the conclusion of his next deployment cycle, he expected to see an operational Phase anchored to reality.
Compared to Cursed Spirits, Kaiju, or the Lands Between taking root in the mortal plane, the manifestation of a Phase held an entirely distinct metaphysical significance: Kaito required a vessel sturdy enough to endure his unconstrained violence.
The hushed debates unfolding deep beneath the Black Tower did not escape his perception for a second.
The Throne of Virtual Reality has begun hunting Reincarnators...
The intelligence took Kaito slightly by surprise. It appeared that as his personal output breached the ceilings of ordinary Reincarnators, that King of Souls who had remained perpetually shrouded in the shadows had finally begun moving pieces across the cosmic board.
First, detonating a planetary Spiritual Calamity across the physical earth. Now, unleashing the Throne of Virtual Reality—a war machine fielding over a thousand elite Reincarnators—on an open hunt.
This maneuver would violently accelerate the natural selection of the Reincarnators.
With legions of operatives falling in the field, the Space would inevitably expand its conscription quotas to replenish the stock.
A ruthless culling of the herd. While such high-intensity purges would inevitably cut down promising seeds before their talents could blossom, those who endured would undeniably emerge as premium assets.
In Kaito's calculation, the transaction was entirely rational. Reincarnators were ultimately expendable commodities.
So long as the crucible forged a handful of apex sovereigns, sacrificing an ocean of high-tier operatives was a bargain.
Reflecting on the timeline, Kaito noted that both of the King of Souls' recent maneuvers aligned with his personal agenda.
The global Spiritual Calamity had seeded reality with supernatural memetic hazards, culling countless lower-tier operatives.
More importantly, as those spirits were slain, dense Reishi dispersed into the atmosphere.
Aizen was systematically elevating the baseline Reishi concentration of the earth itself.
And the Throne of Virtual Reality launching open hunts mirrored what Kaito had long sought to cultivate: compounding the lethal friction between Reincarnators.
The Throne's intervention would serve as the ultimate spark.
Between the spoils harvested from slaughter and the mounting paranoia born of sudden death, baseline cooperation within mission worlds would disintegrate.
Operatives would drift inexorably toward slaughter and cannibalism.
That was an evolutionary velocity the Paradise was currently unequipped to drive on its own. Only an ancient assembly commanding over a thousand elite combatants—heavily augmented with rare lineages like Soul Reapers, Arrancars, Quincies, and Fullbringers—could enforce a paradigm shift of that scale.
What, then, was his ultimate objective?
Kaito cared not in the slightest whether he was Sosuke Aizen's theoretical creation. The moment he attained awareness, he was himself, and himself alone.
That absolute truth was immutable.
He knew Aizen was far from the type of mentor who flattered or indulged his creations. If the sovereign bearing Aizen's visage was truly that Sosuke Aizen...
There was undeniably a deeper, cold-blooded design running beneath this staging.
Hum!
High above the Paradise, the airspace suddenly destabilized. Several invisible, transparent barriers began flickering with violent intensity.
Operatives lounging in the lower sectors immediately registered the spatial discord, snapping their gazes toward the sky.
The next second, a crisp tearing sound echoed through the basin.
Three semi-transparent bounded fields shattered simultaneously, dissolving into cascades of Reishi and mana.
From secluded quarters scattered across the perimeter, several high-tier Reincarnators in charge of perimeter defense scrambled out with bloodless faces.
Those were premier bounded fields erected through high-grade artifacts and joint casting, built to repel conventional Fierce Step offensives.
Infused with spatial anchors, teleportation dampeners, and stealth-disruption protocols, they were specifically engineered to fortify the Paradise, ensuring enemy spatial specialists could not breach the airspace unhindered.
Whoosh!
Gang Qi detonated as blade resonance thundered through the avenues.
Hongchen strode rapidly from the entrance gates toward the center, a colossal, frosty phantom materializing behind his back with every stride he took.
It was the ultimate martial art, God of Lightning's Wrath, modified and perfected under the Goddess's grace.
Wearing a severe, resolute expression, Hongchen projected righteous anger, yet refrained from vaulting into the sky.
He had never been as reckless as his exterior suggested. His past misfortunes had simply been a streak of terrible luck, perpetually pitching him against adversaries possessing incompatible advantages.
Consequently, Hongchen commanded extensive survival experience. He knew with absolute certainty that today, that monster was presiding within the Paradise!
Which meant that regardless of who breached the airspace, the outcome of the war was already decided. All he needed to do was project an unyielding, heroic silhouette before the lower-tier operatives who had sought sanctuary beneath their banner.
Charging blindly into the clouds would be suicidal; with his pure internal-energy build, his resistances against exotic, esoteric authorities were dangerously low.
Hum!
Across the azure vault, pitch-black rifts violently unzipped as the cavernous skulls of several Gillians emerged from the dark.
Suffocating spiritual pressure crashed downward like a physical hammer. Lower-tier operatives instantly paled, clutching their chests as their pulses seized.
Hongchen's brow furrowed tightly as he tightened his grip around the hilt of the Snow Drinker Blade. He lacked specific advantages against Menos Grande, but against mere Gillians, he could still...
The next instant, several humanoid silhouettes stepped smoothly out from the Garganta.
