XX-level Hokage

For the first time, a genuine emotion called "horror" finally appeared on Aizen's face, which was always full of confidence.

His "black coffin," his ultimate demonic path capable of distorting time and space, was actually... forcibly "paused" by the other party in a way he couldn't understand.

"I've already said it, Aizen-kun."

Mashiro's voice, calm and serene, emanated from the still, pitch-black coffin: "In my Sea of ​​Time, time will no longer be linear, but rather... a chaotic void."

"What meaning does your so-called 'gravity' have in the face of the more fundamental law of time?"

Before he could finish speaking, Mashiro's figure appeared silently in front of Aizen as if by teleportation.

In her hand, she had somehow already grasped the Zanpakuto called "Zero White".

“Now,” Mashiro looked at Aizen’s face, which showed fear for the first time, and a cold, devilish smile curled at the corner of her mouth.

"It's my turn."

Chapter 265: Mashiro VS Aizen (Part 2)

Between the thrones of Hueco Mundo, the eerie blue dust that had fallen from the dome had not yet dissipated, and the "Sea of ​​Time" that Shinpaku spread out around him had completely encased this space in a cage of laws.

The azure light patterns moved across the ground like living things. With each line that swept across the ground, the air seemed to freeze solid, and even the Cero Crystals embedded in the Hueco Mundo stone walls lost their dazzling luster.

Time, in this realm, has become the most out-of-control shame.

Aizen could clearly feel that his connection with the world around him was being torn apart inch by inch. His body, which he had evolved with the Hogyoku and was powerful enough to surpass Shinigami and Hollows, was now like a butterfly tightly bound by spider silk. Every time he tried to exert his spiritual pressure, he would be devoured by the power of the "Sea of ​​Time", and a faint stinging pain would come from deep within his bones.

He looked up and saw that the figure named "Mashiro" was already standing silently in front of him.

Unlike her previous composure, Mashiro's eyes were now devoid of warmth, as if she were staring at an exhibit that was about to shatter.

Seeing the first flicker of terror on Aizen's face, Mashiro's lips curled into a chilling smile, as cold as polar ice: "Now, it's my turn, Aizen-kun." The instant her words fell, the azure-blue samurai power "Zero White" in Mashiro's hand suddenly lit up.

The blue light flowing across the blade receded like a tide, replaced by a pale blue light—a light that appeared gentle, yet contained a destructive aura powerful enough to incinerate spiritual particles, causing even the surrounding solidified time domain to tremble slightly.

As the light shifted, "Zero White" changed shape, its long, narrow blade narrowing into a light yet sharp cyan butterfly knife, with flame-like patterns faintly appearing on the spine.

"Choose one! Zero White!" "Blue-Shiranui."

Mashiro's voice was completely flat; she didn't even raise her hand to swing the knife, but simply tapped the blade of the butterfly knife lightly with her fingertips. "—"

A faint buzzing sound instantly filled the area around the throne.

The next second, dozens of azure flames spontaneously ignited within Aizen's time field without warning. These flames had no physical form and no temperature, yet they rushed towards Aizen's spiritual pressure as if they were alive.

Aizen's pupils suddenly contracted, and a burning pain originating from the depths of his soul instantly swept through his entire body—his spiritual pressure, which was enough to shake the three realms, actually burned wildly like dry tinder the moment it came into contact with the blue flames. The spiritual particles turned into fine fragments of light in the flames and dissipated into the air.

The Shiranui flame has two forms. "Mashiro's voice was as calm as if she were explaining something ordinary. She looked at Aizen's shocked face, her eyes showing no emotion. "One is a silent spiritual particle explosion, which, depending on the amount of spiritual power injected, turns everything it touches to ashes; while the other..."

She paused, a cruel smile playing on her lips: "It is to burn the spiritual power of others. The 'others' here naturally refers to you, Aizen-kun. The greater your spiritual pressure, the more fiercely the flames will burn."

"In my Sea of ​​Time, your time is frozen, unable to move; under my Shiranui, your spiritual pressure is burned, unable to defend itself." Mashiro slowly approached, her gaze sweeping over Aizen's face, which was taut with pain. "Tell me, Aizen-kun, what do you have left now?"

"Ughhhhhhh!"

For the first time, Aizen's roar carried genuine pain and resentment. He could feel the Hogyoku within his body trembling wildly, trying to unleash more spiritual pressure to extinguish the bone-clinging flames. But each surge of spiritual pressure only made the blue flames burn more fiercely—an unsolvable paradox, a cage that Mashiro had tailor-made for him.

He is not willing!

A century of planning, betrayal of the Tokishin World, and even a direct encounter with supreme power—how could he possibly lose here in such a humiliating way? Aizen abruptly looked up, a near-mad light flashing in his eyes, and the Hogyoku in his chest erupted with an unprecedentedly dazzling purple light: "I... will never... lose!"

In an instant, the purple light vanished, and his figure disappeared.

