Chapter 184 The god of thunder (184)

The arena was lively. Grimmjow was clashing against the Viking over and over again, the reinforced barriers having successfully adapted to the catastrophic power behind each blow, meaning they no longer let any stray shockwaves leak out.

Because of that, the realm finally stopped shaking. The spectators outside the barrier, even though they couldn’t feel the intense pressure anymore, had a crystal-clear view of the brutal brawl happening inside.

They were just going at it. Every single blow created deep, yawning craters in the stone floor. Yet the arena itself was healing as fast as the strikes landed; so far, its regeneration was easily outpacing the immense damage being done to it.

But the two fighters inside were only just getting started. This was still merely a warm-up for them.

BOOM!

Grimmjow suddenly twisted his body mid-air, redirecting a massive hammer strike back toward Hrólf.

The Viking was sent skidding backward, his heavy boots dragging deep trenches into the arena sand. He slid back nine feet before finally coming to a halt.

He looked down at his hammer, which was still crackling with wild arcs of electricity. Hrólf could feel that something was wrong; while they had been trading blows, he noticed that his lightning was suddenly doing significantly less damage than before.

‘His defense must have gone up,’ Hrólf thought to himself. In the few weeks he had been trapped in this realm, he had learned about the bizarre monsters that populated this side of the world.

They were called Hollows. While he didn’t care much for minor details, he distinctly remembered hearing about their tough outer hide—their Hierro.

This Hollow was clearly using that innate durability to negate the damage.

Well, if that was the case…

The rune carvings etched into his hammer began to glow furiously.

A tremendous amount of atmospheric lightning began to gather around the weapon, and the air around them grew heavy and suffocating.

Hrólf raised his hammer high toward the heavens.

“STORMFATHER’S WRATH!”

A massive bolt of lightning descended directly from the sky. It struck the hammer head, and the entire weapon began to radiate a blinding, sun-like light.

The spiritual power radiating from the hammer was immense.

Gabriel’s eyes widened in genuine curiosity. So this was their equivalent of a Shikai. How fun.

He would have to study it more closely later; maybe he could reverse-engineer some for his own forces. The man’s belt wasn’t simply increasing his raw physical strength—it also appeared to exponentially amplify the divine power of his mystical weapon as well.

How very nice.

Hrólf brought his hammer crashing downward. And as he did, a colossal, raging wave of golden lightning surged forward toward Grimmjow.

The Sin of Wrath didn’t even attempt to dodge.

“BRING IT ON!” Grimmjow simply stood his ground as the sea of electricity rushed to swallow him whole.

KAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The entire arena disappeared beneath a violent storm of golden lightning. The sixty barriers activated simultaneously, their glowing surfaces straining as they absorbed the staggering impact so that the spectators outside didn’t get instantly vaporized.

Several people in the audience closed their eyes, blinded by the sheer intensity of the flash.

The power behind that attack was staggering. Some of the arena sand had been instantly fused into glass, which then burned under the extreme heat and turned to ash in the span of a few seconds.

Starrk, casually sipping his wine from the stands, glanced down at the carnage. “Well, that’s one way to start a party.”

A few seconds passed.

The blinding lightning finally vanished, the smoke clearing away with it. Right where the epicenter of the attack had landed, Grimmjow stood completely upright.

His clothing looked perfectly fine. Grimmjow himself looked like nothing had even happened—if not for the fact that one could see his left and right arms rapidly regenerating from the charred stumps, nobody would have guessed he had just taken a direct blast of divine lightning to the face.

His clothing was pristine, courtesy of being crafted out of extremely tough and versatile material.

Yes… you guessed it. It was made from a Vasto Lorde Hollow.

Gabriel genuinely possessed way too much fucking free time. But on the bright side, the clothing was self-repairing and came with several nifty features he had coded into them—though that minor detail didn’t matter much right now.

Gabriel had previously pondered whether he could craft similar gear from other souls, but ultimately decided against it. Hollow souls worked the absolute best because, by nature, Hollows consume other souls. Therefore, the average Hollow soul carried far more intrinsic value and spiritual density than any other race.