They hovered in the empty air, looking down upon the sprawling Paradise below.
"Heeheehee... My, how magnificent! Lord Mercenary Tao's grand Paradise!"
Kurushi wore her pristine high-collared white uniform, the "No. 3" marking displayed clearly for Hongchen to read.
Beside her, Scaled Fish, designated No. 4, wore an icy expression, casting a disdainful gaze over the infrastructure Mercenary Tao had erected.
Rumors were circulating that Mercenary Tao's Paradise and Yoko's Avalon would soon eclipse Destiny and the Throne of Virtual Reality as the supreme syndicates of the Space.
Such chatter was rampant across all four quadrants, grating intensely on Scaled Fish's nerves.
The Throne had merely remained dormant beneath their King's command, yet these ignorant insects assumed they had measured the limits of their power.
A pathetic Paradise. A laughable Avalon...
"Oh? So these are the famous numbered elites~"
Without shifting his stance, Scaled Fish swiveled his pupils, tracking Satoru Gojo who had displaced himself directly beside his flank.
Radiating from Gojo was an energetic signature Scaled Fish knew down to his marrow.
Spiritual pressure.
"My word! Two-Point-Five Gojo actually commands spiritual pressure of this caliber? Lord Mercenary Tao has certainly treated you well~"
Kurushi's melodic cadence sounded sweet to the ear, yet dripped with sovereign condescension.
Gojo, too, could measure the sheer density of their astral bodies: terrifyingly vast.
Hum!
In the next fraction of a second, Gojo's expression shifted. The world around him faded into monochrome, and his Limitless technique shattered in an instant. The crushing pressure exerted directly upon his soul disrupted the razor-thin focus required to sustain his precision sorcery.
This was the structural vulnerability of cursed energy: the deadlier the technique, the more absolute the operational precision demanded.
"Cease your games, both of you. The King dispatched us to deliver a message."
The blond Tyrant stepped through the Garganta, bringing up the rear. The spiritual pressure radiating from his frame existed in an entirely separate dimension.
Kurushi's playful smirk instantly vanished, replaced by cold solemnity. Scaled Fish gritted his teeth, his brow furrowing as the Tyrant's aura washed indiscriminately across the sector.
Looking down, Gojo saw the long-haired swordsman who had manifested the frost phantom supporting his weight with his blade driven into the earth, barely maintaining his stance.
Every other operative across the plaza lay collapsed on the flagstones. The fortunate few managed to kneel, clutching their ribs with gray faces, suffocating under the spiritual weight.
Even Gojo had to concede that the moniker of "The Tyrant" was thoroughly deserved; this was no hollow title.
Yet...
Gojo's lips curled into a strained smirk. He knew that among all the monsters he had crossed paths with, the greatest Tyrant of all was dwelling inside the Black Tower below.
BOOM!
Heaven and earth inverted their colors. The Gillians lingering inside the Garganta whined in terror, frantically retreating back into the rift. The blue sky and white clouds vanished, replaced by an abyssal, suffocating twilight.
Drip... Drop... Drip...
Thick, pitch-black liquid began raining from the empty sky. The Tyrant brushed his fingers against his cheek, finding condensed, liquefied spiritual pressure.
Spiritual pressure concentrated to the point of physical condensation...
While he could achieve this state himself, it was a phenomenon reserved exclusively for his Resurrección. In his baseline form, manifesting such density was physically impossible.
BOOM!
An even more horrifying presence detonated. The Tyrant's chassis buckled under the kinetic load as the Reishi beneath his boots pulverized into dust, his Sonido coordination disrupted, driving him plummeting straight from the heavens.
He smashed heavily into the plaza before the Black Tower.
Kurushi and Scaled Fish were driven down in lockstep, cratering into the stone. The Tyrant rose without a scratch; he understood this was merely a sovereign warning. Judging by how Kurushi and Scaled Fish had been spared, the Monster King had not lost his rational discipline.
That was an asset. Despite his personal friction with Mercenary Tao, he had no desire to derail the King's grand design over petty grievances.
Brushing the dust from his white tunic, he dialed his spiritual pressure down to zero.
"My Lord. Our King has commanded me to deliver an artifact into your hands—and an invitation."
The Tyrant spoke with clinical composure.
The suffocating spiritual pressure crushing the basin vanished in an eye-blink. The heavy doors of the Black Tower creaked open, and Artoria, clad in black-and-red plate, stepped aside, gesturing for the envoys to enter.
Before long, Kaito laid eyes upon the token they carried.
Substitute Soul Reaper Badge
Quality: World's Rarity
Description: A specialized talisman crafted within a certain realm, imbued with the authority of a Soul Reaper, serving as an absolute proof of identity.
Usage Requirement: Possession of Soul Energy.
Effect 1: By infusing soul energy, permits your astral soul to temporarily detach from your physical vessel to act unconstrained.
Effect 2: Bearing this artifact grants the official classification of a Soul Reaper, triggering specialized quests and narrative milestones. (Special Event: Calamity of the Seireitei has been unlocked.)
"My Lord. Lord Aizen noted that an asset you will find impossible to refuse... awaits within that realm," the Tyrant reported with calculated care.
Unable to contain herself, Kurushi blurted out the truth:
"The Hokyoku! A complete, perfected Hokyoku!"