Feeling the sudden eruption of Reiatsu from Uehara Shiroha, all the Shinigami and Arrancar felt a chill in their hearts. The spiritual pressure rolled across the battlefield like a physical wave, pressing down on everyone present regardless of their allegiance. Even those at captain-level found themselves momentarily breathless beneath the crushing weight of such concentrated power.

Such Reiatsu was too strong—almost primordial in its intensity, as if some fundamental force of the universe had been harnessed and directed toward a single purpose. It resonated on frequencies that triggered instinctual fear responses in spiritual beings, causing even battle-hardened warriors to freeze in place.

The slash formed by this Reiatsu would only be more terrifying. Energy of such magnitude, when focused into a cutting edge, could sever the very boundaries between dimensions.

Sure enough, a cold light flashed through the air—brief, brilliant, and beautiful in its deadly perfection. In that fraction of a second, Stark found himself pierced through the heart by Uehara Shiroha's blade, suffering a fatal injury that admitted no possibility of recovery.

Uehara Shiroha was not like some of the strong figures in the world of Shinigami, those who transformed every battle into elaborate psychodramas—so much internal monologue and philosophical posturing that one might think they were composing poetry rather than fighting. Their battles were performances as much as conflicts, staged for invisible audiences.

Although Uehara Shiroha was certainly proficient in countless refined pursuits—music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and countless other artistic endeavors—he maintained a clear separation between art and combat. Fighting was fighting, and there was no need for excessive mental gymnastics or emotional theatricality.

He had always believed firmly in the principle that it was far better to inflict suffering on others than to torment oneself with needless complications. Mental consumption and excessive rumination during battle simply did not exist in his approach to combat. Why waste energy on internal conflict when it could be directed externally toward his opponent?

Being a person who enjoyed tormenting others and testing himself against the strong—that was certainly part of his nature. The thrill of dominating powerful opponents, of demonstrating his superiority in the most direct manner possible, was an indulgence he permitted himself without hesitation.

After all, he excelled in both the refined arts and martial prowess, fearing no challenger in either realm. In martial matters, he possessed the Infinite Zanpakutō, and in literary pursuits—well, he still had the Infinite Zanpakutō! His blade cut through both physical and intellectual challenges with equal efficiency.

His philosophy was simple: let go of unnecessary personal restrictions and enjoy the fullness of existence! Abandon the tired narrative of self-sacrifice and helping others, and instead respect the natural unfolding of fate. Everyone had their own path to walk, their own destiny to fulfill or defy. Who was he to interfere with the cosmic balance?

In Uehara Shiroha's considerable experience, when his sword remained sheathed and bloodless, the world became filled with irritating distractions—buzzing like flies around his consciousness. But once he drew his blade and let it taste blood, a remarkable quietude descended upon his surroundings. Problems had a way of solving themselves when confronted with decisive action rather than endless deliberation.

No matter how touching or heartwarming other people's stories might be, he maintained emotional distance. Their narratives, however compelling, ultimately had nothing to do with him. He, Uehara Shiroha, operated beyond conventional sentimentality, transcending the petty constraints of ordinary moral frameworks!

At the last moment of his existence, many figures from Stark's past flashed before his fading consciousness—companions, enemies, mere acquaintances who had briefly intersected with his lengthy existence. But these phantom images dissolved like mirages, leaving him alone in the endless desert of Hueco Mundo—just as he had always been.

His expression, rather than showing fear or anger, revealed a strange sense of relief. The burden of consciousness was finally being lifted from his weary soul.

The Espada were falling one by one, yet Aizen still made no move to intervene directly. The self-proclaimed god remained an observer to the destruction of his vaunted army, watching with apparent detachment as his most powerful warriors were systematically eliminated.

For Stark, this final confirmation that his so-called companions had been nothing but illusions from beginning to end brought a bitter form of closure. Nothing had truly changed throughout his long existence. In the end, he remained alone, as he had always been. Loneliness was the most authentic and enduring aspect of his life—the one constant in an existence marked by change and loss.

Under such circumstances, ending his life could indeed be considered a form of release—freedom from an existence defined by isolation despite being surrounded by others.

Stark glanced at Uehara Shiroha, who stood calm and motionless before him, and mustered his last reserves of strength to speak: "You are stronger and calmer than Aizen. You are a truly strong person who never feels lonely. I really envy you..."

His voice faded into silence as his body began to disintegrate, transforming into spiritual particles that scattered on the wind. Uehara Shiroha watched this process without comment, his expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.

Then, he noticed that his own body had begun to dissipate at the edges, spiritual particles breaking away from his form and dissolving into the atmosphere.

