"The Annunciation. What is that?" Seijūrō leaned back into the sofa, one finger tapping lightly against his knee.

Szayelaporro set down his teacup and interlaced his fingers at his chest, delivering each word like a curator presenting a prized piece from his personal collection.

"The Annunciation, drawn from Christian scripture in the World of the Living. The archangel Gabriel announced to the Virgin Mary that she would conceive through the Holy Spirit and bear Jesus, a story that later became one of Leonardo da Vinci's defining subjects during the Renaissance. I named my ability after it. I lay an egg inside an opponent's body. The egg absorbs everything the host has as nourishment — Reiatsu, memories, abilities, their very existence — and ultimately gives birth to an entirely new body from within them. The newborn possesses all the traits of the original host. The host is consumed entirely. Which means, "

He opened his interlaced fingers, palms turned upward, golden eyes fixed on Seijūrō through the gaps in his pink bangs. "As long as a single egg survives, I can always return."

"You seem quite confident. Telling me all of this without worrying I might prepare countermeasures in advance."

"That confidence comes from my scientific creations, and from my trust in you. After all, you are an investor. An investor cannot remain ignorant of the venture they are backing."

Seijūrō moved his hand from his knee and cut to the point. "I plan to investigate the strength of each Espada. How can you help?"

Szayelaporro clapped his hands.

A hidden compartment slid open in the wall beside them without a sound, revealing a neat row of glassware and sealed containers.

He retrieved two items and set them on the coffee table.

The first was a small glass vial of deep-blue liquid, glowing with faint luminescence under the cold quartz light.

Beside it lay a Hollow mask, roughly a half-mask, covering only the upper face from brow bone to the bridge of the nose, then extending outward to the edges of the cheekbones. Dark gray, its surface traced with extremely fine bone ridges that curved upward slightly at the brow, forming a sharp arc.

Along the rim of the right eye opening ran a dark-red mark like frozen lightning, stretching from the corner of the eye to the mask's edge.

"Drinking this will disguise a Shinigami's Reiatsu as that of a Hollow. The mask completes the set, wear it, and even standing face-to-face with an Espada, no one will suspect you are a Shinigami. As long as you do not actively use Kidō, no Arrancar can see through the disguise."

"So I can choose my first target freely."

"Precisely. I have prepared detailed dossiers on each Espada for you. But before that—"

Szayelaporro interlaced his fingers again, the smile in his golden eyes pulling back slightly. "There is one thing I must advise you on. Do not make contact with Grimmjow and his Fracción first. Appearing before him in that mask would make things very difficult."

"Why?"

"It involves some old history. When I was alive and still human, I was an alchemist. My older brother was a general who frequently brought me defeated prisoners to use as test subjects. I had already been conducting all manner of experiments on humans by then. Later, through certain circumstances, both my brother and I died suddenly and became Hollows. After that, I devoured all of my test subjects — my brother included — and through a long process of predation and evolution, I attained the strength to defeat Vasto Lorde-class entities. It was precisely for that reason that during my tenure as the 0th Espada, I split my own body. The initial purpose of that experiment was to create a more perfect life form. The experiment was not an unqualified success. I regressed to the Adjuchas level and was expelled from the Espada. Among the fractured souls cast off in the process was my brother, Yylfordt Granz. He is now Grimmjow's Fracción. A subtle resonance exists between us, if you wear anything I have provided, he will sense it. At that point, explanations become difficult."

"So I have to avoid him?"

"Simply change the order. His range of activity is in Las Noches's northern wing. You can easily investigate the other Espada first and go around him at the end, or, once you have a thorough understanding of the Espada's strength, decide then whether to engage Grimmjow directly. He is merely the Sexta. He is not worth taking unnecessary risks over a question of sequence."

"You don't seem particularly concerned about whether your brother lives or dies."

Szayelaporro raised his eyes. "For individuals who no longer belong to the same life form, discussing familial affection is, in itself, a scientific imprecision."

Seijūrō let the subject go.

He noted the warning. Then he stood.

"Give me those eight marbles as well."

Szayelaporro didn't ask why. He simply drew the velvet pouch from his sleeve and placed it on the coffee table.

Seijūrō tucked the pouch inside his robes, picked up the vial, and drank it in one go.

The deep-blue liquid poured down his throat. No taste. Only a faint chill spreading outward from his stomach.

Then he picked up the dark-gray half-mask and pressed it onto his face.

