Chapter 10

Deep within the sands of Hueco Mundo lied a castle with no roof. Pillars lay broken, the few walls made of stone and a material like marble's surface, made brittle by the passing of time.

Las Noches

The palace in the sands able to be seen even from the farthest reaches of Hueco Mundo. Its aged and soaring pillars a testament to its glory.

And within the center of this palace lay a throne of bones. Femurs, skulls, radials, all were utilized in its creation, and sitting on this throne of bones was none other than Barragan, Lord of Hueco Mundo.

An attendant was to his side, a female Vasto Lorde in a plain white dress holding a pitcher of drink in her hands. Tentatively, she poured him a cup in the glass beside his throne before politely standing by his side. However, she seemed as if she wanted to say something.

"Lord Barragan," The attendant eventually spoke uncertainly towards him.

He could understand her hesitance. Recently, a Shinigami had managed to blatantly walk his way up to his court without so much as a single greeting from his trained elite. Preposterous. Just thinking about the nonchalant greeting the Shinigami gave him was infuriating. Even more so when the damn Shinigami got away? He simply didn't understand it, he had cut the Shinigami in two then promptly watched the two-severed parts wither away into dust. He had thought that the nuisance was dealt with, only to hear that same nonchalant greeting one would use when admonishing a child from directly behind him. He cut, and promptly killed the damn bug again, only this time, all that was left was the sound of his voice as it slowly drifted away into the distance.

Until next time.

He clenched his fists. Next time, there would be no next time.

Suffice to say, the previous attendant and elite guards were no longer around after such a failure on their part.

"What is it?" Barragan spoke without haste. He was in no hurry after his most recent defeat as he had to reflect on what had gone wrong.

"T-That's, my lord," the attendant cleared her throat. "We have an intruder."

Barragan raised a brow. By now he had believed that all of his subjects knew the law of intruders in his domain. The answer was simply death. "And why has it not been dealt with?" He inquired, fingers tapping calmly against the skull armrests of his throne.

"Well," the attendant placed down the pitcher and quickly motioned for another hollow to bring forth the intruder.

He was unconscious and being dragged forward by two Adjuchas on either side. Looking closer, he was injured, both of his arms cut off, and puncture wounds scattered across his robust body.

"We found him like this drowning in a pool of his own blood near the resting chambers," the attendant explained. "As for why we didn't kill him…" The attendant trailed off.

Baraggan's eyes widened slightly with recognition. The Hollow King's Raven. He swallowed the title like a bitter pill. The Hollow King, a title he believed could only be bestowed upon himself, yet he had lost time and time again. Every time he appeared to have the upper hand, the dastardly King would pull out some new weapon in his arsenal. It was utterly frustrating, but he would be lying if he said that he had gained no benefits. After all, his fighting style was improving along with his reaction time, and adaptability. Though he supposed, he did enjoy the entertainment. He had never thought it likely for his powers to be ineffective. As such, his battles were decided as hollow battles always have, through strength.

"Do not touch him," He ordered as he noticed the hungered looks of the hollows in his court. He couldn't fault them he supposed. Even for an Adjuchas, devouring a powerful hollow like the King's Raven was far too appealing in regards to increasing one's strength. Yet his word was law. No one dared touch the King's Raven.

Perhaps he could be of some use. A favour of sorts?

"Send him to the resting chambers, and notify me as soon as he wakes up." He grinned as he stood up and grabbed hold of his cup of drink, raising it up into the air. "Let this be a toast to my reign, and the inevitable defeat of my enemies!"

He was getting ahead of himself, but even he knew the importance of morale. After each loss, he could see the faith waver within his subordinate's eyes. He was their leader, the absolute with no one to question his means, and yet he couldn't yet defeat his largest obstacle. What would that seem like in the eyes of his followers? Of course, it had to be weakness, and there was no shortage to the number of challengers for his domain.

He grinned, bringing his drink back to eye level and swirling the contents. Yet they all learned the reason why it was that he had used to be called the God-King of Hueco Mundo. Still, he drank a sip of his drink, listening to the cheers of his court. It wouldn't do for his elite, and his army to feel inferior to the Hollow King's.

