Gabriel's gaze went to the arena. He knew who would win this fight. It would be Lázaro nine times out of ten.
Lázaro's base stats were above Caeloro's by a huge margin. Let's say Lázaro was an 89; thus, Caeloro would be somewhere around 60 to 70—lower than Lázaro.
If it was back when the kingdom was first being made, Lázaro might have even been nominated as a Horseman.
He had gotten way stronger after the war, especially with the resources the kingdom gave out to its civilians. Everyone was pushed to get stronger, even if it was just 1%—especially the Sins.
At the beginning of the year, Gabriel made a perfect copy of them, and by the end of the year, they fought that copy—who had all their strength and abilities from the beginning of the year—and their goal was to beat it.
The goal was simple: defeat it to prove you got stronger and didn't stagnate. The higher your growth, the more rewards you received.
Lázaro may or may not have tried to be slick and hold back at the beginning of the year to fight a weaker version of himself, but apparently, when His Majesty said perfect copy, he meant that shit.
Oh well.
Speaking of which, he hadn't seen Lilith in a while. Her ass usually liked messing around a bit.
Oh well, he was sure she was draining her current husband. Adam was his name?
As soon as the bell rang, Lázaro decided to put all of that behind him. He had a fight to win, after all.
He moved first, immediately using Sonido at full fucking speed. He had watched Caeloro fight, and this guy seemed fun.
Lázaro wanted to push him and see what kind of monster moves he would pull out.
He appeared directly in front of Caeloro, his fist already cocked back.
"Hello there."
BAM
The arena shook a bit, the Fullbringers working in order to keep the barrier safe. Technically, they could make sure none of the effects of the power could be felt by the spectators.
But one, Hollows loved the spectacle and wanted to feel that effect—like going to a movie and watching that shit in 3D. It felt more real, more immersive that way.
And two, it was a show of power, as if to show the spectators—especially the outsiders—that: We did not get soft. We can still whoop your ass.
The hard part was finding the sweet spot where it was still immersive but, at the same time, didn't tip off the outsiders that this was a conscious choice.
The impact of the blow had Caeloro's ribs folding in on themselves. It felt like getting hit by the force of a fighter jet going Mach 600. It hurt like a motherfucker.
The crowd loved every second of it. The citizens roared. This was so exciting.
Caeloro coughed a lot of blood.
"Oh... that actually hurt." He had a big-ass smile on his face as if assessing the threat.
"A few more of those hits and I might actually die from this." If one looked closer, you could see a light bulge appearing in his pants.
Little needed to be said—Caeloro was excited. Fighting someone who could one-shot him was like the biggest drug you could give him.
He loved that shit.
His human blood began pumping like crazy. {It can be human side or human blood; I only remember I said he was the product of a Fullbringer and Hollow. I don't know if I went with him just being a Nephilim, though.}
"Well, of course I do. I am not weak," Lázaro said with a smile.
"Now then, show me what you got." Lázaro then dashed at him at full speed.
A second strike—this time Lázaro's knee made full contact with Caeloro's sternum, the shockwave from the blow rippling outward in a perfect circle.
Before Caeloro could fully absorb the impact, Lázaro's finger brushed across his shoulder.
Index.
Caeloro immediately felt it. Something was happening.
He felt his reaction time get a picosecond slower. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.
Lázaro stepped back just enough to avoid the backhand Caeloro sent at him. He was quite calm.
He was, of course, faster than the boy.
And he could have just taken all the boy's power with a touch since, you know, the boy was weaker than him. It was only a passive drain when the opponent was around or stronger than his level.
So you may be asking yourself: why wouldn't Lázaro just end it already?
Well, it was simple... he was a bit sadistic. Oh, shocker—the guy who pissed on a beat-up opponent was a bit sadistic. All this to say, he wanted to crush his opponent when they were at their strongest. He wanted to see the despair on their face. It brought him joy.
Meanwhile, in the stands—
"He is toying with him." The Captain-Commander knew that. Lázaro was showing some strength, but this level was still far below what he had shown before.
And he knew, at a bare fucking minimum, everyone's power would have at least doubled—if not increased tenfold—compared to their power in Soul Society.
Which should be way too fucking high considering only a few years had passed.
However, from what Mayuri was able to find out from his fight with the berserker—the fat guy {I don't like Yammy, if you couldn't tell}—
After studying some of the leftover flesh, Mayuri and Kisuke were able to figure out the Hollows had no limiters. As in, they didn't reach a point where they began to stagnate.
Which meant the longer this empire stayed around, the stronger they would get while the Shinigami stagnated.
They needed to have a deal soon.
Or in twenty years... there would be no hope of ever catching up to them. The average Hollow strength might just reach Captain level, and by then, they would be fucked.
Meanwhile, in the arena—
Lázaro had just dislocated Caeloro's jaw, his middle finger having made contact with the boy.
A punch into a roundhouse kick sent Caeloro crashing into the ring. Shit hurt like a motherfucker.
But...
Lázaro's ring finger had made contact... which meant only two were left before the constant draining began.
From Gabriel's throne, his eyes sharpened slightly.