A Gillian possessed enough soul mass to compete with a Lieutenant Shinigami, and there were thousands of those fucks wandering around. So yeah, Hollow souls simply offered way more utility.

Grimmjow burst out laughing, a wild, arrogant sound.

“HAHAHAHA!”

He looked down at his smoking, rapidly healing arms.

“Is that really it?”

His grin stretched wider. “You’re going to fucking die if that’s all you’ve got, old man!”

As Grimmjow’s wounds healed at an accelerated rate, his innate authority activated. Interestingly, that brutal lightning strike had begun altering his physiological makeup, making his newly regenerated tissue slightly more rubbery and resistant to electrical current.

The video below shows the kind of intense, fast-paced hand-to-hand choreography and impact that matches their brawl.

Hrólf felt a surge of pure excitement.

“Let’s see how much you can take!” The man rushed toward Grimmjow with his hammer, swinging it with bone-shattering force. But the Sin of Wrath caught the hammer with his bare hand.

Hrólf pushed forward, forcing Grimmjow backward as more lightning poured out of the weapon, searing through Grimmjow’s hand.

The runes around Hrólf’s wrists flared brightly. The runes etched around his hammer hand ignited into a blinding glow.

“Thunderclap!”

A concentrated burst of lightning erupted directly between them.

KRA-KOOOOOM!

The explosion swallowed Grimmjow whole, sending violent shockwaves across the arena as the barrier absorbed all the kinetic energy.

Hrólf stepped back, knowing Grimmjow could take it. As the smoke cleared, Grimmjow stood completely unfazed—his adaptation having kicked in, making him far more durable against electrical attacks.

Grimmjow wore a wide, bloodthirsty grin, which Hrólf matched instantly. This was the first time in a hundred years that Hrólf had enjoyed a proper fight.

Grimmjow rushed at him, his sharp claws attempting to crush the Viking’s head open. Hrólf tilted his head just in time to avoid having his skull snapped, but he couldn’t dodge the strike entirely. Grimmjow’s claws dug a deep, bleeding gash across his cheek.

Blood splattered onto the stone floor.

Landing a couple of feet away, Grimmjow turned around and smirked.

“You’re not as durable as you think,” he mocked. Raising his hand, he licked the blood off his claws.

The metallic taste rushed into his system, accelerating the adaptation process as his authority digested the new genetic data.

Hrólf wiped the blood from his cheek and looked at his hand. It had been centuries since he last bled—if he remembered correctly, the last time he took damage like this, the Vikings were still raiding and humans were living in medieval huts.

“Hehehe… HAHAHAHAHA!” The man burst into boisterous laughter.

Grimmjow tilted his head to the side. “Did I hit you too hard, old man? You losing your mind?”

Hrólf simply smiled back. “It’s been so damn long.”

His grip on the hammer tightened until his knuckles turned white. His eyes burned a deep, glowing blue as streams of raw lightning erupted from his entire body, causing the entire arena to tremble.

“Entertain me more, Draugr!”

Up in the stands, Gabriel watched the display.

‘Oh nice, two battle-hungry crackheads,’ he sighed wryly. While Gabriel himself enjoyed a good fight and understood the thrill, watching these two was like watching two addicts brawl over a single line of coke.

Oh well.

Still, this lightning-clad form the Viking had just unlocked—was this his full power?

“Let’s see you handle the power of the God of Thunder!” Hrólf roared.

“God or not, you’re still just prey!” Grimmjow lunged forward, and Hrólf charged right back to meet him.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

The exchange became increasingly vicious. Grimmjow’s movements had evolved entirely; his feline Resurrección form gave him absurd mobility, allowing him to strike from bizarre angles and shift directions mid-air.

He snapped his whip-like tail toward Hrólf’s head, forcing the Viking to duck.

A claw shot up from below.

Hrólf blocked it with his hammer, but Grimmjow twisted mid-air, using the weapon as a foothold before launching himself forward with both legs.

BOOOOOOM!