With this debt to him for saving the Hollow King's aid, the morale of his followers would naturally increase knowing the fact that he held something over the King's head. And that's all that mattered at the moment aside from the tiniest traces of curiosity he had for just who was able to injure the King's Raven to such a degree.

Nonetheless, that matter didn't concern him.

Meanwhile, a small black cat slowly slinked away from the crowded court, its steps not even displacing the sand beneath them.

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In a candy and appliance store hidden near the clearing of a remote alley, a man sat alone on his knees next to a low table in the accessible room behind the cash register. He didn't have to worry about any customers at the moment as the shop was rarely if ever busy, but nonetheless he was always welcoming should anyone walk in. Whether it was candy, merchandise, or even the rare kind of goods, he was sure his shop could accommodate given enough incentive.

Kisuke sipped Idly at his tea, his ears keenly waiting for the rattling ring of the bells hung loosely by the entrance of his shop. After all, he was expecting a guest; a friend if you will, that he had not spoken to in several years.

His finger tapped rhythmically against the hard surface of the table top, the constant sound of the thumps helping him concentrate as he glanced at the clock. Six hours. It had been six hours since he had gotten Yoruichi to investigate the origins of that particular hollow they had met at Karakura Town's park, and seven hours since the true target disappeared from the spiritual radar.

Quite the bit of troubling news actually. Either she was taken by another hollow, killed, or was able to suppress her spiritual pressure low enough that neither he nor Yoruichi could track it. Of course, everything was still under speculation, but he couldn't rule out that she may have had just stumbled into a natural spiritually suppressant area, of which he was only aware of a couple in Karakura Town.

He glanced at the clock again, and held himself back from clicking his tongue. He was late, but Kisuke was always a patient man. He stood up and grabbed a piece of chalk before grinding it into dust, and sprinkling it onto a chalk eraser which he then swiftly propped precariously at the front door. He was a patient man, but he was also a petty one.

Now if only Yoruichi would return sooner to help in his explanations. After all, it was her word that allowed him to act on this day. Her accounts that spoke of the impossible, or at least something he hadn't believed possible till this day, but Aizen was proving to be just as ingenuitive as him. Still, Yoruichi should have been back an hour ago, but perhaps she had encountered some delays. In that case, should he go help her out?

A shiver ran down his spine for a moment as he reconsidered. She had her pride as the former leader of a stealth operative force, and above all he knew her capabilities. It was why he had sent her in the first place. Then again, she may just be delaying her return to avoid the coming conversation. He wouldn't put it past her to let him handle the talking only to come back near the end. It was exactly like something he would do if given the chance.

The rattling of bells instantly drew his eyes towards the source, only for him to sigh as a rather troublesome customer walked in sprinkled by a layer of fine chalk that mingled with her hair.

She had shoulder length raven-black hair, a straight face and a narrowed chin, her light purple eyes were also round, but were currently narrowed in outrage. She brushed back a bang of her hair that refused to stay neatly behind her ear, and instead continued to fall uselessly between her eyes. She relented as more than once she realized that the effort was futile.

She wore a simple long sleeve dress with blue linings near the hem, and a wide u-shape at the front with patterned frills.

Rukia Kuchiki, of the Kuchiki family, one of the Four Great Noble Families of the Soul Society tasked with protecting and compiling the very history of the Soul Society. Her brother was the current leader of the family, and a squad captain of the Court Guard Squads.

"Kuchiki," Kisuke said languidly, a fan opening up in front of his face. "What can I do for you today? An umbrella maybe?" He forced back his grin as he noticed Rukia's lip twitch, probably to deliver a scathing insult. It wouldn't do to add fuel to the fire.

"You know why I came here," she said, crossing her arms and brushing off any of the chalk remaining on her. "All your products are defective." And so is your brain.

"Defective isn't a nice way of putting it," Kisuke straightened his back as he stretched slowly. "I prefer the term situational."

"And I prefer a good product." She tossed him a small candy dispenser that he caught lazily with his right hand.

Kisuke raised a brow as he fiddled with the dispenser and discovered it to be empty of the mod-souls previously inside.

Mod-souls were souls specifically designed through artificial means to enhance human physiology such that they were able to fend off hollows by themselves. This was imperative for a Shinigami to keep their mortal bodies, or artificial bodies safe in times of a hollow's appearance. On another note, they could similarly be used to eject a human soul out of its own body.