The bone ridges settled against his brow and cheekbones. The dark-red lightning mark along the right eye glinted faintly in the cold quartz light.

His Reiatsu drew inward. A Hollow's aura spread through the air.

Standing there, he looked exactly like a complete Arrancar.

"I wish you success. I shall open an entirely new chapter in my experimental logs just for you."

Szayelaporro settled back into the sofa, crossed his legs, and rested his interlaced fingers on his knee as he watched Seijūrō walk out of the parlor.

Medazeppi passed him in the corridor, that massive arm dragging along the floor, knuckles still stained with the purple blood of the earlier Pícaro.

He glanced down at Seijūrō. A faint flicker of bewilderment crossed his yellow eye, but he did nothing.

He didn't recognize this Hollow's aura. But no one dared obstruct a guest of Lord Szayelaporro's.

The doors of the underground palace closed again.

Szayelaporro sat on the sofa, raising his index and middle fingers to his ear to toy with a loose strand of short pink hair, dragging slowly from his collarbone to its ends.

The polite restraint in the curve of his lips eased into something more genuine. A quiet, private satisfaction.

Two short, stout figures scurried out from the shadows and crouched at his feet, one on each side, apprehension written across their round faces.

Lumina and Verona, Szayelaporro's other two Fracción.

"Lord Szayelaporro, are we really going to betray Lord Aizen?" Lumina's voice was shrill, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Szayelaporro looked down at the two trembling Fracción at his feet.

He reached out and placed his palm gently atop Lumina's head. Rubbed it soothingly.

"Fools. I have merely betrayed the loser."

"Does that mean Lord Aizen is the loser?" Verona tilted his head.

"It means, whoever loses stands opposed to me."

He withdrew his hand and leaned back into the sofa. The light in his golden pupils flickered under the cold quartz glow, like a man watching an experiment whose results were not yet in, but on which he had already placed his bets.

---

The white desert.

After leaving the underground palace, Seijūrō did not immediately set out to investigate the other Espada.

He found a secluded spot on the leeward side of a quartz pillar and sat down, drawing the velvet pouch from his robes.

8 glass marbles clicked softly against each other in his palm, the Reishi sealed inside shimmering with faint, varied light beneath the crescent moon.

Like him, they were each a fragment from the same part of the Soul King, scattered across the corners of the world.

He picked one up and crushed it.

Reishi flooded into his fingertips like a thin stream.

The memories of a young seamstress unfolded in his mind. Her name was Marguerite, French, who ran a small tailor shop in Paris. 37 years old. She liked hanging dried flowers on her sewing machine and making little cloth dolls for the children next door.

She had once quietly supported a vagrant painter. When that painter found fame, she never asked for anything in return.

She had only smiled when she saw his name in the newspaper.

That faint, quiet pride, that simple contentment, was something he had never experienced before.

He crushed the second. An elderly Chinese carpenter who spent his whole life repairing furniture and roof beams in a village, passing away at 73. His greatest pride was not how sturdy his furniture was. It was that his son's craftsmanship had surpassed his own.

That satisfaction of seeing the work carried on, something he had never experienced before.

The third, the fourth, the fifth. The memories and emotions of all 8 people flooded his consciousness in turn, like eight dried-up streams being replenished all at once.

He lowered his hand and looked at his open palm.

Before this, he had never noticed his own emotions were incomplete. It wasn't that feelings were absent, anger, grief, joy, worry, all of it had always been there.

But they had been like colors seen through frosted glass. Present, but muted. Separated from him by a thin veil.

Now that veil had been lifted.

His emotions felt more vivid. More layered. Richer. Contradictory feelings could exist at the same time toward the same thing, no longer strictly one or the other.

More like a living person.

He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But at least now, at this moment, he could understand the feeling of a Norwegian welder saving up to get married. He could grasp the subtle pride of a French seamstress glimpsing her painter's name in the newspaper.

These were not his memories. But these emotions were his now.

He stood up from behind the rock pillar and adjusted the half-mask on his face.

He had already reviewed the Espada deployment map Szayelaporro provided on the way over. According to it, the top four Espada were all Vasto Lorde-class Arrancar, separated from the Quinta and below by a gap that wasn't a difference in degree, it was a difference in kind.

He wasn't sure he'd have time to get close to every single Espada. Better to start directly with the Vasto Lorde-class.

He set off toward the central district of Las Noches.

Ulquiorra Cifer's quarters were on the outer edge of Las Noches's central area, maintaining an equally measured distance from every other Espada's territory.

