The corridors of Las Noches stretched on, endless and bleak.
Uryu and Rukia moved swiftly, making their escape after leaving Espada Number 9 frozen solid.
For a brief moment, Uryu thought they were in the clear.
That was—
Until a shadow loomed ahead.
A slow, mocking chuckle echoed down the hall.
Uryu stopped cold.
Rukia did too.
And then—
A tall, lanky figure emerged from the darkness.
Andrew Tate.
The sheer misogyny from his aura caused both Uryu and Rukia to quake in fear. That level of misogyny shouldn't have existed yet. He was... reaching levels that had not been heard of since Henry VIII. (Google it.)
"Well, well, well..." He cracked his neck, stretching his arms as if warming up. "What do we have here?"
His one visible eye flicked toward Uryu.
"Quincy brat, huh? Yeah, yeah, Aizen-sama said not to kill ya..."
Then his gaze slid over to Rukia. Oh... a dishwasher. Wasn't that just fun to see?
"...But he didn't say jack shit about Soul Reapers."
A slow, sadistic smile spread across his face.
Uryu immediately reached for his bow, but Nnoitra just laughed. He didn't sense much of a threat from Uryu. He was going to win this—no biggie. Plus, he had his Resurrección. If shit hit the fan, he could always escape like the coward he truly was.
"Oi, oi, relax! I ain't gonna kill ya, Quincy." His grin widened. "Maybe just... take a couple of fingers."
Uryu's eye twitched. The fuck was he saying Quincy for like it was a racial slur?
"Misunderstandings happen, ya know?" Nnoitra continued, laughing to himself. "Could always say you got a little too close to the battlefield. Accidents happen."
Yup. This man was really trying to catch some easy lick and then go try to lie to Aizen Sōsuke... He was not living to see another day—actually, Hueco Mundo doesn't have a sun, so night.
His grip tightened around his massive scythe-like zanpakutō.
And then—
He lunged. He would take a couple of fingers off the Quincy, before going for Rukia.
Before he could reach Uryu—
CLANG!
Nnoitra's blade was blocked.
By Rukia.
She stood her ground, sword locked against his. She didn't seem like she was going to go anywhere.
He blinked, as if making sure that it wasn't a dishwasher blocking his strike.
He refused to accept it.
Then snorted.
"Oi... you serious?" His voice was filled with mockery.
Rukia's eyes narrowed. "If you want him—"
Her spiritual pressure surged.
"You'll have to go through me first."
Nnoitra's grin stretched wider. Her power seemed to enter the Captain tier.
Yet, a second ago, she was only Lieutenant tier. But now she was stronger. Some seals on her arms began to glow faintly.
"Oh-ho? You really think you can match me, huh?"
His eye flicked down.
"Ahhh. I see what's goin' on here." His grin turned sleazy. "Yer one of those Soul Reapers who think women can actually fight."
Rukia said nothing.
She simply held her blade firm.
Nnoitra chuckled darkly.
"Listen, lady. You're wasting your time. Women ain't built for battle." He spat to the side. "Yer just soft, delicate little things pretending to be warriors. Makes me sick."
Uryu's brows furrowed, though his eyes noticed something. Her body had traces of electricity flowing through it, alongside water, ice, and what seemed to be barriers.
Did Sora imbue her with those shits? And why the fuck was there a seal on her arm? The seal seemed to absorb the ambient reishi around her in order to buff her further.
How much of a buff, you may ask?
Well, she went from Lieutenant tier... to Captain tier. She jumped one or two spirit classes.
How much favoritism was Sora going to show to his girlfriend?
Rukia, however?
She stayed silent.
Unbothered.
Unmoved.
Then—
She struck.
With fluid precision, she twisted her blade and forced Nnoitra back.
His grin faltered—for half a second.
Then—
He swung again.
She met his blade.
Then again.
And again.
Their weapons clashed repeatedly, sparks flying as they exchanged blow after blow.
"Tch." Nnoitra clicked his tongue. She's keeping up?
He wasn't expecting a woman, out of all people, to keep up with him.
She was faster than she looked. Sharper.
For a woman, at least.
But still—
He was an Espada. One of the strongest.
There was no way she—
"Hyōga Seiran."
His eye widened.
From point-blank range, an explosion of freezing ice and spiritual energy slammed into him.
CRACK!
The sheer force of the attack sent him skidding backward, his entire left side encased in ice.
A burning cold tore through his body.
He clenched his teeth.
That was without an incantation?!
His grin twitched.
"...Well, shit."
This woman—
Might actually prove to be a small little problem for the great Nnoitra. Yet his fragile ego refused to accept it. He refused to accept that a woman was better than him.
He couldn't stand that shit. No matter what he did, he just couldn't stand it.
How dare a woman push him back?
His mind would go back to the woman he had sucker-punched. The woman who had whooped his ass so many times that he started having a southern accent.
He refused.
He absolutely refused to have a woman beating him.
HE WAS NNOITRA.
He was a strong Espada.
He goddamn refused to let this shit slide.
A/N...Yes I gave him a southern accent, bite me, I am the author.