"He's already taken three," Harribel observed quietly.
In the pit, the dust cleared.
Caeloro was kneeling in the crater, breathing heavier now. Slower. His aura flickered unevenly.
And yet—
He was smiling wider than ever.
"You're stealing me piece by piece," he said, voice shaking with excitement. "That's hot."
"Glad someone likes my style," Lázaro said with a smile.
He stepped forward—
Caeloro exploded upward in a burst of neon light, barely dodging the next strike.
"You think I don't feel it?" he laughed. "You're better right now. Faster. Stronger. I'm being pressed."
Thumb.
Contact.
The moment Lázaro's fifth finger brushed across Caeloro's collarbone, something shifted.
Caeloro staggered mid-step.
His physical strength plummeted.
Across from him, a clone manifested—Lieutenant-level spiritual density humming through its frame—but carrying Caeloro's stolen speed and strength.
The clone lunged instantly.
Caeloro barely blocked in time—arms shaking under the impact.
Lázaro advanced behind it.
From the stands, Shunsui exhaled slowly.
"He's already lost the opening exchange."
Yoruichi grinned.
"This is nice."
In the arena, Caeloro laughed breathlessly as he was driven backward by his own stolen power.
"You're bullying me," he said through clenched teeth. "I love it."
The clone struck again. Lázaro moved in from the blind side, palm reaching—
And that was when the air changed.
A phantom roulette wheel tore open the sky above them, spinning wildly. Slot machines, dice, cards—illusions layered over reality as the domain expanded, swallowing the battlefield whole.
"Jackpot Domain—" Caeloro whispered, eyes glowing manic gold and crimson, "—Casino del Infierno."
/
The roulette wheel above the arena continued its furious rotation, neon fire casting warped reflections across the shattered stone below.
Lázaro stood in the center of it all, coat fluttering slightly in the distorted air. For the first time since the match began—
He smiled.
Not a smirk.
A wide, deliberate grin.
"I could simply wait," he said calmly, voice carrying through the domain's warped acoustics. "I could wait for you to get your immortality. Then I take the rest of you."
Across from him, Caeloro's eyes burned with manic light.
He spat blood to the side.
"No," he growled, grin stretching unnaturally. "It's only fun if my life's on the line. Give me your fucking all."
And he charged.
The ground ruptured under his step. He appeared in front of Lázaro with reckless speed, throwing a vicious roundhouse kick aimed at his temple.
Lázaro leaned back just enough for it to pass, the air splitting from the force.
Caeloro pivoted instantly into a straight punch—
—and Lázaro countered.
The punch he threw wasn't flashy. It wasn't loud.
It was precise.
His fist tore through Caeloro's forearms with surgical brutality, severing both arms at the mid-bicep in a spray of blood and neon-lit particles.
The crowd gasped.
Caeloro didn't scream.
He laughed.
His severed arms spun through the air—and in a grotesque display of desperation and thrill, he twisted his torso, catching one of them in his teeth, jerking his body to intercept a descending strike from Lázaro's clone. The clone's blade-like hand smashed against the limp limb instead of his skull.
"Improvising?" Lázaro asked mildly.
Above them, darkness gathered.
"Ceros Oscuras."
Lázaro opened his mouth.
A sphere of black energy condensed instantly—dense, violent, humming with compressed annihilation. The air around it cracked and peeled, the domain lights flickering under its gravity.
He fired.
The beam swallowed the arena in a straight line of obliteration.
It struck Caeloro head-on.
There was no scream.
No resistance.
The blast erased his upper body entirely—shoulders, chest, head—reduced to ash in less than a heartbeat. What remained of him—his lower half—collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Silence fell.
Smoke drifted upward.
Lázaro lowered his head slightly, expression cool.
"For all that talk," he said flatly, "you were weak."
In the stands, tension dissolved into murmurs.
Rukia exhaled slowly.
"...That's it?"
Yoruichi frowned. "That blast—he didn't even try to dodge."
Byakuya's gaze remained fixed on the arena floor. "It was not survivable."
Shunsui's eyes narrowed slightly. "That Cero... its density was absurd."
From the northern delegation, Hrólf Stormbearer let out a deep grunt of approval.
"That beam," he said, lightning crackling faintly along his hammer's head, "had weight. I wouldn't take it head-on either. Better to sidestep than test pride."
One of his warriors nodded. "It would have scarred even you, my lord."
Hrólf smirked. "Scarred, Us son of Odin are not afraid of anything. Killed? No. But troublesome."
Beside him, Ixbalanqué Ajaw-Tezcat watched in contemplative silence. His painted fingers traced faint glyphs in the air, sensing the residual distortion.
"It ended too cleanly," the Shaman murmured.
Hrólf raised a brow. "You doubt it?"
Ixbalanqué did not answer immediately.
In the Shinigami section, Shunsui adjusted his hat slightly lower over his eyes.
"...That gambler didn't strike me as someone who'd go out that quietly," he said.
Rukia blinked. "Captain Commander?"
Shunsui's gaze drifted upward.
Above the arena.
"...Look."
The roulette wheel was still spinning.
Not slowing.
Not fading.
