Stark couldn't help but voice his growing frustration, a touch of disbelief coloring his normally laconic tone: "Is it really us who are besieging him, rather than him besieging us? Why do I feel like he is everywhere at once?"

The question hung in the air, rhetorical yet painfully accurate. What had begun as a three-on-one advantage had twisted into something that felt suspiciously like being hunted by a predator who was simply toying with his prey before delivering the killing blow.

As Arrancar, and particularly as Arrancar who had released their Resurrección, their Reiatsu far exceeded that of ordinary Shinigami captains. By all conventional metrics, they should have possessed overwhelming spiritual power in this confrontation.

Based on their sensory perception, Uehara Shiroha's Reiatsu wasn't so monumentally strong that it should be able to crush them without effort. In terms of raw quantity of spiritual energy, they might even possess a marginal advantage when their powers were combined.

Yet despite this theoretical edge, they simply couldn't overcome their opponent. The fundamental problem wasn't the amount of Reiatsu, but its quality. In this crucial aspect, they found themselves utterly outclassed, thoroughly and completely defeated.

The opponent's Reiatsu existed on an entirely different plane from their own, as if they inhabited separate dimensions of reality. It wasn't merely stronger—it was fundamentally different in nature, composed of spiritual energy that operated according to principles beyond their understanding.

Stark, whose personal Reiatsu was remarkable even among the Espada for its volume and seemingly infinite reserves, had a particularly deep appreciation for this troubling reality. His entire existence had been defined by his overwhelming spiritual pressure, yet here he found himself outmatched in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

Judging purely from the exploration of his spiritual sensing abilities, Uehara Shiroha's Reiatsu appeared decidedly average—unremarkable, even. Much like his fighting style, which employed basic techniques rather than flashy specialized abilities.

But these seemingly ordinary abilities were somehow suppressing three top-level Espada simultaneously. Stark couldn't accept that there wasn't some form of absolute Reiatsu supporting such capabilities. The evidence of his senses contradicted the evidence of the battle itself.

The only explanation that made sense was that they simply lacked the perceptual capacity to detect the true nature and magnitude of their opponent's power. They were like primitive creatures trying to comprehend advanced technology—the gap in understanding was simply too vast.

This realization explained why they had been able to maintain a slight advantage at the beginning of the confrontation, relying on numerical superiority to compensate for individual weakness. But as the battle progressed and the trump cards of all three Espada were systematically "cheated" out of them one by one, they found themselves increasingly on the defensive despite their numerical advantage. Injuries began to accumulate, minor at first but growing increasingly serious with each exchange.

"What a heavy sword! It's obviously just an ice blade," Harribel thought with a mixture of awe and dismay.

A cold light suddenly flashed before her eyes, and she hastily raised her blade to intercept the incoming attack. Majestic Reiatsu and violent water flows erupted from her weapon, barely managing to block Uehara Shiroha's slash at the critical moment when it would have cleaved through her defenses entirely.

She had gradually adapted to this pattern of attack over the course of the battle and could now respond more promptly and effectively than when they had begun. But this adaptation came with a price—a collection of small but distinct cuts marking her bone armor like plum blossoms etched into the white surface.

Each time their Reiatsu collided directly, Harribel suffered minor but cumulative damage. Over time, these small injuries were beginning to coalesce into more serious wounds, slowing her movements and weakening her responses.

The absurdity of their situation wasn't lost on her. Despite outnumbering their opponent three to one, they were the ones accumulating injuries while their enemy remained completely unscathed. It was as if they were fighting a force of nature rather than a single combatant.

The primary reason for this one-sided exchange was Uehara Shiroha's overwhelming speed. Compared to his Shunpo, their Sonído might as well have been the plodding movement of a turtle. The gap wasn't merely significant—it was insurmountable.

True to form, before Harribel could mount any kind of meaningful counterattack, Uehara Shiroha's figure had already vanished from her sight. He had simply flashed away, retreating a hundred meters in an instant before launching yet another devastating attack from an unexpected angle.

Uehara Shiroha's surprise attacks were ethereal and utterly unpredictable. He moved with the speed of lightning, maintaining an elegant composure even as he delivered strikes of lethal intent. Each attack concealed deadly purpose beneath its graceful execution.

The most frustrating aspect was that their opponent hadn't even resorted to using his Zanpakutō's special abilities. With nothing more than his extraordinary speed, Uehara Shiroha had stretched all three Espada to their limits, leaving each of them bearing wounds of varying severity.

The three Arrancar had reluctantly grown accustomed to Shiroha's impossibly fast attack and defense rhythm, and similarly accustomed to the feeling of powerlessness that accompanied each failed attempt to land a meaningful blow.