No perimeter walls. No decorations. No Fracción.

At the entrance, a single straight stone path led toward Las Noches's main thoroughfare, white sand spread flat on either side.

Seijūrō stood at the entrance and extended his senses outward.

No one was there.

Szayelaporro had used the word "emptiness" in the dossier to describe Ulquiorra, an Arrancar with no Fracción, no personal desires, whose inclination toward combat was remarkably faint.

His quarters were exactly that. Not simple. Not understated. Just devoid of any trace that he had ever been there at all.

Seijūrō stood at the entrance for a moment, then turned and left.

That left two among the top four. He pulled up Szayelaporro's map and turned toward Tier Harribel's quarters.

Moonlight fell across his dark-gray half-mask. The dark-red lightning mark at the edge of his right eye caught the night, glinting cold and faint.

After absorbing the memories of those 8 people, he felt something shift in the way he perceived the world around him.

The minute Reishi fluctuations in the air. The paths of individual sand grains shifting underfoot. The faint tremors carried from distant Cero detonations far across the desert. All of it had become sharper. More present.

It wasn't just that his senses had sharpened. The way he paid attention had changed.

Before, he had only registered things that mattered to combat. Now, he could notice the delicate chain of footprints a Hueco Mundo sand scorpion left crossing the dunes.

He didn't know how long the change would last. But for now, what mattered was getting a clear read on the top four Espada's true strength, and laying the groundwork for everything that came next.

---

Meanwhile, in the World of the Living. Karakura Town.

"Hey! Ulquiorra! Is it this guy?"

"Yammy... would it kill you to develop some basic scouting ability so you can judge these things yourself? One look should have been enough."

➤ Next: The 3rd Espada's Fracción

Chapter 67 - The 3rd Espada's Fracción

"So, you're saying you're a stray Arrancar?"

Emilou Apache stood on the white desert, hands stuffed in her pockets, hunched forward, her mismatched pink and cyan eyes sizing up the tall Arrancar in front of her.

A dark grey half-mask covered the upper half of his face. A dark red lightning streak ran along the edge of his right eye. Short black hair, neat and clean. Slender frame. Upright posture.

Lord Aizen really had expanded with a batch of new Arrancar recently, and tossed out a batch, too.

This guy's Reiatsu was far too weak. Not even Adjuchas-level. Forget the Espada, he might not even beat a Fracción. No wonder he got cut loose.

"Whatever, doesn't matter." She raised an eyebrow, impatience thick in her tone. "You're not trash from Baraggan's side, right?"

"No."

"Ha. Figures. Baraggan's lot wouldn't take in a weakling like you. Those old bones are picky as hell. And Lord Aizen's side doesn't want you either, which means you couldn't even get recycled as trash. God, what a pain. Leave you out here alone and you'll run into Rudbornn's crew and get disposed of like garbage." She waved a hand, already turning. "Well, whatever. Just roll with me."

Apache pulled a hand from her pocket and waved at Seijūrō, gesturing for him to follow.

Seijūrō stayed where he was. He was ready, the moment his cover blew, he'd take her out instantly.

But this Arrancar, as a Hollow, wasn't cannibalizing her own kind. Wasn't plundering resources. Was even willing to take him in out of pity.

Were all of Harribel's Fracción like this? If he followed her, he could reach Harribel directly.

He fell into step behind Apache.

"So — can I meet Lady Harribel?"

"Ha! That depends on your performance, lackey."

Apache kept walking, never looking back.

Across the white desert, the crescent moon stretched two shadows long, one tall, one short.

After a while, two figures appeared in the distance. One crouching on a rock, one standing in the sand.

Seijūrō followed Apache closer and got a clear look at them.

The Arrancar standing in the sand had long, dark green hair with blunt straight bangs that fell to her waist. Three circular teardrop marks sat beneath her right eye, and her mask fragments had taken the shape of three hairpin ornaments. Long flowing sleeves covered the lower half of her face.

The Arrancar on the rock was tall. Dark skin, green eyes, long thick waves of brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Her Hollow hole sat above her chest. Her mask fragment formed a three-tiered crown ringing her head, with a heavy necklace at her throat. Her Arrancar attire was layered armor across the chest and upper arms, gloves on her forearms, and a white skirt.

"Hey hey, look at this! Estrella, come say hi!"

Docente Estrella, the alias Seijūrō had given himself following Hollow naming customs. It meant teacher and star.

Apache clapped him on the back, zero effort to hide the gloating in her voice.

