Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society! Chapter 350: Mazuru and Kenpachi Azashiro (2)

In the golden light of Hueco Mundo’s barren sun, the sands stretched endlessly, dunes sloping like waves frozen in ti. On the crest of one such dune, two powerful figures stood face to face, separated by silence thick with spiritual pressure.

"Looking at your outfit, it seems you’re a shinigami." Mazuru said, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

His eyes scanned the figure before him—a tall, broad man clad in a tattered captain’s haori, it’s back stitched with the number eleven.

"The outer garnt... it’s a captain’s haori. And the number on it is eleven."

"That ans you were once the captain of the Eleventh Division."

Mazuru’s expression didn’t shift, but his tone grew slightly more intrigued. "Tell —what generation of Kenpachi are you?"

Unlike most, he didn’t question the man’s legitimacy based on appearances alone. He didn’t scoff or dismiss the claim, as Omaeda Marechiyo had done when first confronted by the mysterious figure. Instead, Mazuru simply accepted it—as though he recognized the weight of the man’s reiatsu and the truth behind the title.

"You don’t seem to doubt that I was once the captain of the Eleventh Division." the man said, raising an eyebrow. His voice was deep and rough, but there was a certain grounded calmness in it.

Kenpachi Azashiro—the na whispered through the darkest corners of the Soul Society like a ghost story no one dared to verify. A Kenpachi forgotten by history, sealed away, erased.

Mazuru gazed at him quietly. The air between them shimred with tension, two titanic forces asuring each other.

"I don’t need to doubt." Mazuru replied. "If it were soone else pretending to be a captain, I might raise suspicion. But you—"

Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NoveI-Fire.ɴet

He narrowed his eyes slightly, "I can feel the power sealed inside your body. And power never lies."

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He paused for a mont and added, "Although the title of ’Kenpachi’ is passed by defeating the previous holder, there have always been... exceptions."

The wind blew a whisper of sand between them as he continued. "I’ve seen the irony embedded in that title firsthand."

He was, of course, referring to the most infamous exception—Unohana Retsu, the First Kenpachi. A gentle healer in public, a monster in disguise.

Kenpachi Azashiro grunted, acknowledging Mazuru’s insight.

"My na is Azashiro Soya. The Eighth Kenpachi." he declared, voice firm and unwavering.

For a long mont, Mazuru said nothing. Then he exhaled softly.

"I had a feeling." he admitted. "But hearing it from your own mouth... it still hits differently."

He chuckled once—bitter, quiet. "An old man like you, who should’ve been rotting in the Muken... And yet, here you are, standing under Hueco Mundo’s light."

"As expected of a true relic of Soul Society. Even a prison like the Muken couldn’t hold you."

He cast a sidelong glance, thoughtful. "Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. That place is riddled with holes... especially with those spirit boats that passed through."

"A fortress supposedly impenetrable—guarded by Sekkiseki and barriers—and yet, infiltrated like a sieve by the quincy. But many still think Seireitei is flawless, a shining citadel of justice."

Kenpachi Azashiro said nothing to defend the Soul Society.

He didn’t need to.

He simply turned and glanced toward the figures behind him—Szayelaporro and Roka, lingering quietly in the distance.

"You noticed them when they returned to Hueco Mundo, didn’t you?" he asked.

Mazuru gave a slight nod. "I did. At first, it was just curiosity—sothing about her presence was... off."

"But I didn’t expect to find so many surprises tied to her."

His gaze flicked toward Szayelaporro. "Especially him. Or rather... it."

Szayelaporro’s pink eyes twitched with irritation.

"A pathetic replica." Mazuru said, voice dismissive. "Her reconstruction of his mory is impressive, but flawed."

"He’s got the mories, sure, but the essence—the soul—no, that was long lost. This creature is a re echo."

Indeed, the true Szayelaporro had died long ago. After the events in Las Noches, his soul wasn’t purified. It wasn’t sent to Hell either.

Mazuru had kept it imprisoned, sealed away as one of his pawns. A mind like Szayelaporro’s had its uses—even after death.

When Szayelaporro heard these words, fury contorted his features.

"Who the hell are you calling a replica?!" he snarled, stepping forward.

The mont he saw Mazuru appear here—his killer—he’d been shaken. Terrified, even. But Mazuru’s utter disdain ignited sothing in him. Rage trumped fear.

"If you hadn’t caught off guard after the battle, I’d never have fallen to soone like you!" he barked.

Mazuru didn’t even look at him.

He simply kept his gaze on Kenpachi Azashiro.

"And you." Mazuru said, "After escaping from Muken, you ca here... for them?"

Azashiro gave a small nod. "I ca for her."

He pointed to Roka.

"Her ability is the key to my goal."

Mazuru tilted his head. "Mind telling what that goal is? For soone like you to abandon imprisonnt... it must be sothing grand."

Azashiro looked at him for a long ti. Then he smiled—a cold, heavy smile.

"You’re a curious one." he said. "Just like Aizen Sosuke."

Mazuru’s eyes sharpened slightly at the na.

’So the two had t.’

It made sense. Aizen had also been imprisoned in Muken. The overlap was inevitable.

"I plan." Azashiro continued, "To reshape the world."

"To transform humanity—strip them of desire. Without desire, there is no sin. Without sin, they won’t fall into hollowness. And if there’s no hollowness—"

"There’s no need for Hell."

Mazuru’s eyes narrowed further.

"And Hueco Mundo?" he asked.

"I will obliterate it entirely." Azashiro said calmly. "Creatures like hollows... should not exist."

It was spoken not with hatred, nor with contempt. But with resolve. A madman’s mission stated with monk-like clarity.

A long silence followed.

"That’s your goal." Mazuru whispered. "Strip the world of its flaws."

He smiled faintly.

"It’s noble, in a twisted sort of way. But I’m afraid... I can’t let you do that."

Kenpachi Azashiro gave a quiet grunt. "I expected as much."

He had known from the mont he stepped foot into Hueco Mundo. Kyo Mazuru—once a shinigami, now the self-made King of the hollows—would never let such a dream take root.

But even as the two titans stared each other down, the air began to shift.

Sothing else stirred.

Another presence.

Before either could act, the ground trembled slightly, and a rift of shadow stretched open between two dunes. From the darkness erged a new figure—one cloaked in white, his face hidden by an ornate mask.

The spiritual pressure that flooded out was suffocating.

Mazuru and Kenpachi Azashiro turned at the sa mont.

Azashiro’s eyes narrowed. Mazuru rely exhaled once, as if expecting this.

"Hold on a mont, let deal with this first." he muttered.

The sands of Hueco Mundo did not wait for battles—they welcod them.

And war, once again, was coming.

*****

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