Jerome immediately noticed Uehara Shiroha's undisguised disdain, and his expression darkened. A surge of irritation coursed through him, twisting his features into an enraged scowl. His voice turned cold as he spat out his words with contempt.
"It seems you still don't understand the power of an Arrancar," he sneered. "Then allow me to enlighten you. The leader of trash is still trash. No matter how highly you think of yourself as the commander-in-chief of the Shinigami, in front of us Arrancars, you're nothing but a weak, lowly creature."
However, Uehara Shiroha paid little attention to the enraged Arrancar before him. His spiritual awareness remained focused on his surroundings, stretching even beyond the immediate battlefield. The setup was too obvious—it reeked of a trap specifically aimed at him.
With Szayelaporro's cunning, he wouldn't settle for such a straightforward confrontation. There had to be more layers to this ambush. And if Aizen was pulling the strings from the shadows, then there was no telling how deep the deception ran.
As for the opponent before him, Uehara Shiroha had already seen through Jerome's strength. The Arrancar was hardly a major threat—his spiritual pressure was strong, but there was a lack of finesse, an imbalance in his energy. He was all brute force with no real refinement. A relic of outdated strength, struggling to fit into the evolving battlefield.
Sure enough, under his continuous perception, Uehara Shiroha detected three distinct spiritual pressures lurking in the vicinity. They were concealed, but not enough to escape his notice.
His lips curled in amusement.
They really thought this would work?
If he wanted to leave, these weaklings wouldn't be able to stop him. Not even Aizen himself could hold him down if he truly intended to escape.
And these hidden enemies? Just rotten sweet potatoes and moldy eggs—nothing worth worrying about.
But Jerome was quick to catch the disdain in his expression, and his anger flared even further.
"How dare a mere ant look down on an Arrancar!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
Enraged, Jerome swung his massive right arm, launching three consecutive punches with all his might.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sheer force of the strikes sent violent ripples through the air, creating shockwaves that tore through the landscape. Each impact produced a thunderous roar, the overlapping shockwaves amplifying into a devastating wave of destruction.
The massive fist, brimming with terrifying spiritual pressure, bore down upon Uehara Shiroha like a tidal wave, distorting the very air around them. Even the Reiatsu in the atmosphere trembled, as if fearful of the impending disaster.
And yet—
Uehara Shiroha remained motionless.
His feet were planted firmly on the ground, as if he had become an immovable object in the storm. The immense force pressing down on him failed to budge him even an inch. His spiritual pressure condensed beneath his feet, reinforcing his stance to the point of absolute stability.
Then, as the shockwaves roared around him, he calmly raised his right hand—
And swatted Jerome's attack away.
Bang!!
A deafening explosion, like a bolt of thunder splitting the heavens, reverberated through the Hueco Mundo desert. The sheer force of their clash flattened the surrounding sand dunes in an instant. Cracks spread across the battlefield like a spiderweb, massive fissures carving through the earth. The desert sands were thrown into the air, momentarily obscuring both fighters in a swirling storm of dust and debris.
Yet Jerome merely grinned through the chaos.
"What a fool!" he cackled. "You think you can stop me so easily? Destruction!"
With a triumphant roar, Jerome unleashed an overwhelming surge of destructive force, an energy so dense and violent that it warped the very air around them. The ground quaked beneath their feet, as if the heavens themselves were collapsing. The sheer magnitude of his power made the desert seem like it was on the verge of breaking apart.
But as the dust settled—
Jerome's laughter abruptly stopped.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
Uehara Shiroha stood in the same spot, untouched.
Not a single wound marred his body. There wasn't even a speck of dust on his clothing.
It was as if Jerome's supposedly "invincible" destructive force had amounted to nothing.
A chill ran down the Arrancar's spine.
"T-This is impossible!" he howled, his frustration mounting. "My destructive power is absolute! Die!"
His body tensed as he took a deep breath, drawing upon the full extent of his strength. His spiritual energy surged to its peak, condensing into a lethal force that pulsed through his very being.
At the same time, Jerome activated the unique ability of the Great Hollow Ring, his form splitting into countless afterimages that darted around Uehara Shiroha with incredible speed.
A cacophony of explosions followed as he launched a relentless barrage of attacks. His fists, wreathed in the devastating energy of his signature ability, rained down like a violent storm.
