Ichigo was really going all out because he couldn't afford to hold back. After all, he was fighting the GOAT himself—Espada Number 0.
This wasn't glaze. This was the truth.
Anyway, Ichigo stood, his Truth Bankai cloak billowing, the ethereal glow of his blade pulsating with sheer, untamed power. Across from him, Coyote Starrk yawned, rubbing the back of his head, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Man..." Starrk muttered, eyes half-lidded. "I really just wanted to nap through this whole war. This is a real pain, you know?"
"Then get the hell out of my way and let me rescue my friends," Ichigo said. He wasn't here for that dread-head shit.
As the certified group project with all the passes given to him at birth, unable to be called racist since he was part of every race, Ichigo Kurosaki—
Was ready to throw hands.
"Unfortunately, I can't do that," the Espada said, yawning a bit.
Ichigo gripped his swords, his spiritual pressure rising. Well, a fight it would be.
In an instant—
BZZZT—BOOM!
Starrk appeared behind Ichigo, point-blank, his Cero Metralleta already firing.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
A hailstorm of Ceros rained down, engulfing Ichigo in a crimson explosion. The battlefield trembled under the sheer force of it.
But as the dust cleared—
Ichigo stood just fine. And to those wonderful people wondering how—
It was a mix of Hierro and Blut Arterie working their magic, Hollow and Quincy blood working together somehow, using his Shinigami power as a conduit in order for the Hollow power not to destroy the Quincy power.
It was a very delicate balance.
Starrk's bored eyes widened slightly.
"Huh... didn't expect that." Fighting a group project was not in his job description, but here we are.
As Ichigo and Starrk kept clashing over and over again, Starrk began to realize something—something about his power.
His swings... felt weaker.
"Tch—" Starrk backed away, flexing his fingers. His body was slower. His energy output had dropped.
Ichigo rushed toward the man and began spamming M1 and heavy attacks, trying everything to get into Starrk's defense and deal some significant damage.
Starrk, however, was realizing something.
With each strike, Starrk's power waned.
With every clash, Ichigo grew stronger.
Sure, he got that earlier, but now he could actually see it. Ichigo was getting stronger while he was getting weaker.
He was completely unaware of Ichigo's Fullbring working overtime right now.
Unpaid internship at its finest.
Meanwhile, while the great Ichigo Kurosaki—the greatest group project of this generation—stood as the pinnacle, Sora did not stand close, as only two people were involved in his creation, whereas Ichigo had four.
Uryu, meanwhile, was noticing what it meant to have a type advantage over someone.
Uryu stood over Barragan's decaying corpse, adjusting his glasses as he gazed at the lifeless remains of the so-called God of Hueco Mundo.
"Hm." He tilted his head. "So this is what it means to have a type advantage."
A few minutes ago—
Flashback.
Barragan sat on his throne of arrogance, his decayed skeletal visage smirking down at Uryu.
He was a bum. A fake king. The biggest of bums. A fraud. An even worse fraud than Yhwach. Him existing was a waste of oxygen for Hollowkind. He should get himself killed so that some of that precious oxygen could be left over for the actual needy Hollows.
"You stand before the embodiment of time itself, Quincy." His voice was a deathly growl, every syllable laced with ancient malice. "Your life will rot away before you even realize it."
Uryu, unimpressed, fired an arrow.
SHATTER!
Barragan destroyed it with ease.
Uryu adjusted his glasses. "Hm... interesting."
He observed carefully.
The arrow had disintegrated before even making contact.
"Curious..." Uryu muttered, eyes narrowing. "He's not plundering Reishi like a Quincy would... so that must mean..."
Barragan, meanwhile, continued to gloat. "Your attempts are futile, boy. Everything withers before me. Even you will succumb—"
THWIP!
Another arrow.
Barragan crushed it again.
Uryu's mind clicked into motion.
He had finally figured out this man's power. It took him a while, but his nerd brain went into overdrive, and he found it.
"So... his power rapidly ages anything that enters his domain."
Now that he had figured this out, he must have a plan... a solid plan to defeat him, right?
Another arrow.
Destroyed.
Please, Uryu.
Another.
Destroyed.
Maybe he wasn't as special as he thought. Maybe he was slow.
Barragan chuckled. "How pathetic. Do you truly believe such a feeble assault will work against me?"
Uryu's smirk was almost imperceptible. "No."
Barragan raised a bony eyebrow. "What?"
"I just needed data."
He needed to make sure his hunch was correct.
And then, Uryu fired one last arrow.
Barragan, growing tired of this game, activated Respira.
The wave of decay surged forward, a black mist of pure death, swallowing the arrow whole.
And then—
Barragan began to decay.
"W-what...!?"
The Espada's bones cracked. His body crumbled.
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
He screamed—but it was too late.
His own Respira was consuming him.
Uryu watched coldly. "Interesting. So you cannot withstand your own power." He raised a single gloved hand. "I used my Schrift to redirect your power—sending it right back at you."
Barragan's howl of rage was cut short.
In mere moments—
He was gone.
Back to the present.
Uryu let out a soft sigh, adjusting his Quincy uniform. "Hmph. Too easy."
He turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the battlefield.
Ichigo's spiritual pressure flared in the distance—still fighting Starrk.
"I suppose I should go help."
And with that—Uryu vanished.
Hm, odd, he was on a winning streak.
Actually, he got his shit rocked by Aizen, so like... one win.
But like, 4-1 was not really such bad odds.