Hrólf was sent crashing hard into the ground, a massive crater forming beneath him.

“HAHAHA! NOW WE’RE TALKING!”

The Viking rolled onto his back, laughing as he pushed himself back upright. His armor was battered, and blood streamed down his stomach where Grimmjow’s claw had grazed him.

He spat a mouthful of blood to the side. “You’re certainly a lively one, Draugr.”

Grimmjow landed several meters away, his eyes glowing. “Quit talking and fight!”

“Gladly!”

Hrólf raised his hammer high. The runes across its surface began glowing one after another, their light spreading from the weapon to his gloves, then cascading along the metallic belt wrapped around his waist.

The air pressure shifted violently. A low rumble echoed across the arena.

BANG! (x70)

BOOM! (x25)

CLANG! (x50)

It was a goddamn spectacle. The power behind each blow steadily increased. While every one of Hrólf’s hits tore away arms, legs, or even parts of Grimmjow’s torso, the Sin’s absurd regeneration kept carrying him through.

If his recovery weren’t so fast—and if his authority hadn’t already negated 45% of the lightning damage—he would have been defeated long ago.

Meanwhile, up in the stands, Ixbalanqué’s expression grew serious. “Oh?”

Shunsui glanced over at him. “Something interesting?”

“The runes,” the shaman replied. “He has been using them to reinforce his physical strength and channel lightning. But it seems he has yet to show us what they can truly do.”

Hrólf slammed the butt of his hammer against his glowing belt.

DONG!

The deep, reverberating sound echoed like a sacred bell across the heavens. A complex ring of massive runic symbols materialized beneath his feet.

“RUNE OF THE MOUNTAIN!”

The ground beneath Hrólf sank several inches. His muscles expanded and tightened, his physical body becoming immensely denser as the glowing runes wrapped around his arms and legs. The belt around his waist flared with blinding golden light.

Then he laughed. “LET’S SEE HOW YOU HANDLE THIS!”

He vanished.

For a man of his massive build, the speed was utterly ridiculous.

KRA-BOOOOOOM!

His hammer slammed directly into Grimmjow’s crossed arms. The sheer impact sent the Sin flying across the arena, smashing through several layers of stone before he finally managed to anchor himself with his claws.

For the first time since entering Resurrección, Grimmjow’s feral grin faltered. His arms were mangled and badly damaged.

Hrólf didn’t give him a single second to recover.

“STORMFORGED CHARGE!”

Lightning erupted around his body as he charged forward, leaving a trail of deep craters in his wake. He swung his hammer in a brutal horizontal arc, which Grimmjow barely managed to duck under.

The hammer missed his head by a fraction of an inch.

BOOOOOOM!

The resulting shockwave still caught Grimmjow, sending him tumbling violently through the air.

Hrólf pursued relentlessly, swinging again. And again. And again.

Every single strike carried enough raw kinetic force to flatten a fortress. Grimmjow blocked the first with his forearms, dodged the second, and managed to catch the third with his claws.

Unfortunately, catching the third was a fatal mistake.

Hrólf grinned viciously. “CAUGHT YOU!”

The runes on his gloves flashed bright white. He released the hammer handle with one hand, grabbed Grimmjow firmly by the throat, and drove his forehead straight into the Hollow’s face.

KRAK!

Grimmjow’s head snapped backward. Before he could retaliate, Hrólf spun his entire weight and slammed the Sin directly into the arena floor.

DOOOOOOM!

The entire colosseum shook violently. Even the spectators felt the shudder through the sixty reinforced barriers.

Starrk slowly lowered his wine cup. “…Well, that’s not good.”

Gabriel yawned lazily. “Yeah, he’s totally getting his ass whooped.”

Starrk glanced over at Gabriel. “You know if he loses, this looks pretty bad on you, right?”

Gabriel yawned again. “Yeah, I know.”

Starrk kept wondering what Gabriel was actually plotting. “He’s getting thoroughly dominated right now.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Hrólf is physically stronger than Grimmjow—probably stronger than most Sins in terms of raw power. But Grimmjow is his absolute worst matchup.” Gabriel stretched his arms. “Or did you forget his authority?”