Cyan Sung-Sun kept her long sleeve raised over the lower half of her face, only her dark green eyes and the teardrop marks beneath them visible. Her voice carried a thread of disbelief. "Seriously?"

Mila Rose leaned in, green eyes dragging up and down. "Hey. Are you actually Apache's lackey? Did she threaten you?"

Seijūrō thought of Harribel, possibly tucked in some corner watching all of this. He adjusted his posture immediately.

A slight bow. Lips curved into a precisely calibrated smile, flattering without being desperate. His tone went fawning and deferential. "Not at all. I came willingly. It's an honor to be Big Sister Apache's lackey."

Apache blinked.

Then she threw her head back and laughed, doubling over, nearly crying.

Mila Rose pressed a hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes.

Cyan Sung-Sun closed her eyes and sighed. Two words slipped soft from behind her sleeve: "Hopeless."

"You win this round, Apache."

Resignation saturated Mila Rose's voice. Conceding the loss.

Seijūrō held the smile, but his thoughts ran elsewhere. If he hadn't absorbed those eight marbles, the old him couldn't have pulled that off. That level of easy, practiced glibness was something he'd had to acquire.

The old him would have turned it down without expression. Or said in that level tone of his, "Not really."

"Wait — what do you mean by winning?"

Cyan Sung-Sun lightly covered the corners of her mouth with her sleeve, a touch of sheepishness in her voice. "The three of us were bored, so we made a bet. Recruit a lackey within a time limit. See who brought back the best one."

Mila Rose casually produced a scorpion Hollow. Its six legs thrashed in her grip, tiny squeaks coming from its mouth.

"I found this on the sand. It said it was willing."

Cyan Sung-Sun reached into her wide sleeve and drew out a mole Hollow. It was curled into a tight ball, the tip of its snout still trembling.

"I dug this one out of a burrow. It didn't say it was unwilling."

The two of them turned in unison to look at Apache.

Apache stood with her hands on her hips, chin angled up, expression hovering somewhere between smug and insufferable.

"I recruited an Arrancar lackey."

Mila Rose tossed the scorpion Hollow aside.

It tumbled across the sand, kicked all six legs at the sky, righted itself, and scurried away in tears.

Cyan Sung-Sun drew out the mole Hollow, crouched down, and set it gently on the sand.

It sat there shaking until Cyan Sung-Sun poked its back with one finger. Then it scrambled clumsily into the sand and disappeared.

Both of them turned to stare at Seijūrō with identical expressions that said: why are you still here.

"You two lost, you lost, stop glaring at him. This guy is genuinely running with me — I didn't just grab him for filler."

Apache said it while reaching over to slap Seijūrō on the back.

Cyan Sung-Sun raised her sleeve to her lips, teasing creeping into her voice. "Apache just wants to be like Lady Harribel."

"I'm just watching his back temporarily!"

All three of them started talking over each other at once.

Standing to the side, listening, Seijūrō suddenly felt less like he was in Hueco Mundo and more like he was in some East Rukongai market, watching vendors squabble over a cart.

Then a sound cut through from the distance.

A faint, thin shriek.

The scorpion Hollow hadn't made it far.

A foot had come down on it.

Whoever was stepping on it seemed to be holding back on purpose, not crushing it, just slowly twisting his ankle, unhurried, savoring the screaming.

Apache, Mila Rose, and Cyan Sung-Sun stopped mid-argument. All three looked toward the sound at the same moment. The same undisguised disgust rose in each pair of eyes.

An Arrancar stood on a sand dune. He wore a saber-toothed cat skull over his head, black hair tied back in a braid, golden eyes, and an outfit cut like martial arts training wear.

One hand rested on his hip. The other idly rolled the tip of his braid between his fingers. He tilted his head at the three of them, a smirk on his lips, the particular kind that made people want to hit him.

"Weaklings, all in one spot. Birds of a feather. Did your little family pick up another stray with nowhere to go? Or do weaklings feel safer in a pack?"

Ggio Vega's voice was lazy. His golden eyes passed over Seijūrō once and moved on without interest.

"Watch your mouth, Ggio Vega. I will rip that tongue out." Apache's voice dropped low.

"Terrifying."

Ggio Vega shrugged. No fear in his tone, just that flippant, careless mockery.

"Without Lord Aizen, your bodies would be rotting in the sand by now. A bunch of weaklings huddling together for warmth. Clinging so tight. Lady Harribel really has it rough, dragging you deadweights around. Though I suppose it makes sense — weaklings belong with weaklings."