In truth, compared to Shiroha, the movements of all three Espada appeared sluggish and ponderous. This stark contrast created the illusion that the three top Espadas were unremarkable in their abilities, leading an observer to potentially conclude that "one versus three Espadas is manageable—even Kensei could handle it."

The reality, of course, was nothing like this misleading impression. Six captains of Kensei's caliber would struggle mightily against these opponents, and even a hundred would likely fall before their combined might.

It was Shiroha's exceptional speed that made the three elite Espadas appear "slow" by comparison. Their movements weren't lacking by any objective standard—they were simply being judged against an impossible benchmark.

Any individual captain from the Gotei 13 would find themselves overwhelmed facing even one of these Espada in their released forms, let alone all three simultaneously.

For a prolonged period, the three Espada found themselves trapped in a cycle of reactivity, constantly on the defensive and unable to seize the initiative.

Barragan's situation was particularly miserable among the three.

On one hand, his vaunted Respira—the aging aura that had been his signature ability for millennia—was completely ineffective against Uehara Shiroha. On the other hand, his opponent seemed to have taken a particular dislike to him, pursuing him relentlessly across the battlefield with neither respect nor mercy.

For Barragan, who had ruled Hueco Mundo as its undisputed king for longer than most souls had existed, this battle had ceased to be a contest of strength or a test of skill. It had degenerated into an extremely painful form of torture—a systematic dismantling of his pride and identity.

As the former absolute monarch of Hueco Mundo, Barragan had little experience with enduring hardship of any kind. He had always been the one inflicting suffering rather than receiving it.

It was precisely this aversion to personal discomfort that had led him to eventually surrender to Aizen, completely shattering his reputation as the indomitable ruler of Hollows. Pride had ultimately bowed before pragmatism.

Initially, he had approached this battle with confidence, anticipating a favorable outcome where he could employ his aging aura to teach Uehara Shiroha a lesson in humility and respect. He had envisioned a satisfying conclusion where the upstart Shinigami would crumble to dust before his power, like countless others before him.

But now, such thoughts had completely abandoned him, replaced by a desperate desire for escape. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was old—the elderly should be permitted to rest, to recline comfortably and let younger warriors bear the brunt of such violent confrontations.

This was decidedly not the battle he had wanted or expected. But the choice was no longer his to make.

Uehara Shiroha had not forgotten Barragan's earlier provocations, his boastful claims of supremacy and contemptuous attitude. The Shinigami had decided to give him "special attention" as a result, focusing his attacks on the ancient Hollow with particular intensity.

Consequently, Barragan found himself unable to escape even when his every instinct screamed for retreat. Trapped on the battlefield by circumstances beyond his control, he discovered that flight was impossible.

Faced with the absolute speed of his enemy, he felt like a damned soul in a bottomless, inescapable hell—able only to struggle futilely against his inevitable fate.

Barragan's inner voice screamed in protest: "NO! NO! NO! This is not the battle I want! This is not my war!"

His fighting spirit began to crumble under the relentless pressure, his technique deteriorating as he shifted to purely defensive maneuvers. Every thought became focused on finding some avenue of escape, some way to remove himself from this nightmarish situation.

Stark and Harribel observed with grim understanding as their comrade's resolve visibly weakened, recognizing the signs of someone preparing to abandon the battlefield. They had fought alongside Barragan long enough to read his intentions clearly.

With tacit agreement, neither spoken nor directly acknowledged, the two remaining Espada maneuvered to block Barragan's potential escape routes. Their movements were subtle but deliberate, forcing their fellow Arrancar to remain in position and continue bearing the most ferocious attacks from Uehara Shiroha.

It was a cold but calculated decision. If someone had to serve as the primary target for their opponent's relentless assault, better it be the one who had boasted the loudest and contributed the least. Better Barragan than themselves.

In the harsh mathematics of survival, sacrifices were sometimes necessary. And if Barragan had to serve as that sacrifice to improve their collective chances, then so be it. The former king would be forced to earn his keep, whether he wished to or not.

As the battle continued to unfold across the skies of Fake Karakura Town, the spectators below watched with a mixture of awe and terror. The clash of such immense spiritual powers created shockwaves that rippled through the atmosphere, distorting the very air around them.

For those with spiritual awareness, the conflict resembled a deadly dance between titans—beautiful in its terrible power, frightening in its implications. And at the center of it all was Uehara Shiroha, moving with impossible grace and striking with devastating precision, single-handedly holding three of Aizen's most powerful warriors at bay.

It was a display of skill and power that defied conventional understanding of the hierarchies of strength in their world—a demonstration that would be remembered long after the battle's conclusion, regardless of its eventual outcome.