Starrk blinked, then remembered. “Adaptation.”

“Right.”

“For a Horseman, you sure know very little about your underlings,” Starrk muttered, taking another sip of his wine.

“It’s not my job. I remember their names and assign their tasks. It’s not my job to memorize their power sets,” Starrk replied smoothly. He was, and always would be, a lazy fuck—but oh well.

“Long story short,” Gabriel explained, “anyone whose fighting style boils down to a brute-force berserker is at a massive disadvantage against him… and well, that’s Hrólf’s entire gimmick.”

Meanwhile, back in the arena…

Inside the smoking crater, Grimmjow slowly raised his head. Blood ran down his forehead, and both of his arms hung at awkward, broken angles.

He glared at Hrólf. Then at the hammer. Then back at Hrólf’s face.

“…Heh.”

SNAP.

His arms snapped back into position. The damaged flesh regenerated, though the process was visibly slower around the lightning-charred areas.

“That belt of yours…” He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “That’s what’s making you so damn heavy, huh?”

Hrólf grinned. “Finally figured it out?”

“Yeah.” Grimmjow’s whip-like tail swayed dangerously behind him. “You’re fucking annoying.”

He crouched low to the ground.

Then he vanished entirely.

Hrólf immediately pivoted, bringing his hammer up to block the incoming strike.

But Grimmjow didn’t target the Viking. He targeted the ground.

BOOOOOOM!

His claws tore deep into the arena floor, ripping up a massive wave of stone and debris that hurled straight toward Hrólf.

The Viking smashed through the incoming stone with a single swing of his hammer. But Grimmjow was already hovering directly above him.

A devastating axe-kick came crashing down.

Hrólf blocked it with his forearm, but the heavy impact forced him to stagger a step backward.

Then came another strike. And another.

Grimmjow was no longer trying to overpower him in a direct clash. He was attacking from every conceivable angle, using his tail to trip up Hrólf’s footing, targeting exposed joints with his claws, and delivering heavy kicks whenever the Viking committed to a full hammer swing.

Hrólf was still physically stronger, but Grimmjow was rapidly becoming impossible to hit.

“YOU LITTLE—!”

A claw raked across Hrólf’s shoulder. Another slashed deep into his thigh.

Grimmjow’s tail wrapped tightly around the Viking’s hammer arm, yanking it slightly off course. Capitalizing on the opening instantly, Grimmjow slammed a heavy knee straight into Hrólf’s jaw.

KRAK!

The Viking staggered back, dazed.

Grimmjow followed through with a ferocious spinning kick, sending Hrólf crashing all the way into the far wall of the arena.

For a moment, the audience was silent.

Then Grimmjow landed on all fours.

“What’s wrong? Getting tired?”

Hrólf slowly stood up.

His jaw shifted back into place.

Then he laughed.

“HAHAHAHA! YOU THINK THAT’S ENOUGH TO PUT ME DOWN?!”

He raised his hammer again.

But this time, Grimmjow noticed something.

The Viking’s breathing had changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

And the damage he had been taking was beginning to accumulate.

Hrólf was durable, but he wasn’t immortal. His regeneration was nowhere near Grimmjow’s, and every exchange was costing him something.

Meanwhile…

Grimmjow’s wounds were healing faster.

His body was adapting.

And the attacks that had initially caused considerable damage were beginning to lose their effectiveness.

The first hammer blow had nearly crushed his arm.

The second had done less.

The third had done even less.

Now, even when Hrólf landed a clean strike, Grimmjow was recovering from it far more quickly.

The same was happening with the lightning.

It still hurt, but the damage wasn’t nearly as severe as before.

Shunsui’s expression darkened.

“So that’s his ability…”

Ixbalanqué nodded.

“That beast adapts”

Shunsui now realised why Gabriel had said Grimmjow was a bad matchup for him.

Gabriel chuckled.

“Now you understand why I warned him.”

Harribel glanced toward him.

“You knew this would happen.”

“Of course.”