"Normally when a customer demands a refund, they bring the purchased product back as well." Kisuke reasoned with a hint of mirth.

Rukia wasn't amused. "Then you shouldn't have gotten it wrong in the first place," she spoke. It wasn't like she could really bring it back anyway.

"Is this the famed Kuchiki up bringing?" Kisuke snorted. "You take to it well."

"Almost as well your face seems suited to my fist," Rukia spoke through a thinly veiled smile. "Although I suppose it does have it uses, care to test it?"

"Done," Kisuke placated, tossing back the candy dispenser. "You don't have to pay for it then, though you'll have to keep the container for your little Chappy."

The ticking of the wall clock echoed across the simple shop as Rukia stood hesitating, and masking it away by pretending to browse through the shop's items. She pursed her lips. What should she-

"You're reading that backwards," Kisuke sighed before he pushed down on his hat and smiled ruefully. "What do you really want, Kuchiki?" Somehow, he already knew the answer.

She remained silent, but eventually she relented in the face of her own anxieties.

"My powers," she began slowly. "They're not coming back."

As they well shouldn't. Kisuke opened and closed his fan as he tapped a finger on the counter. This was for the best, and some lies were worth putting behind one's own consciousness. "Give it time Kuchiki. You gave a great deal of your strength as a Shinigami over to Kurosaki did you not?"

She nodded, but still found it hard to believe that even now her powers weren't returning. Even more alarming was the inkling of suspicion that they even depleting? Something was definitely wrong, but the decrease in her power was still within her expectations, so she couldn't truly voice it out yet. This was why she had sought the help of this admittedly untrustworthy looking individual. But if anything, she at least knew that Kisuke knew what he was doing based on his knowledge and expertise.

"How long would it take then?" She asked, rubbing her arms. She didn't know how long it would take until word of her crime would leak to the Soul Society.

It was written under law that a Shinigami could not give away their powers to a human, and she had done that very act in accordance to the will displayed by Ichigo Kurosaki. Regardless of motive, she was still guilty, and as things stood, may even be accountable for treason.

Kisuke sighed, before staring Rukia directly into the eyes. He truly was sorry, but her position was too valuable for him to let go. "Unfortunately, I expect it could take several months, or even years based on the progress and regenerative speed of your spirit power. At this point, all you can really do is wait. And if you need accommodations, you're more than welcome to take residence in my humble shop."

"I understand," Rukia spoke after a moment before bowing lightly. "Thank you for your time and your kind offer, but I've already found a nice sliding close- accommodation to live in," she said quickly as she realized her error. Normally she wouldn't mind letting others know of her supremely convenient residence in Ichigo's sliding closet, but something warned her that it would only give Kisuke more material to criticize her with. Turning her back, she walked out towards the door.

"Kuchiki,"

Rukia froze before once again turning around to catch a small glove with a flaming blue skull imprint at its center.

"Teach him well," Kisuke said.

Rukia sighed before she smiled ruefully from behind her black locks. "O I will, he's my substitute after all. Although he can be an idiot at times," she said as she stepped out the door.

The shop became silent once again, causing Kisuke to relax while sipping away at his tea.

"Much like another idiot I know," a voice spoke mere moments after Rukia left.

"Yoruichi," Kisuke spoke pleasantly. "You didn't abandon me."

"Shut up, Kisuke." The black cat sat on his lap. "I just might've had I not deemed this information I gleamed important."

"And that is?" Kisuke asked running a hand across Yoruichi's back and causing her to purr.

"An army of hollows," Yoruichi spoke. "With everyone centralized on a single figure head."

"A ruler?" Kisuke assumed.

Yoruichi nodded. "More than that Kisuke, the ruler is a Vasto Lorde whose power appears to be feared by his subjects."

"An organized force of hollows." Kisuke hummed in thought.

Then it wasn't Aizen who sent out the hollow? No, he still couldn't rule out the possibilities with that man involved. "Did you gleam anything else?"

Yoruichi frowned and wet her dry lips before speaking. "These are only things I heard from the crowd, but they spoke of a Shinigami walking up to the Lord's court."

