As the turntable stopped, a notification shimmered into view before Akira:
[Congratulations! Host has acquired "Excellent Shunpo"!]
"Excellent Shunpo?"
Akira blinked, momentarily puzzled—until realization struck. This was a new tier of mastery.
As if anticipating his confusion, the system supplied an explanation:
"'Excellent' surpasses the 'Elite' tier."
Akira's eyes widened. He hadn't even known a level beyond Elite existed!
At Elite, his Hakuda alone had been enough to overwhelm a vice-captain as formidable as Abarai Renji. If Excellent Shunpo followed the same progression... he might rival the top-tier Gotei 13 captains.
"Shunpo… this is exactly what I need right now!"
A torrent of insight flooded his senses—centuries' worth of instinct, technique, and spatial awareness compressed into a single moment. In Hueco Mundo, a barren wasteland teeming with relentless threats, enhanced mobility wasn't just useful—it was survival.
After a night of recovery and honing his newfound skill, Akira resumed his hunt.
The battles never ceased.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Towering pillars of sand erupted across the white desert as a lone figure weaved between them at impossible speed.
His opponent? A Gillian-class Menos Grande.
"Whoooaaa!"
Though Gillians possessed rudimentary intelligence, they were far from rational. Enraged by Akira's taunts, it swung its massive limbs wildly, unleashing torrents of spiritual energy.
Yet every strike fell short.
To the Menos, Akira seemed to vanish—reappearing elsewhere before its attacks could land. It was as if he teleported with every breath.
BOOM!
The Hollow fired a searing Cero.
Akira was already gone.
In the next instant, he stood directly before it.
"Wind King Hammer!"
Channeling his reiatsu through Excalibur—the Sword of Oath Victory—he thrust forward. A vortex of compressed spiritual wind surged ahead, piercing clean through the Gillian's masked face and hollow chest.
The Menos Grande shuddered… then collapsed into dust.
Akira wiped sweat from his brow.
That makes eight.
Each battle sharpened his instincts and refined his control. But now, his reiatsu reserves were dangerously low.
"I need to rest before pushing further."
Thankfully, Excalibur didn't require its true name release to be lethal. Even without Shikai, its techniques—paired with his newly perfected Shunpo—made him more than a match for the sluggish Gillians.
What Akira didn't realize was that his rampage had already sent ripples through Hueco Mundo.
Rumors of a lone warrior felling Menos Grande after Menos Grande were spreading—fast.
Meanwhile, in another part of Hueco Mundo…
"Grimmjow, have you heard? A Shinigami's been spotted in Hueco Mundo!"
"A Shinigami?" Grimmjow scoffed. "Who's dumb enough to wander in here alone?"
Unlike lesser Hollows, Adjuchas possessed near-human intelligence, allowing them to communicate, strategize, and form alliances.
At that moment, a jaguar-like Adjuchas stood among his five companions.
This was Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez—not yet an Espada, but already a dominant force in Hueco Mundo. With him were Shawlong Kufang, Edrad Liones, Di Roy Rinker, Nakeem Greendina, and Yylfordt Granz. Together, they formed a ruthless hunting pack, with Grimmjow as their undisputed leader.
Before Aizen ever arrived, these six Hollows had carved out their own territory through brute strength and cunning. Though Shawlong, Edrad, Di Roy, Nakeem, and Yylfordt had once been powerful Adjuchas, they had regressed into Gillian-class Menos after Grimmjow partially devoured them during a violent power struggle. Despite their degradation, they retained far more self-awareness and individuality than most Gillians—a rare trait that made their group exceptionally dangerous.
"No, the rumors aren't wrong," Shawlong said, his voice low. "Eight Gillians have been slaughtered—cleanly, efficiently."
Grimmjow's eyes gleamed with predatory interest. "That is the work of a strong Shinigami."
"Exactly," Shawlong replied. "If you consume a soul like that, Grimmjow, you might finally evolve into a Vasto Lorde."
Grimmjow had always craved strength—craved evolution. The thought of devouring a powerful Shinigami was too tempting to ignore.
"Like I'd pass this up," he sneered. "From the second I heard about him, he became my prey."
With that, the six Hollows set out to hunt the intruder.
Two days later, they found him. The Shinigami sat alone in the desert wastes of Hueco Mundo, his back against a jagged outcrop of bone-white stone. His black shihakushō was torn and stained, but his posture was relaxed—as if exhaustion meant nothing to him.
"That him?" Di Roy muttered.
The group crouched behind a dune, watching. Grimmjow raised a hand before anyone could move.
"Hold it."
"What's wrong?" Edrad asked.
Grimmjow narrowed his eyes. "His reiatsu… it's weak. Way too weak."
The others focused, stretching their senses. One by one, their expressions twisted in confusion.
"He's barely stronger than a low-tier Gillian."
"But the rumors said he wiped out a dozen of them—alone."
"That's impossible," Yylfordt said. "A Shinigami with that little reiatsu couldn't scratch a Gillian, let alone kill eight."
They'd expected a captain-level opponent—someone capable of carving through Menos like paper. This didn't add up.
"Maybe it's not the right guy," Di Roy offered.
Grimmjow grinned, feral and sharp. "Doesn't matter. He's in my territory. Edrad—take him. You can eat what's left."
"With pleasure!" Edrad lunged without hesitation, his Hollow mask flaring with excitement, jaws gaping wide to swallow the Shinigami whole.
The Shinigami didn't flinch. He simply opened his eyes—calm, almost bored—and rose to his feet. He brushed dust from his sleeves as if swatting away a fly.
"Heh… frozen stiff?" Edrad crowed mid-leap.
Then—gone.
Edrad's eyes widened. As a former Adjuchas, he understood speed. And this… this was something else entirely.
Shing!
A golden arc split the air.
Before Edrad could even process what happened, his head tumbled from his shoulders, eyes still locked in disbelief.