Gabriel took a sip of his wine.

“Grimmjow’s adaptation isn’t limited to physical attacks. Repeated exposure allows him to adjust to the characteristics of whatever is hurting him. Strength, speed, impact, lightning… the more he experiences it, the less effective it becomes.”

He looked toward the arena.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean Hrólf can’t hurt him anymore. He simply needs to stop doing the same damn thing.”

Starrk sighed.

“Good luck explaining that to him.”

Hrólf spat out a mouthful of blood.

He looked down at his hammer.

Then at Grimmjow.

The bastard was smiling again.

“You’re getting tougher.”

Grimmjow shrugged.

“You’re getting slower.”

“HAHA! CHEEKY LITTLE SHIT!”

Hrólf suddenly lifted his hammer above his head.

The runes across its surface changed.

Instead of glowing gold, they turned a deep blue.

The sky above the arena darkened.

Even the artificial atmosphere surrounding Nocturna Vastoria seemed to respond to the change.

A massive spiral of clouds began forming overhead.

Lightning flashed within them.

Once.

Twice.

Then dozens of times.

Hrólf planted his feet.

“Very well, Draugr.”

His voice became deeper.

“Since you seem so fond of lightning…”

He pointed his hammer toward the heavens.

“LET ME SHOW YOU WHAT THE STORM GODS TAUGHT ME!”

The clouds split open.

An enormous bolt of lightning descended.

But instead of striking Hrólf, it struck the hammer.

KRRRRRRRRR-BOOOOOOM!

The weapon became engulfed in lightning, its runes shining like miniature stars.

The energy didn’t disperse.

It compressed.

Again.

And again.

Until the entire hammer was surrounded by a sphere of concentrated lightning.

“MJÖLNIR’S JUDGMENT!”

Hrólf swung.

A colossal arc of lightning tore through the arena.

It wasn’t a simple electrical discharge. The attack carried the weight of the storm itself, compressing the surrounding air and dragging everything in its path toward its center.

Stone, dust, and fragments of the arena were pulled into the attack before being reduced to nothing.

Grimmjow’s eyes widened.

He crossed his arms.

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The explosion swallowed him.

The barriers around the arena flashed violently.

One layer.

Then another.

Then another.

The sixty layers held, but several of the outermost ones rippled so violently that the spectators could feel the energy passing through them.

When the light finally disappeared, Grimmjow was standing in the middle of the arena.

His arms were badly burned.

His armor was cracked.

Smoke rose from his body.

And his tail had been partially severed.

But he was still standing.

His regeneration began working immediately.

Slowly, the burned flesh repaired itself, and his tail began growing back.

Hrólf stared. “…Hahaha.” He was genuinely having fun.

Grimmjow lowered his arms. Then he laughed—not loudly, not hysterically, but just a low, delighted chuckle.

“That one actually hurt.” His grin widened. “Do it again.”

Hrólf’s expression changed. For the first time, the old Viking looked genuinely irritated. “You’re one stubborn bastard.”

Grimmjow rolled his neck. “Yeah? Well, you’re about to find out just how stubborn I can be.”

The stone beneath his paws cracked as his claws dug deep into the ground.

And then—he vanished.

Hrólf barely had time to raise his hammer before Grimmjow appeared directly in front of him. A fist struck his stomach.

BOOOOOOM!

The Viking’s body folded around the impact. A second strike caught his jaw, and a third slammed into his ribs. Grimmjow moved faster than before, his attacks coming from increasingly unpredictable angles.

Hrólf tried to counter with his hammer, but Grimmjow was already adapting to the rhythm of his movements. He slipped beneath the swing, drove his shoulder into Hrólf’s chest, and sent the Viking stumbling backward.

Then his tail wrapped tightly around Hrólf’s ankle. Grimmjow pulled, forcing Hrólf to lose his footing, and the Sin of Wrath brought both claws down in a ferocious arc.

KRAAAAAAASH!

The Viking hit the ground hard enough to create another enormous crater.

Grimmjow stood over him. “What’s wrong, old man?” His grin became downright monstrous. “Where’s all that confidence?”