Dozens of strikes.
Each one capable of reducing the average Shinigami to nothingness.
And yet—
Uehara Shiroha blocked them all.
With a single hand.
He effortlessly countered Jerome's every move, parrying each devastating strike as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
From the very beginning, Uehara Shiroha had already discerned the nature of his opponent's ability. Jerome's spiritual pressure functioned like a dormant volcano—its true power lay in the amplification of his destructive capabilities.
But to Uehara Shiroha, that hardly mattered.
If anything, he saw Jerome as an ideal training dummy.
It would be a waste not to use this opportunity to further refine his skills.
Under the cold glow of Hueco Mundo's moon, the battle raged on. The two figures clashed repeatedly, shifting between ground and sky in the blink of an eye. Their movements left shockwaves in their wake, distorting the atmosphere with each collision.
Wherever they passed, lesser Hollows were annihilated, their very existence erased by the sheer force of battle. The earth trembled beneath them, as if recoiling from the devastation.
Despite Jerome's relentless assault, Uehara Shiroha remained composed. His movements were precise, his counters effortless. With every passing second, he further perfected his mastery of Hakuda, his raw physical power reaching new heights.
For the Shinigami, physical strength is not merely a trait—it is an extension of their abilities and spiritual pressure. As the saying goes, half the muscle strength means half the ability.
A powerful physique enhances a Zanpakutō's lethality, making every strike deadlier. The reason why Kenpachi Zaraki's attacks are so terrifying is not solely because of his skill, but because his sheer muscle strength and endurance far surpass that of an ordinary warrior.
Thus, for someone like Uehara Shiroha, a simple wave of his hand was enough to shatter the full force of Jerome's so-called destruction.
As the battle raged on, Uehara Shiroha found himself growing increasingly relaxed. Every attack Jerome launched became easier to handle, his movements fluid, effortless—like water flowing seamlessly through a stream. There was no longer any need for excessive effort; his body responded with the grace of a seasoned warrior, every counterstrike executed with precision and elegance.
Jerome, on the other hand, was reaching his limit. His breathing grew labored, and his strikes lost their force.
He stared at Uehara Shiroha in disbelief.
How is this possible?
He had thrown every ounce of his strength into his attacks, yet this man had deflected them all—using only a single hand.
Was he the weak one here?
Or… was this Shinigami's physique truly superior to his own?
His mind reeled. As an Arrancar, he prided himself on his physical dominance. But now, standing before this Shinigami who seemed even more durable than himself, doubt gnawed at his thoughts.
Panting heavily, Jerome muttered to himself, his eyes full of shock.
"This defense… what is this?"
At first, he had assumed the Shinigami was using some kind of secret Kido technique or a specialized Zanpakutō ability to neutralize his attacks.
But now, the truth was undeniable.
Uehara Shiroha wasn't actively defending himself at all. He wasn't using any special tricks. He simply stood there and took the full force of Jerome's strongest moves—and remained completely unscathed.
Not even a spiritual pressure barrier. No defensive technique.
Just raw, terrifying resilience.
Jerome's throat went dry. What kind of monster is this man?
Yet Uehara Shiroha only let out a sigh, his expression filled with boredom.
"That's it? that's all you have?"
A fake was still a fake.
His gaze flickered toward Jerome's Zanpakutō, which remained unused upon his shoulder. In that instant, the doubts in his heart cleared.
So that was it.
Arrancars were once Hollows, but through the power of the Hōgyoku, they had gained Shinigami-like traits. This transformation granted them intelligence and greater potential, allowing them to break the limits of their former selves and assume a humanoid form.
However, an Arrancar's Zanpakutō wasn't the same as a Shinigami's. Rather than being a separate entity, it was an extension of their own power, sealing away their true Hollow nature.
While a Shinigami's Bankai released the full potential of their Zanpakutō, an Arrancar's Resurrección did the same—by returning them to their original Hollow form, unleashing all their latent power.
Upon releasing Resurrección, an Arrancar's injuries would heal, their depleted stamina and spiritual pressure replenished—it was essentially a full restoration, akin to consuming a Senzu Bean.
And yet…
Jerome had not released his blade.
He had not even attempted to.
Uehara Shiroha narrowed his eyes. This Arrancar had no number. He didn't recognize Aizen's authority.