A Shinigami? Now that was interesting, so why hadn't she brought it up earlier?

"Was a description given?"

Yoruichi shook her head. "Further investigation is necessary which is why I neglected to inform you. We can't jump to conclusions without any basis. It will set us up for a future failure."

The two sat silently, Kisuke processing the information he was given, and Yoruichi waiting for Kisuke's opinion. However, at that moment, Yoruichi's ears twitched.

Standing up, she lazily stretched her back and motioned with her eyes to Kisuke to look towards the door. He instantly understood, straightening his back as he readied himself to greet the guest of the day.

With the rattling of the door bells, a man with spiked black hair walked in, a small grimace over his face.

He was tall, with a square face that resembled a goat's, and a light beard just beneath his chin and around his cheeks. He wore a long sleeve white T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

He took of his shoes as he entered the living space where he knew Kisuke sat waiting. He had been here countless times before after all.

Isshin Kurosaki, father of three, and a former captain of the Court Guard Squads who was presumed to be killed in action.

"So, you've come. Better late than never," Kisuke spoke.

Isshin scratched at his beard. "I had two choices," he spoke with all seriousness. "Drop my two angels off to school, or meet on time with a shady old man in a striped bucket hat, and a pair of clogs."

"Why of course it would be for me, right?" Kisuke spoke as he fanned himself. "Aren't we the best of friends?"

"When you're not trying to kill me with anymore of those stupid inventions, then yes. I suppose we can be friends." Isshin spoke before waving a quick hello to Yoruichi. He had always been on better terms with her. At least she was far more reasonable.

Still though, "What is it this time Urahara? It has been quite a long time since you've last called upon me," he cut to the point of the matter.

"Well," Kisuke imitated Isshin by scratching at his head. "Yoruichi can-"

Yoruichi brandished her claws, her eyes staring directly at Kisuke's, causing him to cough awkwardly into his hand.

"Sorry," Kisuke apologized, sending a betrayed look at Yoruchi. "I'm allergic to uncooperative colleagues."

"Uncooperative, with you? I can see why," Isshin crossed his arms as he took a seat in front of the low table. "I will ask once more, Kisuke, what is going on."

Kisuke frowned as he closed his fan and tucked it away within the sleeve of his green yukata. "Do you remember that day several years ago, out in the rain with the rising river beds?"

How could he not remember? That day would forever be known as the worst mistake of his life. One that even now he still regretted for it wasn't only him who was affected. Yuzu, Karin, Ichigo, the lives of his children were completely changed on that dreary and wet afternoon.

Isshin nodded to Kisuke's question.

"I remember as if it were only yesterday," he spoke solemnly. "But why are you bringing this up now?"

Isshin could sense the sudden drop in the mood of the room, but admittedly, he himself was one of the main causes. The ticking of the wall clock once again echoed out across the room, as the tensions rose while Isshin waited for his answer. It was difficult for Kisuke to word things in a peaceful way. After all, there was no way he could euphemise what he was about to say anyway.

Surprise, you know that person you thought dead for several years, yeah, she's alive!

Kisuke could imagine the outcome of such an inconsiderate means of conveying one's thoughts. Yoruichi was no better at these things. In fact, both of them had trouble with delivering bad news. They were far more used to being blunt with the honest truth, but they both knew that this was a sensitive matter for Isshin.

However, it was then that Kisuke thought of it. The only way two men could clearly communicate between each other without any fists flying. He had seen this approach just recently in a drama from a hit TV series airing in the six O'clock show time block.

Kisuke got up and began to rummage through his pantry before returning with a bottle of Sake in one hand, and two drinking cups shaped like small platters in the other.

He laid them out across the low table as Yoruichi made herself comfortable at the corner of the room. Eyes trailing his movements, Isshin watched as he poured out two-cup-fulls of Sake.

"I don't drink, Urahara. Not anymore at least," Isshin spoke as he pushed away the cup of Sake Kisuke pushed towards him.

"Even so," Kisuke pushed the cup of sake forward once again. "I insist. You may not like what it is you're going to hear from this point on."

Isshin raised a brow.

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Border security was never of much priority to the hollows of the Vasto of White's domain.