Hrólf remained silent for a moment. Then… he started laughing—a deep, booming laugh that echoed across the entire arena.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” He pushed himself upright, blood running from his mouth. “Now THAT’S a fight!”

Grimmjow’s smile twitched. “…You really are an annoying old bastard.”

“AND YOU’RE A DAMN GOOD DRAUGR!”

Hrólf slammed his hammer against the ground. The runes on his belt, gloves, and weapon ignited simultaneously. But this time, the energy didn’t gather around his body—it spread outward. Across the arena floor, thousands of glowing runic symbols began appearing.

Shunsui’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s…”

Ixbalanqué leaned forward. “A battlefield formation.”

Gabriel’s smile grew. “Oh?”

Hrólf raised his hammer high. “NINEFOLD STORM!”

The runes beneath Grimmjow’s feet activated. A pillar of lightning erupted from the ground, followed immediately by another, and another. Nine enormous pillars rose around the arena in a circular formation, connecting to one another through streams of raw electricity to create a massive storm cage.

Grimmjow leaped backward, but the lightning pursued him. He dodged one pillar, then another, only for a third to erupt directly in his path.

BOOM!

He was thrown sideways. Hrólf didn’t waste the opening. He raised his hammer, and the nine pillars began converging toward a single point.

The entire arena flashed a blinding blue.

“THUNDER GOD’S HAMMER!”

A gigantic construct of pure lightning materialized above the Viking. It resembled an enormous hammer—several times larger than the original—with intricate runes carved into its surface.

Hrólf swung his weapon, and the massive construct followed the motion.

Grimmjow looked up. “…Oh, you bastard.”

The lightning hammer came crashing down.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The arena disappeared beneath a colossal explosion. For several seconds, the entire colosseum was illuminated by a blinding blue-white light.

When the dust settled, Grimmjow had clearly seen better days. His arms and legs were gone, leaving him looking basically like a charred corpse in the middle of the arena. He was alive, but damn, did that shit hurt. He had not yet fully adapted to the lightning, and the vastly higher voltage had thoroughly fried his ass.

Hrólf stood above Grimmjow’s beaten body, watching as the Hollow’s frame clearly began to heal.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a while,” the man chuckled before looking down at Grimmjow. “Do not feel disheartened. You are by far the strongest Draugr I have fought in a long time.”

If Grimmjow could speak, he would be furious by now. He had lost. Goddammit, he lost.

“Get stronger… next time we meet, I will not spare you.” And with that, Hrólf walked off as the barriers went down.

The Vikings were having an absolute blast; their mighty leader had won, and they were celebrating like crazy.

However, Shunsui was not having such a good time—and honestly, neither was Hrólf. He, along with all the other leaders present, had realized the horrifying truth: it had taken him practically going all-out just to beat a Sin.

The Horsemen were way stronger. The gap between a Sin and a Horseman was as massive as a regular person versus Lionel Messi in terms of soccer ability. Yes, the disparity was that wide on average. A Horseman should be capable of beating all the Sins by themselves… though Lucius was making that math really complicated.

To put it bluntly: if the Sins were bosses, then the Horsemen were full-on raid bosses, requiring multiple top-tier fighters just to stall them, let alone defeat them.

And then… there was Gabriel.

Gabriel could wipe out their entire civilization by himself, and no one could stop him. He gapped them by a mile, especially since he could simply strip them of the power he had granted them. If he wanted to, he could pull a Yhwach and recall all the power he gave out, reclaiming all those OP abilities for himself—and all of that was excluding the Beast of the End.

Long story short: anything short of a Soul King-level fighter with overpowered abilities wouldn’t even stand a chance.

A/N Shit came late, i had work one, and i decided to make it 4k words.(4132 to be exact)

Yes, Gabriel is op, he is supposed to Sora equal at some point{Not rn though}

I am still iffy on final boss, i am between soul king fused ywach, or complete Hogyoku Aizen with soul king power.

Or fuse them both.

For Ichigo safety i shall not include him.