So that was the truth—
This so-called "Vasto Lorde Class" Arrancar was nothing more than an incomplete product. A failed experiment, a hollow shell of what an Arrancar should be.
Most likely, he was an artificial creation, a test subject born from Szayelaporro Granz and Aizen's experiments, discarded once they lost interest.
A meaningless existence.
Jerome gritted his teeth in frustration. "Damn it!" he spat, forcing his breath to steady. His eyes burned with defiance as he suddenly shouted—
"Leo, do it!"
Uehara Shiroha instantly sensed a sharp murderous intent from behind.
A cold light flashed.
A blade shot forward like lightning, aiming straight for his back.
He didn't move.
He didn't even turn around.
Clang!
The sound of metal striking an impenetrable surface rang through the battlefield. Sparks flew as the sharp blade scraped against his skin, failing to pierce through.
Jerome's triumphant smirk froze in an instant.
The shock in his expression deepened as realization struck him.
Behind Uehara Shiroha, the figure of Leo—a tall, thin Arrancar wielding a spear—stood frozen, his attack rendered completely useless.
His eyes widened. "What the hell…?"
Uehara Shiroha turned his head slightly, his gaze falling upon the would-be assassin.
Leo tensed under the scrutiny.
This Arrancar bore a fragmented white mask upon his forehead, and a Hollow hole was carved into his right shoulder. His spiritual pressure felt similar to Jerome's—chaotic, unstable, and heavy, yet tinged with a Shinigami's presence.
At first glance, he seemed strong.
But Uehara Shiroha already knew—
It was all for show.
Leo gritted his teeth and pressed his spear forward, but it refused to move an inch.
This was impossible.
His strength and speed were unparalleled—his Zanpakutō was a spear precisely because it maximized his advantage in those areas. This lightning-fast thrust should have been impossible to dodge, let alone block.
And yet…
Uehara Shiroha had stopped it with nothing but his bare skin.
Cold sweat dripped down Leo's forehead. He exhaled sharply.
"What kind of defense is this…? It's as strong as my own Hierro!"
He didn't even feel ashamed for his failed sneak attack—after all, to the Hollows, victory was all that mattered. Honor was meaningless. They would do whatever it took to win.
But against this monster…
Even dirty tactics failed.
Uehara Shiroha's right hand suddenly reached out, gripping the tip of Leo's spear.
His form blurred—
Leo's instincts screamed at him. He reacted instantly, withdrawing his Zanpakutō and retreating far away in a flash.
However—
The moment his feet touched the ground, pain erupted from his chest.
He looked down.
A deep dent had been carved into his chest. His Hierro—the steel-hard skin of an Arrancar—had been pierced without him even realizing it. Blood dripped from the wound, staining the sands of Hueco Mundo.
His breath hitched. His eyes darted to Jerome—who was equally stunned.
At that moment, a new sound cut through the battlefield.
A roar of wind and thunder.
Two figures—one large, one small—descended rapidly from the sky, their spiritual pressure crashing like waves upon the desert.
Jerome's stunned face twisted into a relieved grin.
"Rodney! Cyril! Kill this Shinigami with me!"
The two Arrancars, one wielding a burning longsword and the other flapping massive bone wings, stared at the battlefield in confusion.
Rodney frowned. "What the hell is going on? Jerome, Leo—why is this Shinigami still alive?"
Cyril's eyes narrowed. "And Leo… you're injured?"
Four against one.
How could they possibly lose?
No matter how formidable a warrior was, enduring the combined might of four Arrancars at full power should have been impossible.
Cyril, the winged Arrancar with a savage expression, was the first to launch his assault. With a deafening roar, he lifted his golden war hammer high into the air and brought it crashing down toward Uehara Shiroha's head.
"Die!" he bellowed.
The sheer weight of the hammer carried a destructive force capable of shattering even the space around it.
At the same time, Rodney took a more cunning approach. Despite his confidence in their overwhelming numbers, he wasn't foolish enough to charge in recklessly. Instead, he maneuvered behind Uehara Shiroha in complete silence, his flaming longsword poised for a lethal thrust aimed directly at the Shinigami's skull.
And then, there was Leo and Jerome, closing in from the sides with lethal intent.
In a matter of seconds, Uehara Shiroha found himself surrounded. Four Arrancars. Four deadly strikes. Four angles of attack.
