One Piece: Kaido's adopted son, starts with the Eight Gates Formation.

"Sounds similar to Barragán," Quinn muttered to himself.

"They're different." Aizen shook his head. "Barragan's 'aging' is a process. But 'annihilation'—there's no process. It ends as soon as it's encountered."

The entire room fell silent.

Even Kaido's smile faded—not out of fear, but because he was taking it seriously.

He'd seen similar abilities before, like "ending upon contact." Lynn's "concept fixation" had a similar effect. But at least Barragan had an "aging" process that could be observed and countered. An "end" without a process—that was the real terror.

"Young Master." Kaido called out seriously, a rare occurrence for him.

Lynn looked up at him.

"Let me go." Kaido's tone lacked its usual arrogance, replaced by a solemn seriousness. "My body is the toughest in the world. Even if it touches me, I might not necessarily—"

"Dad," Lynn interrupted him.

Kaido shut up.

"If you go, you'll get hurt." Lynn said, then took another suck on her lollipop. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Kaido opened his mouth, then closed it again.

His nose stung with tears—though he would never admit it.

"None of you need to go," Lynn said, floating up from mid-air and spinning around. "I'll go myself."

"Young Master—" Jin stepped forward.

"I said I'd go myself," Lynn said calmly, but with an unquestionable tone. "You guys wait for me upstairs. Aizen will keep an eye on the people. The monk will open the door for me."

He looked at Aizen: "You keep things in order for me. If Yhwach's remnants come again, can you handle them?"

Aizen chuckled softly, "If I were to use Kyoka Suigetsu."

"Don't use them on my people. Use them freely on outsiders."

"clear."

Lynn then looked at Kaido: "Dad, you—"

"I know, guard the house." Kaido's tone was a little sullen.

"It's not about guarding the house." Lynn floated in front of Kaido and patted his nose with her little hand. "It's about protecting everyone. Daddy's the strongest, so he's the most suitable to protect everyone."

Kaido's sullenness vanished instantly, replaced by a warm and contented feeling.

"Young Master, rest assured! With me here, no one can harm them in the slightest!"

Lynn nodded and floated to Hyosube Ichibei's side.

"Open the door, monk."

Hyobu Ichibei took a deep breath and raised the lollipop.

He walked to the center of the Seireitei—the site of what used to be the Penitentiary Palace, now just an empty space.

Hyosube Ichibei stood the lollipop upright on the ground, clasped his hands together, and whispered an extremely ancient incantation that did not belong to any known language.

The surface of the lollipop began to glow.

Cracks appeared in the ground—not ordinary cracks, but lines emitting a dark red light, like some kind of living blood vessels spreading across the earth's surface.

The dark red lines converged at a point directly below the lollipop, and then that point—collapsed.

A door.

A dark red stone gate, about five meters high, rises from the ground. There is no lock, no handle, only two enormous skull carvings, their mouths wide open, as if screaming silently.

The Gates of Hell.

A black mist seeped from the crack in the door, mixed with faint sounds—not the sound of wind, not the sound of cries—it was the sound of "annihilation" itself.

A frequency that makes even the soul uneasy.

All the Shinigami present involuntarily took a step back. Even Kenpachi Zaraki frowned—not out of fear, but because his body instinctively rejected that frequency.

Lynn floated to the gates of hell and tilted his head to look at the two skull carvings.

"So ugly," he commented.

Then he pushed open the door.

Inside the door—endless darkness.

Lynn floated inside.

The door slowly closed behind him.

The last sound that came out was a childish, mumbled murmur—

"Go early and come back early, we still need to go back for dinner—"

After the gates of hell closed, the Seireitei fell into an eerie silence.

Kaido stood before the door, staring motionless at the dark red stone door. His hand gripped his spiked club tightly, his knuckles turning white.

The white-bearded man walked up to him and patted him on the shoulder.