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Unknown location.
Muto marched through a long hall at a brisk pace. Their form-fitting combat uniform was noticeably damaged, as if they had barely escaped from within a blaze. In fact, the fabric on their abdomen was completely burnt off, revealing their well-shaped muscles. The exposed pale skin was singed. A scowl marred their beautiful face, and their fingers clutched the hilt of their kaiken-shaped Zanpakutō.
Arrogance was not a trait that one would associate with Muto. Neither was overconfidence or ignorance. They were strong, strong enough to match the power of Captains that led the Divisions of the Gotei 13. Some of them, at least, for they were fully aware that a few boasted power that far surpassed something a mere mortal should be able to achieve and wield. Nevertheless, that was the first time they encountered and confronted someone they were virtually powerless against on their own. The first time they were unable to accomplish their goal, and had to retreat. Muto's life was devoid of primitive desires and pastimes. They had a mission, and any setback they suffered, however rare, was a reason to fret.
Unimportant. They should not allow emotions to cloud their judgement. Far too much depended on it. No loss at this stage was decisive, and there were many more tasks to perform in the coming days. Each one a single step toward reaching the ultimate goal. That was more important.
As they lifted their head and stared forward, the large wooden doors before them opened with a protracted creak, seemingly on their own. Subsequently, Muto walked into a vast, poorly lit room that was mostly empty. Be that as it may, its walls were adorned by rows of stained-glass windows. The hybrid moved past them, paying them little heed. They had long memorised all of them. They depicted a black-haired angel possessed of wings of brilliant light, leapt upon by a bearded demon who was trailed by pitch black darkness; a young warrior wreathed in flames facing a giant, masked beast; a great, bloody battle between dark swordsmen and archers of light. And many, many other beings and events from the distant past.
Everything was eclipsed by the one true point of interest in the room, however: the throne. Raised high on a podium, and placed in front of large clear windows, it was bathed in the glow of the fake sun that filtered through them. And there he was, sat upon the throne, an indistinct shadow amongst the eye-watering shine. Ostensibly a man, tall and clad in robes, a mere man, yet his spiritual presence was overwhelming. One could scarcely comprehend how was it contained not just by the castle he dwelled in, but the whole pocket dimension he had fashioned for it. The opposite was true, though: his presence maintained the dimension in its current form. Such was the extent of his power.
"You have returned, child", a deep, booming voice resounded across the room. "What is the matter? I see that you have sustained damage."
Once Muto reached a spot about a dozen metres away from the throne, they immediately knelt before him. They respected him, revered him. But even those not inclined to show him proper respect would be forced to do so, crushed by the immense weight of his spiritual pressure. His voice was commanding, eerily monotone, with but the slightest hint of concern as he spoke.
"During my mission to Hueco Mundo I accidentally discovered a threat more grave than the Tres Pilares combined. An Arrancar possessed of enormous power."
The shadow moved almost imperceptibly.
"A powerful Arrancar? Did you not tell me about one a decade ago? The one who had somehow escaped from Hell itself?"
Muto shook their head.
"Another one, Master. One who can copy the abilities of others, regardless of their race. There has been... unrest in Hueco Mundo lately, and I believe his emergence is responsible for that. Even though I fought him with a few chance allies of convenience on my side, we did not manage to inflict any meaningful damage. He slayed some of them with nary an effort, and only the arrival of the Tres Pilares spurred him to withdraw."
"Most intriguing", deemed the Archon with something that sounded like mild interest at best. "Could you perhaps tell me more about him?"
Muto pondered for a while.
"Presumably owing to his ability, his spiritual pressure felt... chimaeric. He was extremely strong, stronger than anyone I have fought before. And in some ways, he...", they hesitated.
"Please finish, child. Speak your mind freely."
Muto bit their lip, anxious, then decided to continue.
"In some ways, his presence was similar to yours, Master. Vast, unique, and ancient."
The shadow reclined visibly. For some time, there was only silence.
"So, he has finally returned...", the Archon said quietly. "The first Arrancar..."
Muto was surprised, but only slightly. An educated guess was the least that the Archon could offer under any conceivable circumstances. Most of the time it seemed as though he knew everything, nigh-omniscient.
"Do you recognise him, Master?", they asked more in order to elicit an explanation rather than actually confirm what they suspected.
"Yes, child. Averian the Pretender, the one who dared defy the God-King of Hueco Mundo himself. Averian the Devourer, who seems to continue the eternal quest to quench his insatiable hunger."
"What should we do about him, Master? His actions will surely spark another large-scale conflict if we leave him to his own devices", remarked Muto.
"For now, nothing", declared the Archon rather nonchalantly. "I am curious to see what he manages to accomplish in the short time that this broken world has left."
The hybrid almost objected, but refrained from doing so in the end. The Master was not to be questioned, only obeyed.
"As you wish."
"Now, please take some rest, child. There are many tasks ahead of you, although I do not want you to strain yourself. You will set out only when you are ready", with those words, the man waved his seemingly thin arm, casting a weird, distorted shadow upon the floor.
Right afterward, several figures emerged from the darkness that enveloped his podium. Dressed in ghost white robes, they were soon revealed to possess pink, eyeless faces with nebulous features. They were Blanks, amnesiac Souls who lived in the Valley of Screams. Not ordinary Blanks, however, but ones that were given new purpose by the will of the Archon, and moulded into loyal servants. They reached toward Muto in what was likely a silent display of concern, and led them toward a room in which they could treat their wounds.
Meanwhile, the Archon remained alone in the vast throne room, brooding.
"Another unexpected development... another favourable occurrence that we barely had any influence upon. The fruit is almost ripe for the taking", he said.
If a hypothetical observer proved determined enough, they would be able to make out a cold smile outstretch on his shadowed face.