He frowned slightly at this development. "Is the time up already? After all that, I still couldn't fully enjoy myself!" There was genuine disappointment in his tone—the frustration of a connoisseur whose meal had been interrupted before completion.

Before his form could dissolve completely, he made one final gesture. With a casual wave of his right hand, his remaining Reiatsu burst outward in a controlled wave, instantly enveloping Matsumoto Rangiku and performing what could only be described as a "resurrection" of sorts.

In the next phase of this conflict, he knew that Aizen would begin eliminating targets indiscriminately, putting on a performance of power to inspire fear and cement his position. Removing Matsumoto Rangiku from the battlefield represented Uehara Shiroha's final act of mercy in this engagement.

As for the others who remained—they would simply have to accept whatever fate had in store for them. He had done what he could with the time and resources available to him.

The spatial distortion created by his technique was so seamless that Matsumoto Rangiku didn't immediately realize what had happened. One moment she stood on the battlefield, witnessing the clash of titanic powers; the next, she found herself in familiar surroundings far from the conflict.

"Hey!? What? What happened?" she exclaimed, looking around in confusion at the headquarters of the 10th Division. The transition had been so abrupt, so complete, that her mind struggled to process the change. "How did I suddenly come to the 10th Division headquarters? What happened?"

Having completed this last intervention, Uehara Shiroha turned his attention to Harribel—the sole surviving member of the three Espada he had been facing.

When his gaze swept over to her position, his body seemed to vanish instantaneously. In the next heartbeat, he materialized directly beside her, as if he had somehow traveled through both time and space rather than merely crossing the physical distance between them.

Harribel's emerald green pupils contracted in shock, shrinking to pinpoints as her body tensed instinctively. Without hesitation or deliberation, she swung Tiburón to summon thousands of water droplets from the surrounding atmosphere.

These rapidly coalesced into layers of water that formed an airtight barrier around her, a desperate attempt at self-preservation. Yet despite this protective measure, Harribel did not allow herself even a moment of relaxation.

The Zanpakutō in her grip no longer provided the sense of security it once had. Her previously unshakable confidence in her abilities had begun to waver in the face of what she had witnessed. Even her hands, which had never trembled in countless battles against formidable foes, now shook slightly as they clutched Tiburón's hilt.

Harribel's nervousness and unease were entirely understandable under the circumstances. The three strongest Espada had united their powers against a single enemy, yet two of them had already fallen—their immense power proving inadequate against Uehara Shiroha's overwhelming strength.

When confronting such a terrifying adversary, anxiety was not merely normal—it was the only rational response.

However, her caution, however prudent, ultimately proved futile against the force she faced.

A flash of cold light rapidly expanded in her field of vision, growing from a distant glimmer to an all-encompassing radiance in less than a heartbeat. The energy coalesced into a perfect slash that seemed capable of penetrating anything in existence, from the most fragile flower petal to the hardest diamond.

Time itself appeared to hesitate at this moment, as if the fundamental forces of the universe paused to witness the clash of powers.

The formidable water barrier—a defense strong enough to withstand even a captain's Bankai—suddenly crystallized and froze solid. An instant later, it shattered into countless fragments, transforming into thousands of raindrops that fell toward the earth below, nourishing the soil with spiritual energy.

Under that terrifying slash, the defensive barrier she had so carefully constructed didn't even resist for a full second before it yielded completely.

Harribel's emerald eyes flashed with determination as she recognized the direness of her situation. She released a primal roar from deep within her chest and swung Tiburón with all her remaining strength, attempting to intercept the incoming slash before it could reach her body.

The collision generated powerful shock waves that expanded outward in concentric rings, forming a localized hurricane that obliterated everything in its path. The Reiatsu released in that single moment was enough to disintegrate nearby structures and disperse clouds in the sky above.

The raindrops that had not yet completed their descent were caught in the sudden atmospheric disturbance, transforming back into vapor and being swept away by the fierce winds generated by the clash.

Blood sprayed from multiple wounds across Harribel's body, staining her white uniform crimson. She recognized immediately that she had sustained serious injuries despite her best defensive efforts.

In this critical moment, with her life hanging by the thinnest of threads, she utilized the very blood flowing from her wounds to power her strongest technique—the ultimate Cero available to an Arrancar who had released their Resurrección: "Gran Rey Cero!"

Her final reserves of Reiatsu transformed into a terrifying golden energy that erupted from her position with devastating force. The brilliant beam shot outward with incredible velocity, momentarily illuminating the entire battlefield with its radiance.

The golden flash barely managed to deflect the slashing wave of energy and the accompanying pressure of Reiatsu. Simultaneously, Harribel created a powerful stream of water that carried her rapidly away from her previous position, utilizing this final opportunity to escape from certain death.