Even if a couple rampant hollows were to come charging in, there was no way the King would not be able to take notice. Furthermore, in recent centuries, and the even more recent decades, the number of Vasto Lordes within the territory had increased substantially.

It was in the effect of the swords of Reishi each hollow was able to consume on more than a daily basis. Hollow's could consume as much as their bodies could withstand, some averaging thirty-swords in a day, others forty. The power in each sword was already substantial for most hollows, but to consume so many, it was exactly why most if not all hollows within the territory were Adjuchas or higher.

And to Grimmjow, this startling observation only made his blood boil in excitement. How could he not understand how these hollows had gotten so strong when he himself had partaken in the same procedure? Although, he didn't understand how these swords came to be, it didn't really matter. A natural occurrence then?

Strictly speaking, it was plausible, but unlikely.

He stood tall, his body plated with form-fitting hollow bone that opened up at the chest, and head gear that prevented his long blue hair from falling over his green-shadowed eyes. Fangs grew from his teeth, and large claws extended from his fingers and elbow joints.

"Shawlong," he spoke, inclining his head to the approaching Vasto Lorde. "Take the others and go in that direction, I'll handle these ones."

Shawlong nodded without complaint before disappearing in a burst of speed with the rest of the pack. He too, like Grimmjow, wished to test his power, but he knew better than to interfere when Grimmjow gave his orders.

"Where the hell do you think yer going!" Apacci growled, making to quickly give chase, but Sung-Sun grabbed her shoulder.

"Apacci," She hissed out in warning. "Pay attention," she motioned apprehensively towards Grimmjow's extended claws.

Apacci faltered before she grunted in confirmation. I'm not as stupid as Mila Rose, "Thanks," she said instead as the tenseness of the situation caught up to her.

The Vasto Lorde in front of her wasn't ordinary. Just from the strength he was exuding, he was far closer in strength to Vasto Lordes like the King, or even Lady Harribel.

Sung-Sun shivered. They weren't even supposed to be on border patrol, but after a dispute with Mila Rose, Lady Harribel had thought it prudent to separate them for a time.

The sinking feeling grew in her chest. Why hadn't the enemies been shot down yet? There was no way they could even come close to masking their killing intent, so why? Even now she still recalled how easy it would have been for the King to shoot down approaching enemies, and how swiftly he dealt with them.

Thinking further, the answer became increasingly apparent. Sung-Sun clicked her tongue, hiding the action by masking it behind her hands. The approaching enemy were Vasto Lordes, hollows at the peak of their evolution. Therefore, she wouldn't be surprised that it would take a far more substantial attack to deal with them. The radius of such an explosion would be-!

She frowned, her expression grim.

Taking into account the King's personality and disposition, he'd never take that shot with her and Apacci here. Additionally, they couldn't run away either. Based on the positioning of the Vasto before her, he was ready to spring up at any given second.

She and Apacci stood defensively as a result.

"Not going to make the first move?" Grimmjow grinned as he maneuvered around them, looking for an opening.

"Against you?" Apacci laughed with false bravado. "You're not even worth..." She trailed off as she noticed Grimmjow steadily directing all of his spiritual pressure over her.

Shit. S-She couldn't move.

Noticing Apacci's plight, Sung-Sun quickly diffused half of Grimmjow's spiritual pressure over to herself, legs buckling under the pressure.

"Fools," Grimmjow spoke, losing most of his previous excitement. He had assumed that Apacci and Sung-Sun would be strong enough for him to test his capabilities, but the fact that his spiritual pressure alone was enough to rattle them greatly reduced his excitement. "You both are worthless."

Despite the pressure on her shoulders, Apacci bristled. If only Mila Rose were here, then they'd show him the power of their strongest ability. Regardless if they didn't have full control over him, their creation was a powerhouse like none other. It was to be expected with the fusion of the powers of three Vasto Lordes.

However, even if she couldn't answer back in response to Grimmjow due to the pressure on her body making it difficult to speak, she still managed to flick out her middle finger. Fuck you.

The method was crude, but the message wasn't hard to decipher.

Grimmjow didn't utter a word, instead, grinning from ear to ear, he suddenly disappeared in a loud bang.

One second, then two. "Apacci!" Sung-Sun yelled in warning, but was met with silence.

