Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!

Soul Society.

The spiritual pressure in the air was far gentler than the overwhelming density of Hueco Mundo. It was breathable. Calm. Weak.

A deep rumble echoed as the massive dimensional gate opened once more. The Senkaimon, sealed tight for days, now split apart like a wound reopening. One after another, silhouettes in black shihakushō stepped through the glimmering threshold. The first few shinigami emerged with hunched shoulders, worn-out footsteps, and dull gazes that lacked any trace of victory.

Shiba Kaien had received the summons the moment the gate stirred. Despite not participating in the expedition, he rushed to the gate's location on the edge of Rukongai. With him was his vice-captain, Hisagi Shuuhei, who shared Kaien's urgency.

The expedition had been aimed at capturing or eliminating traitors—among them, two names that echoed deeply in their hearts: Kyo Mazuru, once Kaien's trusted friend, and Tousen Kaname, Shuuhei's former captain. Both were sinners in the eyes of the Gotei 13. And yet, there was something about the stillness in the air that told them this was not a victorious return.

As Kaien and Shuuhei reached the outskirts, they found themselves surrounded not by the triumphant cries of returning heroes but by a haunting silence. Rows of seated officers and unseated shinigami milled about, tending to each other's minor injuries—or merely staring at the ground, as though in a daze.

"This..." Kaien's eyes narrowed.

There was no cheer. No celebratory reunions. The morale was not low—it was shattered.

These soldiers had not returned from a glorious conquest.

And yet... there were barely any signs of battle on the ordinary troops. No grave injuries. No signs of a brutal war fought in the harsh white sands of Hueco Mundo.

Only when Kaien and Shuuhei pushed through to the front ranks did the truth begin to take shape. There, among the highest-ranking officers—captains, lieutenants, and seated members—were the real wounds. Bloodied garments, scorched skin, broken zanpakutō fragments strapped in silence to their backs.

The air hung heavy.

Even Shuuhei, ever composed, felt his chest tighten at the sight. "What... what happened?"

Among the wounded stood Sui Feng, conscious but silent, her gaze distant. Rangiku bore a torn uniform and an unreadable expression. Nanao Ise stood stiffly beside Shunsui, clutching her arm, her eyes empty.

Kaien stepped forward and asked the only question that mattered: "What the hell happened out there?"

Kyoraku Shunsui turned to him slowly, his usually playful demeanor gone. A rare grimness clung to his face like soot. "Captain Shiba. You came all this way…"

Kaien's frown deepened. "Don't dance around it."

A long breath escaped Shunsui's lips. "As you might expect… we failed. The expedition to Hueco Mundo ended in failure."

"Failed?!" Kaien's voice rose, echoed by Shuuhei's stunned silence beside him.

Another voice responded—cold and clipped. Kuchiki Byakuya stepped forward, his pristine white scarf stained with blood, his eyes flickering with barely contained frustration.

"We were crushed."

Those three words carried more weight than any battle report.

Kaien stared, unable to reconcile their words. "But you're here. You all made it back…"

"It wasn't thanks to us captains." Shunsui added, voice bitter. "If Nanao-chan hadn't stepped forward at the last moment… and if Mazuru hadn't chosen mercy—" he paused, jaw tightening, "—none of us would have returned."

Shuuhei looked shaken. "He… let you live?"

Shunsui nodded.

Byakuya's tone turned harsher. "He gave us a choice. One chance to leave. If he hadn't..."

The implication was clear.

One man. One former shinigami.

Kyo Mazuru could have annihilated the Gotei 13's elite force by himself.

Rangiku, standing just behind Byakuya, bit her lip. "He was different." she whispered. "He was... no longer the Mazuru we knew. His strength... it was monstrous."

Shuuhei clenched his fists. "What about Tousen? Did he…?"

"He was there." Shunsui confirmed. "But like Mazuru, he was changed. They didn't attack us out of hatred. It was judgment. Cold. Calculated."

Kaien looked away, jaw tight. This wasn't just a loss. This was a humiliation.

"We were ready to die in Hueco Mundo," Rangiku added. "Many of us wanted to. To strike one last blow. But Shunsui stopped us."

"'Keep the green hills alive; don't worry about firewood.' That's what you said, right?" Nanao murmured.

Shunsui gave a ghost of a smile. "Close enough."

Kaien understood the meaning. Live now, to fight another day. Mazuru may have shown mercy this time, but it was no act of kindness—it was a demonstration of dominance.

With Mayuri's help, and Nemu's assistance, they managed to reopen the Garganta and retreat.

But victory had not been seized. It had been handed to them by the one they came to defeat.

That truth hung over the Soul Society like a funeral shroud.

…

Hueco Mundo.

The white desert stretched endlessly beneath a dark, starless sky. The grains of sand, made from the remnants of the dead, shimmered faintly in the unnatural moonlight.

At its heart stood Las Noches—Main Hall. The new throne of Mazuru.

Though the towering palace was still scarred from the battle, its aura of supremacy remained untouched. Its white towers cast long shadows over the desert, now guarded not by Aizen's arrogance, but Mazuru's silent might.

Inside the central chamber, the throne sat high above the hall. The arrancars who once questioned his rule now stood in awe. Their king had not merely replaced Aizen—he had surpassed him.

After the withdrawal of the Gotei 13, Mazuru had returned with calm confidence. Kaname had retreated to his quarters without a word, shaken by the overwhelming power he had witnessed—power that ignited a renewed resolve within him.

Even the once-arrogant bounts and other arrancars found themselves reeling from the truth.

"We thought he needed us." The bounts had whispered days earlier. "Now... we just hope we're not dragging him down."

Their new king had faced Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni—the fire god of the Gotei 13—and emerged unscathed.

In Mazuru's presence, none of them could feel pride. Only reverence. And fear.

In the main chamber, the man himself reclined on his throne.

Long black hair draped over his shoulder, his eyes half-closed in thought. The power surging within him—thanks to his fusion with Beelzebub—was overwhelming, but it had become his to command.

To his right stood Ichimaru Gin, smiling faintly as always, though his words carried a different tone today.

"Why so quiet, Gin?" Mazuru asked without opening his eyes.

Gin gave a soft laugh. "You're so gentle now, Captain Mazuru."

"Is that a compliment or sarcasm?" Mazuru murmured.

Gin shrugged. "Neither. Just an observation."

Gentle. That wasn't the word the Soul Society would use. To them, Mazuru had become a storm. A god in hollow skin. But for now, he simply watched from the throne of the fallen Las Noches, as the world reeled from his return.

*****

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