Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In the end, we are all reduced to nothing. Peace is exclusively found in the void, in death, in nonexistence. It is a cruel joke to have something so lovely right at your fingertips, just to have it stolen away. Ulquiorra Cifer should be dead, he was dead, and he wants to be dead. But . . . he isn't.
Many die clinging to the hope that a divine force will grant them another chance. When Ulquiorra was dying on top of the dome, he found comfort in believing that such a ludicrous notion could not be true. One can easily imagine his disappointment when he first realized he had been resurrected.
One week has passed since he roused from his would-be eternal slumber. One long, wretched, week. Pathetically powerless, Ulquiorra has been trailing along the silvery dunes of Hueco Mundo ever since.
Instinct leads him to Las Noches, or what's left of it. The Winter War has left it virtually unrecognizable. About half of it, including the aforementioned dome, no longer stands. When it comes to war, destruction is unavoidable.
As he approaches the palace, a group of three familiar Arrancar surrounds him. He recognizes them as Harribel's fraccion; Franceska Mila Rose, Emilou Apacci, and Cyan Sung-Sun. The three beasts, or Las Tres Bestias, circle him like a pack of ravenous wolves.
The tallest member, Mila Rose, nudges her zanpakuto against his neck and begins to speak, "Hm, we figured that spiritual pressure could only belong to you. State your business, Ulquiorra."
Insulted, he grabs her sword and attempts to push it aside. "I am not required to answer a subordinate."
"Your ranking isn't relevant anymore, pipsqueak," Apacci says while leaning in, her toothy grin merely an inch away from his face.
"That's right, Ulquiorra. A lot has changed in the last three years," Mila Rose says, tilting his chin up with her zanpakuto. "Poor thing, look how weak he is now."
"Enough, you two!" Sung-Sun calls out from behind her sleeve. "Lady Harribel is waiting. We shouldn't waste her valuable time. Apacci, be useful for once in your life and grab him."
"Bossy bitch," Appaci mutters as she approaches Ulquiorra. Much to his surprise, she forces him onto his knees by slightly spiking her spiritual pressure. Before he can fully process the situation, he hoists him back up and binds his wrists together behind his back with reishi. The three women haul him into the deteriorating building, loudly bickering along the way.
No. Such inferior spiritual pressure should not affect him. He wonders how he, the Cuatro, has become so weak. The fact that these weaklings can push him around with ease is, for lack of a better word, worrisome.
It doesn't take long before they make their way through the grand alabaster doors leading into the throne room. Apacci snickers and pushes him onto the floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Hearing footsteps, he peers up and notices Harribel's green eyes glaring at her disciples behind her lush lashes. "That is no way to treat our guest, Apacci."
"Lady Harribel, I tried to tell these two brutes to be more gentle with him but they wouldn't listen!" Sung-Sun whines. In response, Franceska lets out a growl. "What did you just call me!?"
Before anybody else can get a word in, Harribel holds her palm out, ceasing the annoying chatter. "Please, pardon my friends. They can be rather rude at times. Allow me to help you stand, Ulquiorra."
"Where is Lord Aizen?" he asks, ignoring her proposal.
"Ah, I knew you would ask. Fear not, he is no longer a concern of ours. The snake known as Sosuke Aizen is rotting away in prison," Harribel says as she gently pulls him up onto his feet. "It is I who has taken his place."
He narrows his eyes and looks off, trying to process all of this new information. He can't quite decipher if Aizen's defeat is something to celebrate, detest, or brush off. Either way, he cannot say that this is shocking news.
With Harribel being one of the more rational Espada, her detest for the former monarch of Hueco Mundo strikes him as odd. While he would like to learn what Aizen has done to deserve such slander, there are many more important matters to fret about.
"I see. Enough about him, he is irrelevant now. How was I resurrected?"
As if she was dreading this question, she bows her head down. "I'm afraid I do not have an explanation for that. Quite a few Numeros and Espada have come back from the dead within the last two years," Harribel says while running a finger across the arm of her marble throne. "Similarly to you, each of the resurrected has lost most of their reiatsu."
"That explains why I am so weak at the moment. I assume this loss is permanent?"
"It is complicated," she answers with a sigh. "From what I've observed from the others, I believe only about half of your reiatsu will ever return."
Though Ulquiorra has many more questions, for his own sake, he decides to leave it at that. The amount of information he has received in the last few minutes is almost too much to digest at once. Losing his strength is already proving to be difficult, if not impossible, to accept. With no master and no ability to defend himself, he has no purpose.
Harribel places a hand on his shoulder, snapping him back into reality. "I recommend you stay here. If you wander around the desert in your vulnerable state, death is inevitable."
"Very well," he says without much thought. It's not like he has much of a choice. Unfortunately, he's in such a pitiful condition that hiding is the only logical option. "I would like to resume my status as a permanent resident, if possible," he adds.
"There is no need to ask for permission, this is your home. It's a pleasure to have you here, Cuatro. Apacci, may you please show Ulquiorra to his quarters?"
"Of course, Lady Harribel," she says, approaching the two Espada. As she begins to restrain him, Harribel stops her. "That's not necessary. Ulquiorra is trustworthy."
Although a bit hesitant, Apacci slowly lets go of him and steps back. "As you wish," she says with a raised brow. Turning to Ulquiorra, she beckons him towards the door. "Follow me."
Silently accompanying Appaci down the vast hallways, Ulquiorra observes Arrancar of all sorts making various repairs to the palace. Now and again, some pause to gape at him, whispering amongst each other.
He follows her to the door leading to his bedroom, relieved to see that it has somehow remained intact. Entering the room, he lets out a sharp breath. He is standing here, alive. This is reality.