"Didn't expect this now, did you?" Grimmjow cackled as held Apacci up by the head, his fingers digging into her scalp. "Trying to make a fool out of me," he growled, fist beating ruthlessly at Apacci's exposed body, her hands trying to pry his grip off. How useless.

Grimmjw paused for a moment as Apacci's hands moved away from his and instead pointed towards his face. Hhmm? It appeared as if she still had some fight in her.

A bright red cero formed, growing bigger by the second in Apacci's hands.

Good good!

Grimmjow tossed Apacci aside just as the blast nearly engulfed his head, before he quickly swerved to avoid a body blow from Sung-Sun.

Spittle flew as he elbowed Sung-Sun in the gut. Gagging, she could do nothing as he twisted his entire body and round kicked her across the face, sending her flying.

However, before he could pursue, the sky dimmed. The moons glow blocked out by some twisted and spiralling object flying through the air.

Grimmjow's eyes traced it trajectory and widened as his voice called out in warning. "Shawlong!"

Despite the distance, Shawlong had heard his call, but was too late to even move away from the incoming projectile.

Fuck!

Grimmjow used an arm as a shield against the wind striking out against him before he clicked his tongue. What the hell was that? Even the ground had been shaking.

A shroom cloud was rising in the distance, smoke and debris scattering out and cratering the ground in small pot holes.

He clicked his tongue. It shouldn't be his concern about what happened to Shawlong and the rest, they could deal with it. For now, he still had his own matters to attend.

"That's what you-" Apacci coughed out some blood as she forced herself up. "-bastards get."

Did she pull off such an attack? Based on her tone and confident speaking pattern it seemed as if she had. Grimmjow was momentarily stunned. Had she launched that projectile as soon he'd turned his eyes away from her to focus on the other Vasto Lorde? With such power, why had she been hiding it from him.

He grinned, perhaps he could force it out. "I didn't think you had it in you!" He growled out elated.

Apacci staggered onto her feet, confusion evident on her face. "The hell you talking about?"

"Idiot, he thinks you managed to do that," Sung-Sun spoke as she weakly pointed in the direction of one of the King's projectile weapons.

"So, she didn't then?" Grimmjow asked, his claws tapping against his hollow bone plated armour.

"Or maybe I did!" Apacci yelled, tired of Grimmjow belittling them.

Sung-Sun's eyes widened at Apacci. Did the idiot not even know what she was doing? She was making herself a target to such a strong hollow.

"So, that's how it is," Grimmjow spoke from beside Apacci. Her eyes widened in surprise, yet she could do nothing as her face froze in shock. "Then I'll just have to force the truth right out of you."

Blood splattered across the sand as Grimmjow brutally ripped his arm out of Apacci's body, the motion sending blood out of her mouth.

I'm sorry, "…Lady Harribel." Were the last words Apacci uttered as she fell flat and unmoving to the ground.

Sung-Sun swallowed the utter hate and loathing trying to override her senses. Apacci was still alive, she could see it from the way her chest still moved. She just needed to buy enough time for her injury to heal.

"It was a lie after all," Grimmjow spoke dismissively, cleaning the blood off his arm with a single swipe. "Now, what should I do with you?"

Sung-Sun backed away. She knew she couldn't defeat him. The difference in their powers were too great. "What do you want?" She ended up asking. She just needed to get his attention away from Apacci.

"What do I want?" Grimmjow paused. "Isn't it simple?" Destruction, death. "A worthy fight!" He spoke.

The air trembled with his proclamation as shivers ran down Sung-Sun's spine. This hollow was crazy. Just for a fight he and his group of Vasto Lordes would attack the Vasto of White's lands? It was insane. They weren't even fighting to fuel their own strength, simply to test it.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Even if she managed to grab Apacci and run towards safety, it would be impossible with the enemy's speed. In an instant, he had appeared directly beside Apacci. Which meant—

"Aren't you tired of this already?" Grimmjow asked as he slung an arm over her shoulders. She stilled, her face going deathly pale. "You know there's no escaping me." He placed a finger over her chest before a cero slowly began to form. "Goodbye."

