⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀. ⠀ ⠀. ⠀ ⠀.⠀ ⠀
The desolate expanse of the sanded earth seemed to shudder, its emptiness yawning wider like a chasm as a new void took hold and loomed over them. It was a creeping, insidious force, spreading its dark tendrils across the terrain like a cancer, its presence infused with an unholy hunger. The panther hollow had sensed it, its primal instincts attuned to the call of the beast that lurked within, a power that resonated deeply within its own being. Yet, they were oblivious to the true extent of its reach, the devastating consequences that could unfold if it were allowed to encroach further.
In the dimly lit, ornate chamber that once served as the gathering place for the Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez sat alone, surrounded by the empty seats that now seemed like a cruel reminder of their dwindling numbers. The war had taken its toll, and the Arrancar who had lost interest in the realm's affairs had only hastened their decline. The air was heavy with the weight of past conflicts, the room itself a painful reminder of the fragility of their existence.
Grimmjow's gaze was fixed on some distant point, his eyes narrowed in thought as he reclined in his chair, the only sound the soft creaking of the old marble frame. The hours of deliberation with Halibel, Nelliel, and the few remaining Arrancar who still cared had yielded little in the way of concrete answers. Instead, they had been left with more questions, their concerns and fears hanging in the balance like a precarious seesaw.
It had begun a month ago in their timeless wasteland, when the first sightings of a strange presence had started to circulate and disappearance of the cannibalistic hollows reeled their ugly heads within the world of the living. The Arrancar, ever vigilant, had scoured the lands, seeking answers to the enigmatic decline of Hollows and Gillian— how they could be escaping to the humans realm and why. But their efforts had yielded nothing, only serving to underscore the unsettling feeling that they were no longer masters of their own domain.
Grimmjow's thoughts were aflame with indignation, his eyes flashing with a fierce blue light as he recalled Halibel's words. 'Clean up the mess,' she had said, as if it were a simple matter of tidying up a minor disturbance. Hueco Mundo hung precariously in the balance of it all. Halibel had the audacity to suggest that he, of all people, should venture into the world of the living, to sniff out the source of this chaos and put an end to it. The Queen's words still rankled, her assertion that they would have acted sooner if they had known about the Quincy sooner a cruel reminder of their own failures. That they shouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
As Grimmjow's boot thudded against the table, the sound echoing through the silent room, he couldn't help but wonder how they had ended up in this predicament. Were they truly so blind, so obtuse, that they couldn't see the writing on the wall? The reapers and humans were always at the heart of their troubles, and yet, now they possibly continued to entice more enemies into the midst that only proved to involve the Arrancar now too, enemies who would stop at nothing to exploit the way of living within a sinners void and the beings that lurked there. The panther could only blame the flip side of the souls who’s job this precisely was, not his. Grimmjow's lips curled into a snarl, his fury simmering just below the surface. He would not make it easy for them. He would not be their lapdog, their janitor, their pawn. He would do as he was instructed, but rightfully in his own ways.
The unexplainable disappearance of their Hollows left only one conclusion: they had escaped through the Garganta, unaided by the Arrancar. But what manner of Hollow could be so obtuse, so reckless, as to abandon the familiar terrain of warfare and risk everything in the treacherous world of the living? The cannibalistic Hollows, ever driven by the desire for power, typically preyed upon each other to ascend the ranks. And yet, they had chosen to venture into the realm of the humans, where annihilation awaited. It defied comprehension, especially since he knew how they thought, as he had been on their level once before.
Grimmjow's chair scraped against the floor as he surged to his feet, his gaze blazing with intensity. The slouching posture and heavy grunt betrayed his disdain for the entire situation. He couldn't muster even a shred of concern for the hapless humans, victims of their own weaknesses. And as for the Soul Society, with their haughty superiority and condescending attitude, Grimmjow would sooner eviscerate them than extend a hand of aid.
As he strode out of the oppressive, marble-walled room, his hand instinctively settled on the hilt of his blade, his eyes flashing with a warning in anticipation. A Garganta yawned open before him without the movement of his hands, and with a languid stride, he stepped into its depths, his boots echoing through the darkness. Rising above Karakura Town, he gazed down upon the sleeping city with a jaded, world-weary expression. The silence was almost... palpable. No screams, no piercing spiritual pressure, no sense of impending doom. Could it truly be as dire as they had imagined?
Grimmjow's sneer twisted his face as he employed his Sonido to descend into the city, his movements a lazy, wrath-like glide. He would put an end to this farce, silence the whispers of uncertainty, and restore order to the Arrancar's dominion for the sake of his own sanity amongst them.