He laughed and turned to go. The saber-toothed skull gleamed cold white under the moonlight. His braid swayed behind him as he walked.

Apache's fists closed. Her nails pressed into her palms.

Her lips drew into a thin line. Her mismatched pink and cyan eyes stayed locked on Ggio Vega's retreating back, the way you stare at a fly you can't get rid of.

She didn't go after him. She just pushed both hands back into her pockets, deeper than before.

"Cool down. Who is he?" Seijūrō asked.

Apache exhaled slowly and pulled one hand out to drag it back through her short bluish-black hair. "Let Sung-Sun explain. I don't even want to say that scum's name right now."

Cyan Sung-Sun lowered her sleeve slightly, revealing the lower half of her face.

She looked at Seijūrō. Her tone had shifted, quieter now, more deliberate.

"Back when the three of us were still Menos, we were surrounded and attacked by other Hollows. We were about to be killed when Lady Harribel appeared and saved us. We've stayed by her side ever since. Later, a Menos Grande that Lady Harribel had previously wounded came back for revenge after becoming an Arrancar. Lady Harribel put herself between it and us so we could retreat, but that Arrancar was too strong, she couldn't beat it alone. She told the three of us to run. We came back anyway. All four of us fought it together and still couldn't win. In the end, Lord Aizen appeared, stopped the fight, and took all of us in as his subordinates."

"Lady Harribel holds to a belief."

Mila Rose picked up the thread. Her green eyes held a steady, even light under the crescent moon. "She believes power gained through sacrificing others is meaningless. Even facing Hollows that attack us, she refuses to kill them. She believes that if you pursue sacrifice, you will pay the price of sacrifice."

"And what does that have to do with him?"

"Baraggan." Apache said it finally, the bluster completely gone from her voice.

"Baraggan wanted Lady Harribel to become his subordinate more than once. She refused. Baraggan can't stand being told no. He decided Lady Harribel had disrespected him, so he kept sending people after us. That Menos Grande back then was one of his. The Ggio Vega just now is one of his too. But Lord Aizen's arrival gave us Arrancar abilities, and fighting inside his territory isn't permitted."

She pushed both hands back into her pockets, hunching forward, short hair falling over her eyes.

Seijūrō said nothing.

Every rigid assumption he'd carried about Hollows was being levered apart, piece by piece.

Harribel and her Fracción didn't seem like Hollows. Not in power, in nature. In the thing that made a Hollow what it was.

Turning down the chance to grow stronger so others wouldn't have to be sacrificed. Running back into a fight that should have killed them just to protect each other. That wasn't Hollow instinct. That was something else. Something closer to what a Shinigami carried. Something closer to what a human carried.

He thought of Renji. Of Chad. Of the group of kids who'd broken into Seireitei for Rukia's sake.

"By the way — where is Lady Harribel? I'd like to meet her," he said.

"Bad timing." Cyan Sung-Sun shook her head slightly. The three hairpin ornaments in her hair swayed with the motion. "Just now, all the Espada were summoned to Lord Aizen's side."

All the Espada. Summoned.

Something thin and cold moved through Seijūrō's chest.

He had barely gotten into Hueco Mundo. Szayelaporro had only just offered to help him. And now Aizen had pulled every single Espada in at once.

If the summons was because Aizen had sensed something, that meant his grip on Las Noches ran far deeper than Szayelaporro had assumed.

Maybe Aizen hadn't missed him at all.

Maybe Aizen was already watching. Waiting to see what he'd do next.

Seijūrō pushed it down. He let the worry leave his face and replaced it with the mild, scattered confusion of an ordinary stray Arrancar. "So what do we do now?"

"Huh? Come on, I'll show you around Las Noches before you go wandering off somewhere and get yourself killed."

Apache's careless swagger was back. She slapped him on the back.

This time Seijūrō didn't so much as shift his footing. He'd gotten used to it.

Cyan Sung-Sun covered her mouth with her sleeve. Her green eyes curved into two soft arcs.

Mila Rose crossed her arms, a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

He followed the three Fracción, and all he could think was that this had gone completely off the rails.

The plan had been simple: follow Apache to find the 3rd Espada, get a read on her strength. If he couldn't get to Harribel, he'd deal with the Fracción and move on to the next target.

But with Apache and the others being exactly what they were, Seijūrō couldn't bring himself to make a move, and he had no clean way to walk away either.

➤ Next: Caja Negación — Clash