A spiritual pressure, larger and more bizarre than ever before, suddenly erupted. This spiritual pressure contained a pure will of "evolution," like a colossus of creation awakening, crashing fiercely into the law barrier of the "Sea of ​​Time."

"boom--!!!!!"

The "Sea of ​​Time" domain constructed by Shinpaku cracked open, and the azure light patterns spread out like spider webs of broken glass before shattering completely in the next second.

Time, which had been frozen, began to flow again. The burning blue flames were forcibly extinguished by this immense power. As the purple light dissipated, a completely new Indigo appeared between the thrones.

His pure white robe had become one with his body, transforming into a smooth, hard insect exoskeleton, gleaming with a metallic cold light; three pairs of enormous wings of light stretched out from his back, each feather formed from pure spiritual pressure, the air currents generated by their flapping causing the entire throne to tremble; his face had lost its human features, leaving only a smooth, mask-like outline, a crack in the center of his forehead, and a third eye flashing with a purple evil light slowly opened—it was the final form that the Hogyoku had given birth to in the face of death, responding to his ultimate desire for "transcendence".

In his desperate situation, Aizen underwent another evolution. "Mashiro-sensei."

When Aizen spoke after his evolution, his voice was ethereal, like countless voices overlapping, without any human quality.

He hovered in mid-air, looking down at Mashiro with an arrogant gaze that seemed to radiate an overwhelming superiority: "I now stand in a higher dimension. Your 'time,' your 'flame,' are... utterly meaningless to me."

He slowly raised his hand, his fingertips pointing at Mashiro. A massive spiritual pressure began to condense at his fingertips, and spiritual particles in the air surged wildly, even causing the stone walls between the thrones to begin to peel away: "Now, it's my turn."

These were the words that Zhen Zi had said to him not long ago.

However, faced with this final form that resembled the descent of a god, Mashiro showed no surprise whatsoever, not even a furrowed brow. She simply gazed quietly at Aizen, a hint of disappointment flickering in her deep eyes, as if she were looking at a student who had failed to meet expectations.

"Is that so? Is this your limit?" Mashiro sighed softly, her voice filled with the regret of a teacher for a worthless disciple. "Abandoning oneself," "abandoning form," just to pursue pure power... How ugly, Aizen-kun.

She took a step forward, her gaze piercing through Aizen's immense spiritual pressure, reaching the depths of his soul: "You still don't understand what true 'power' really is."

Chapter 266: Mashiro VS Hokage (Part 2)

"What did you say?"

For the first time, Aizen's inhuman voice wavered, and the third eye on his forehead slightly contracted—he couldn't understand how this woman could remain so calm in the face of absolute power.

True strength is never about surpassing anything, nor about becoming anything. "Mashiro's eyes became incredibly deep, with a hint of barely perceptible pity in them, "but about defeating—defeat the most powerful enemy, the one called 'self'."

Before she finished speaking, the blue butterfly knife in Mashiro's hand changed shape once again.

This time, the cyan light on the blade faded, replaced by a crystal-clear purple light like stars, with mysterious patterns wrapped within it, as if writing some ancient poem.

As the light shifted, the butterfly knife transformed into a fan crafted from pure amethyst, its surface engraved with interwoven shadow patterns.

The patterns on the surface seemed to be flowing, exuding an ominous aura.

The Poem of Purple Shadows.

Mashiro slowly raised her amethyst fan and gently waved it at Aizen.

There was no strong wind, no loud noise, and even the fluctuations in spiritual pressure were barely perceptible.

But the next second, a deep darkness surged up from the ground like a tide, sweeping across the entire throne room with unstoppable force—the darkness was even denser than the deepest shadow in Hueco Mundo, and even Aizen's third eye, which could see through everything, could not penetrate it.

"This is..?!

For the first time, Aizen felt a surge of panic in his heart. He tried to use his spiritual pressure to sense his surroundings, but found that his senses were like stones sinking into the sea, without even the slightest feedback.

He could see nothing, hear nothing, and not even feel his wings of light—as if the entire world had completely stripped them away, leaving only his consciousness suspended in endless darkness.

Just then, from the darkness beneath his feet, an outline exactly like his slowly emerged.

The silhouette was made of pure shadow, with the same insect exoskeleton as him, the same three pairs of wings of light, and even the spiritual pressure it emitted was exactly the same—as if it were another "self" peeled off from his body.

“Shadow Poem can detach the enemy’s shadow from their body, transforming it into an immortal clone with the same power as the enemy.” Mashiro’s voice rang out in the darkness like a voice-over, calm and without any fluctuation. “As long as darkness exists, shadows will never perish.”

She paused, her voice carrying a hint of guidance: "Come on, Aizen-kun. Let me see if you, who yearn to surpass everything, can defeat this most perfect, yet also most ugly, version of yourself."

"Roar!!!!!"

The shadow-formed Aizen let out a non-human roar, its three pairs of wings of light flapping violently, transforming into a jet-black streak of light that rushed towards the real Aizen. Its speed and power were exactly the same as Aizen's, and even the trajectory of its attack was identical.

