Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!-Chapter 377 - 376: Strength of Iron

This square was immense, so vast that its boundaries seemed to vanish into shadow. The pale white stone beneath their feet stretched on like a battlefield purpose-built for confrontation, its cold surface marked by faint scars of ancient clashes. The sheer size of the plaza was no accident—Ulquiorra and the others had chosen this very place for its ability to contain devastation. They did not care for the survival of the lesser hollow scattered beyond the Las Noches’ walls. Their priority was here, at the heart, where the true guests—uninvited though they were—had intruded.

In a single breath, the five quincy masters and the five warriors of Las Noches stood face to face, the atmosphere taut and heavy, like a storm held just at bay. Their eyes locked, their reiatsu surged, and without needing a word, all ten combatants moved apart in perfect instinct. They spread across the plaza, ensuring their clashes would not interfere with one another, as though fate itself had choreographed the symmetry.

The ordinary quincy soldiers who had marched alongside the five Sternritter halted at the edge. Their discipline was remarkable; though bloodlust was thick in the air, they obeyed the command to hold position. Their boots clicked into rigid lines, hands tightening on their bows, but not a single arrow was loosed. Their restraint was not born of cowardice, but of iron obedience. This was a battle reserved for kings and generals, not for pawns.

Far above, within the main hall of Las Noches, the scene did not go unnoticed. Behind the smooth veil of surveillance screens, Mazuru watched intently. Around him, Kenpachi Azashiro stood with restless hunger in his one visible eye, and Ichimaru Gin wore his eternal, mocking smile. The grand palace itself seemed to hum faintly, as if resonating with the pressure of the titans gathered below.

But soon, the spectators’ focus narrowed. Their attention locked on the first clash—the one that would test resolve and flesh alike.

It was Cangdu who made the first move.

The quincy warrior’s steel claws gleamed under the dim sky, an unnatural shimmer born not of iron, but of condensed spirit particles shaped into death. With a single sweep, the claws tore forward, rending the air itself. Though different in appearance, this technique bore the same destructive essence as a quincy’s traditional spirit arrow: pure reishi molded into lethal form.

Grimmjow’s lips twisted into a snarl. The Panther King did not hesitate. His instincts were sharp, honed by countless battles and near-deaths. With a ringing Sonido, his form blurred, avoiding the swipe, and in the same motion his hand shot upward. Energy swirled at his palm, blood-red light condensed, and a savage Cero lanced across the square toward Cangdu.

The blast was merciless.

Grimmjow had learned from his battle against Kurosaki Ichigo long ago—recklessness without awareness was nothing but a death sentence. And though he sneered at these intruders, he was not so arrogant as to underestimate them. He knew the whispers about the quincy. He knew their ability to erase hollow entirely, body and soul, leaving not even a particle behind. He had no intention of being reduced to nothing. Not yet. Not while his hunger for battle still clawed at his bones.

Cangdu stood his ground.

"What a brutal attack." the quincy muttered coldly, his voice lacking either admiration or fear. He did not flinch. He did not raise his arms to shield himself. He did not even bother with evasive maneuvers.

The Cero struck.

*Boom!*

The plaza shook. Crimson light engulfed Cangdu’s form, tearing stone and searing the air in violent radiance. Dust rose in choking clouds. Even Grimmjow’s wild grin faltered for a breath. The arrogance of facing his Cero without so much as a twitch—it was unthinkable.

But when the haze cleared, Grimmjow’s grin curdled into disbelief.

Cangdu emerged from the inferno untouched. His clothes bore the tatters of impact, singed and ripped, but his flesh was immaculate. His entire body shimmered faintly with a metallic luster, as though his skin had been forged from iron itself.

"No way..." Grimmjow hissed, his eyes widening.

Cangdu raised his chin slightly. "I needn’t explain myself to the likes of you." he said, his tone frigid. "But since your face reeks of confusion, I’ll grant you this much."

He flexed his arms, and the metallic sheen grew brighter. "My Schrift is ’I’. The Iron. Your Cero lacks the strength to pierce my defense."

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

Every Sternritter bore a letter, a sacred gift from Yhwach himself, representing the essence of their power. Cangdu’s was defense incarnate, the very wall against which destruction would break.

Grimmjow scowled, mind racing. He didn’t know what this ’schrift’ meant, but the meaning of ’iron’ was plain enough. "Tch... So it’s like Hierro, huh?" he muttered, comparing it to the arrancar’s own steel skin. Except this was something more. Something far denser.

The air shivered. Grimmjow’s instincts screamed danger.

Cangdu had already counterattacked.

He clenched his fists together at his chest, condensing immense reiatsu until the air crackled around him. Then, with brutal speed, he thrust forward. The force of the blow tore across the battlefield like a monstrous serpent, a stream of spirit particles striking with the weight of a collapsing building.

Grimmjow Sonido’d away just in time, skidding across the plaza’s cracked surface. The quincy didn’t relent. He lunged again, his feet a blur. His speed rivaled, perhaps even surpassed, that of an arrancar’s Sonido.

After all, this was no ordinary quincy. Cangdu was Sternritter—among the pinnacle of Yhwach’s chosen. Even the weakest among their order could rival the captains of the Gotei 13.

In an instant, Cangdu vanished from Grimmjow’s sight.

*Swish!*

The claws of steel raked across flesh. Grimmjow barely turned in time, but the strike carved across his torso. Blood sprayed, staining the stone red.

"Gghh—damn you!" Grimmjow snarled, staggering back. Only by a desperate Sonido did he avoid the follow-up slash, his body already trembling with pain. His breath came rough, his chest heaving. To be cut down so quickly, to be bloodied first in this duel—his pride howled in outrage.

There was only one answer.

"Grind... PANTERA!"

His roar split the air. Power surged, tearing free like a dam burst. His blade vanished into fragments of light, consumed and reborn within him. His body lengthened, claws sharpened, blue markings flared across his skin. His aura swelled, a tidal wave of killing intent.

Resurrección.

Wounds knitted closed as his body reformed, the strength of his released state healing what Cangdu had inflicted. His eyes blazed with renewed savagery.

Cangdu’s expression remained unshaken. He had known this would come. He wanted to see the true strength of an arrancar unleashed.

Grimmjow didn’t disappoint.

With Sonido amplified beyond comprehension, Grimmjow blurred behind him, claws wreathed in violent blue light. The Leopard King’s strike fell with such force that the very air screamed, space itself trembling as if torn.

And yet—

*Clang!*

The claws struck steel. No flesh yielded. No blood spilled. Grimmjow’s attack carved the plaza stone, left shockwaves rippling through the air... but on Cangdu’s body, not even a scratch remained.

Grimmjow’s eyes widened. "You’ve gotta be kidding me..."

Cangdu didn’t hesitate. His fist shot backward, trusting utterly in his defense to endure. Grimmjow dodged by instinct alone, leaping aside in a blur.

Even so, his mind reeled. His strongest claws had left nothing. Not a dent. Not a crack.

Could even Gran Rey Cero, his trump card, succeed where these blows had failed? Doubt gnawed at him.

Up in the hall, Mazuru exhaled softly. "So... even Grimmjow is cornered. His claws cannot pierce that iron." His gaze shifted across the screens. "And it seems the others fare no better..."

The plaza was ablaze with battles.

Bazz-B’s flames roared against Harribel’s water, fire and ocean colliding in constant upheaval. Steam hissed, rising like a shroud, but it was Harribel who was pressed back, her liquid blades struggling against Bazz-B’s scorching inferno.

*****

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