Their combined assault was nothing short of cataclysmic.
Their spiritual pressure surged into the heavens, thick and oppressive, blotting out the light of Hueco Mundo's eternal moon. The sheer intensity of their reiatsu distorted the air, warping the desert landscape beneath them.
Against such an overwhelming attack, even a high-ranking Captain-level Shinigami would struggle to survive—escape would have been the wisest option.
But Uehara Shiroha didn't move.
His expression remained indifferent as Leo's spear, Rodney's flaming sword, and Cyril's golden hammer crashed down upon him.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A series of deafening explosions tore through the battlefield, sending shockwaves rippling across the desert. The sheer impact of the attacks shattered the sand dunes, creating massive craters where the strikes had landed.
For a brief moment, silence fell over the battlefield.
Then, a slow, creeping smirk spread across the Arrancars' faces.
They had won.
Even if their creator, Szayelaporro Granz, had taken that many direct hits, he wouldn't have emerged unscathed. Not even Lord Aizen would brush it off completely without his zanpakutō's ability.
There was no way a mere Shinigami—no matter how strong—could have survived that.
Perhaps his head had been smashed into pulp.
Perhaps his body had been obliterated beyond recognition.
Perhaps—
But then, the dust began to settle.
And as the air cleared—
Uehara Shiroha stood there.
Untouched.
His universal barrier and spiritual pressure defense had absorbed the full impact of their combined attack, rendering it completely useless. His pristine figure emerged from the smoke, not a single scratch upon his body. His uniform remained spotless, not even a speck of dust clinging to the fabric.
And on his face…
Was mockery.
A casual, almost bored smirk, as if he had just endured nothing more than a light breeze.
The color drained from the Arrancars' faces.
Leo's jaw tensed. How… is this possible?
Rodney, the most level-headed of the group, felt his blood run cold.
Even Cyril, who prided himself on his brute force, rubbed his eyes in disbelief. He looked down at the golden hammer in his hands—a weapon so heavy it could crush mountains—then back at Uehara Shiroha, who had taken the full force of its impact without flinching.
Was this really a Shinigami?
Or was he some kind of monster?
Jerome, who had been battling Uehara Shiroha the longest, felt his mind unraveling.
Everything he had once believed—about strength, about hierarchy, about the superiority of the Arrancars—was being shattered before his very eyes.
"This… this isn't possible," Rodney finally whispered, his voice hollow.
"This guy… this guy isn't normal!"
Uehara Shiroha let out a soft sigh, stretching his arms lazily as if waking from a nap. Then, with an arched brow, he calmly asked:
"Is that all?"
He tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze sweeping over the stunned Arrancars.
"That was your best effort? Pathetic."
A shiver ran through Leo's spine.
"MOVE! EVERYONE, GET BACK—!" he shouted.
But it was too late.
Before Leo could even finish his warning—
Uehara Shiroha vanished.
FWOOOSH!
The four Arrancars' eyes widened in shock.
He was gone.
Their instincts screamed at them—danger!
Leo's heart dropped.
Speed was his specialty. His movements were as fast as lightning, his technique allowing him to accelerate beyond normal perception. Among all the Arrancars present, he should have been the fastest.
And yet—
Compared to Uehara Shiroha's instantaneous movement…
His speed was child's play.
The realization sent a chill through his bones.
Rodney and Cyril barely had time to process what had happened before a roar of spiritual pressure erupted across the battlefield.
A golden pillar of reiatsu shot into the sky like a raging storm, illuminating the entirety of Hueco Mundo in blinding light. The force of its emergence warped the air, sending distorted ripples through the very fabric of the dimension.
The sheer pressure was overwhelming.
The Arrancars could hear it—a deafening roar, like the wailing of an enraged god.
Their vision blurred. The sheer radiance of the light disoriented them, making it impossible to discern their surroundings.
Their spiritual perception became muddled, their senses scrambled under the onslaught of raw, unbridled power.
Their bodies felt weightless, as if they were being tossed into an endless abyss.
Rodney gritted his teeth, barely managing to stay afloat in the air.
"W-What the hell is this power?!"
Leo's injured body trembled. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain conscious against the oppressive weight pressing down on him.
His voice was hoarse as he muttered:
"Because… he was holding back.
He was never using his full strength."
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