Eyes widening, Sung-Sun took all the energy she had within her and condensed it all in one location, but even still, it wasn't enough. Her body went flying, her entire protective front singed and burnt off, and blood trailing from a wound on her forehead that she had sustained after crashing into the ground directly beside Apacci.

"Weaklings," Grimmjow kicked at the sand, utterly unimpressed with both Apacci and Sung-Sun. Still though, his eyes watched the steady movements of their chests. He might as well finish the job.

One step then two.

The shark swims in the sands of Hueco Mundo's dunes.

Predator, prey.

Predator,

And PREY.

Grimmjow twisted out of the way from a near instantaneous attack.

A large shark-fin blade fell from the sky, gouging a line in the ground and separating Grimmjow, Apacci, and Sung-Sun. Even on the sand, steps resounded in the sudden silence with the coming of an increasingly agitated spiritual pressure.

"Not one more step." The voice that spoke was firm, leaving no room for complaint.

"O?" Grimmjow straightened his back, flexing his muscles before getting rid of a crick on his neck. "And you would be?"

Harribel didn't reply, her eyes instead tracing over to the fallen forms of Apacci and Sung-Sun. She clenched her fists, her agitation growing after each injury her eyes glanced over. She had been the one to send them here. It was her fault, but their sacrifice.

She closed her eyes before walking over to her sword, eyes never leaving Grimmjow's.

"Friends of yours?" He asked. "They didn't amount to much."

"You should watch your mouth." Harribel drew up her blade, and in that single motion sent out a burst of violent wind across the area. "I won't warn you a second time."

This was it, this feeling!

Grimmjow bared his fangs, heart beating fast and sending blood pulsing through his arteries and veins. He growled, releasing his power in waves that caused the ground to push away from beneath him.

Harribel frowned before quickly and carefully grabbing Appaci and Sung-Sun, and depositing them a safe distance away. Noticing her leave, Grimmjow eyed her carefully, before stopping himself from charging as she quickly returned.

The air grew stale as the two waged war in a battle of spiritual pressure, yet neither of the two buckled under the weight of the other.

"I'm Grimmjow," Grimmjow spoke in a hurry. Finally, someone worth fighting.

Harribel made to speak, but paused as her gaze suddenly flickered. "You have made a grave mistake," she spoke coldly without a hint of remorse. "Before anything else, let me ask you one question."

"Hmmm?" Grimmjow raised a brow.

"Do you even know who's territory you're in?"

"Like I even care," Grimmjow spoke impatiently.

Since leaving the cave filled with swords, he and his group had simply wandered in the direction of the largest source of spiritual energy. It just so happened to be here, in a land full of the same swords that originated from within the cave no less.

"All that matters, is that I find someone to test my strength against," Grimmjow reasoned. "Those two didn't prove strong enough despite being at the peak of our hollow evolution. You, are clearly different."

Harribel's eyes narrowed, a steady growing rage flickering from beneath them. Grimmjow was different from Barragan and Shirou alike. He did not fight for authority, nor did he fight for the sake of his beliefs. On closer dissection of his words, she quickly realized that he didn't fight to grow stronger at the moment either. He had no purpose in attacking. All he was, was a simple berserker looking for a challenge and heralding destruction.

"You," her voice was frosted over, echoing out from beneath her mask and distorting with the release of her golden coloured spiritual pressure.

Still, her eyes once again glanced out to the horizon before she shook her head. She would not step down in this fight, but she would at least grant an understanding of the sheer scope of error in Grimmjow's methods.

She reeled in her spiritual pressure and condensed it within her body, the act catching Grimmjow by surprise. She could understand though. By drawing back her spiritual pressure, she made it seem as if she was backing down, but that was simply not the case. Not without retribution.

"What's wrong?" Grimmjow laughed as he crouched on all fours, fangs bared, and ready to pounce with his spiritual pressure flickering erratically.

Harribel scoffed in response before sheathing her blade, and crossing her arms.

Grimmjow couldn't help it, he frowned. Why the hell had she withdrawn her sword?

It was then that he felt it.

The stillness in the air and the sudden silence it brought.

When the looming moon over head seemed to stop directly above him, and lock his joints in place.

Yes, it was this exact feeling.

A crushing spiritual pressure, and an overbearing presence.

"You need only look behind you," Harribel responded.