Aizen's pupils contracted sharply, and for the first time, the emotion called "despair" appeared on his face. He subconsciously waved his Wings of Light, gathering enough power to destroy a dimension to meet the attack—but just as his attack was about to hit the shadow, the shadow unleashed its spiritual pressure with the exact same movement. The two forces collided in the darkness, erupting with a deafening roar that shook the very space.

"Boom!"

The shockwave forced Aizen back several steps, and he could feel the numbness in his arm—this was the first time he had been hit by his own power.

Before he could react, the shadow's second attack came, the arc drawn by the wings of light being exactly the same as his previous move, forcing him to hastily defend.

He wanted to escape, but this darkness had no end; no matter which direction he flew, he could only see endless blackness. He wanted to fight back, but the shadow could always predict his movements and use the exact same power to resist or even counterattack. He wanted to exhaust the shadow's power, but the shadow was like a perpetual motion machine, able to continuously gain power as long as the darkness existed. And this darkness was constructed by Mashiro's "Shadow Poem," and as long as Mashiro did not withdraw her power, the darkness would never dissipate.

This was a battle whose outcome was predetermined from the very beginning.

Time loses its meaning in the darkness, perhaps for a moment, perhaps for eternity.

Aizen's spiritual pressure was constantly depleted with each collision, cracks began to appear on his exoskeleton, and the light of his Wings of Light dimmed.

As the last trace of spiritual pressure within him was exhausted, the shadow's attack struck again, slamming into his chest. "Crack—"

The sound of the exoskeleton shattering was exceptionally clear in the darkness.

Aizen coughed up blood, his body plummeting like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily onto the dark ground. He tried to struggle to his feet, but found he didn't even have the strength to lift a finger. He couldn't maintain his evolved form and slowly reverted to his human form, covered in blood and badly mangled.

Just then, the darkness slowly receded like the receding tide.

Mashiro appeared before him, her amethyst fan transformed back into an ancient, simple sword. Her face remained expressionless, as if...

The earth-shattering battle that just happened had nothing to do with her.

Mashiro slowly walked up to Aizen, looking down at him: "Now, do you understand? Aizen-kun?"

Her voice was soft, yet it struck Aizen's already crumbling pride like the heaviest hammer. "You've lost."

Aizen slowly raised his head, his cloudy eyes looking at Mashiro.

Those once confident and calculating brown eyes were now empty and blank. He finally understood that he hadn't lost to Mashiro.

It wasn't defeated by any external force, but by the self that was obsessed with "transcendence" and ultimately lost itself in power.

Mashiro didn't say anything more, but simply reached out and gently touched Aizen's forehead with her fingertips.

Aizen's body trembled violently, the light in his eyes dimmed rapidly, and then he slowly fell backward like a puppet that had lost its support, completely losing consciousness.

Mashiro stared at Aizen lying on the ground, her eyes devoid of any emotion. She bent down, reached out and grabbed Aizen's collar, dragging him like a piece of ordinary luggage.

She pulled him up, then raised her hand and tore open a portal to the Seireitei. A bizarre spatial vortex unfolded behind her, and the white towers of the Seireitei could be vaguely seen inside.

Mashiro dragged Aizen along as they walked step by step into the Transcendental Gate.

As her figure completely disappeared into the vortex, the portal slowly closed, and the throne room of Hueco Mundo returned to its timeless, deathly silence.

Only the bloodstains and spiritual pressure traces remaining on the ground prove that a battle that determined the fate of the three realms once took place here.

Chapter 267: The Maid (Part 1)

The skyline of Karakura Town still bears the remnants of the collision of spiritual pressure. The land that was once torn apart by the Black Cavity and scorched by the Cero is now restoring calm at a visible speed.

But the way this decisive battle ended far exceeded the imagination of all the witnesses in the Soul World, the Human World, and even Hueco Mundo—there was no tragic mutual destruction, no stalemate to the very end, only a slender figure, dragging another completely unconscious "trophy," slowly walking out from the dimly lit portal.

Her pure white dress was spotless, as if the great battle that had shaken the three realms had nothing to do with her.

The Aizen Sousuke she held in her hands had long lost his former arrogance; the evolutionary aura brought by the Hogyoku had completely dissipated, and his spiritual pressure seemed to have been severed.

Like a babbling brook, it could only sway like a broken doll with the steps of Makoto.

As the two stepped back onto the pristine stone path of the Seireitei, the waiting crowd at the gate instantly fell into a death trap. Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni, at the head of the group, gripped the handle of Ryujin Jakka tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

This Captain-Commander, who has lived for a thousand years and seen countless storms, has never before felt his heart clench with shock and awe as he does now. The captains behind him are even more so—Kyoraku Shunsui abandons his usual nonchalance, Ukitake Jushiro presses his heaving chest, Soi Fon's eyes are filled with disbelief, and even the usually calm Kuchiki Byakuya furrows his brow slightly.