Spinning.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The neon lights flickered erratically, as if reality itself was buffering.
Ixbalanqué's eyes widened slightly.
"The domain persists."
Hrólf's grin faded a fraction. "Then the man's not done."
On the arena floor, Lázaro's smile thinned.
The severed lower half of Caeloro twitched.
Above them, glowing letters burned into existence beside the spinning wheel:
{Pseudo Spin}
The clicking intensified.
The air began to reverse—dust lifting from the ground, ash pulling backward through space like time itself was inhaling.
Shunsui's eyes sharpened.
"...Ah."
Another word ignited in hellfire script.
{Rewind}
And the wheel—
—kept spinning.
The ash reversed.
Particles that had been scattered into nothingness began pulling back together, drawn upward as if reality itself had changed its mind. Bone reformed. Muscle rewove. Skin stitched itself back into place in luminous strands of neon light.
The severed lower half on the ground dissolved into motes and flowed upward—
—and Caeloro Fortuna stepped forward fully intact.
Breathing.
Grinning.
Very much alive.
The arena erupted into chaos.
"What—?!" several Hollows shouted in unison.
Lázaro's smile faded into something colder.
"You were erased," he said evenly. "Explain."
Caeloro rolled his neck, cracking it lazily as the roulette wheel continued spinning above them.
"Pseudo Spin," he replied, tapping his temple. "Didn't hit jackpot. Didn't need to."
The neon glyphs above flickered again.
{Pseudo Spin – Success}
Lázaro's eyes narrowed slightly. "Time reversal?"
"Damage negation," Caeloro corrected cheerfully. "When I'm fighting someone stronger? The house lets me reroll the outcome. If luck's on my side... that attack? Never happened."
He spread his arms theatrically.
"You killed me."
He leaned forward, grin widening.
"But the table said, 'Try again.'"
The crowd buzzed.
In the stands, Rukia stared, stunned.
"That blast... it connected. I saw it."
Shunsui nodded slowly.
"You did. We all did."
Hrólf Stormbearer leaned forward in his seat, lightning dimming slightly around his hammer.
"So he wagers the strike itself," the Norse warlord muttered. "If fate favors him, the blow is undone."
Ixbalanqué's gaze sharpened. "Not pure fate. Structured chance."
Below, Lázaro attacked again—this time without hesitation.
He vanished and reappeared at Caeloro's flank, driving a palm strike into his ribs with bone-shattering force.
The impact landed.
Crack.
Caeloro's torso twisted unnaturally—
—but the wheel spun again.
Click.
Click.
{Pseudo Spin}
The sound reversed.
The crack un-cracked.
Lázaro's palm passed through empty air as Caeloro reappeared half a step away, untouched.
"Second one," Caeloro sang lightly. "Consecutive effects. Four in a row and I don't just live..."
The roulette flickered brighter.
"I auto-jackpot."
Lázaro's clone lunged from behind, blade-hand aimed at Caeloro's spine.
It connected.
Pierced through.
Blood sprayed—
Click.
The image snapped back like a rewound film reel.
The blade missed.
Caeloro laughed, breathless with exhilaration.
"You see? If it misses on the reroll, that counts too. Misses build multiplier. Multiplier feeds the table."
Above them, numbers began forming beside the spinning wheel.
Multiplier: x2
In the stands, Byakuya's voice was ice.
"His technique revolves entirely around probability."
Shunsui nodded faintly. "Blackjack, by the looks of it." As for why he knew that, he spent more time in the red district than he did his own house, it was a miracle he wasnt someone baby daddy yet.
Ixbalanqué closed his eyes briefly, sensing the structure of the Domain.
"The roulette determines state. Cards determine advantage. If he draws a strong hand—royal flush, full house, high-value combinations—his fortune spikes."
Hrólf grunted. "And if the hand is poor?"
"It respins," the Shaman replied quietly. "At cost."
Below, Lázaro stepped back, reassessing.
"So your survival depends on chance."
Caeloro's grin sharpened.
"No."
The wheel clicked louder.
"It depends on how much I'm willing to gamble."
He lunged forward again—reckless, ecstatic.
Lázaro intercepted him mid-charge, slamming a knee into his abdomen with enough force to lift him off the ground. Caeloro coughed blood—
Click.
The moment reversed.
Third consecutive pseudo spin.
Multiplier: x3
Gasps rippled through the spectators.
"He's gambling his life every exchange," Rukia whispered.
Yoruichi found this exciting, the first fight was maybe a bore, but his domain had never been fully explained, but now, it was. So this guy was a bad match up for anyone who couldnt one shot him.
Or anyone who ability take a while to launch.
On the arena floor, Caeloro's eyes were wild with anticipation.
"One more," he whispered.
Lázaro moved to strike again—
—and the roulette wheel began glowing violently overhead.
A/N So In order to motivate myself to write more, if this story is ever dropped or not uploaded in for 3 month without it being finished, it mean Luxi won, he fully took over Gabriel, the story end if he fully take over because 1, its from Gabriel pov and they wont be any Gabriel pov if he dead and 2, This world is not ready to face him yet, they cannot win.