Number Three

Silas replied, "You... Are no longer Barragan. The old king and his rebellious spirit are but dust now."

The Espada watched, their gazes darting between Silas and the reconstructed Barragan. A tremor of unease ran through them. This was something beyond their comprehension. They had witnessed Barragan's destruction, and yet, here he stood, seemingly reborn.

Silas offered his hand, his gaze intense as he declared, "Your new name is 'Neobarra'."

That name was a combination of Neo and Barragan, meaning "New Barragan".

Neobarra tilted his head, frowning and creasing his brow. "Neobarra?" he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue as though unfamiliar.

Silas nodded, saying, "Yes. You will serve me. You will help me rebuild Hueco Mundo and make it a realm more grand than the others."

Neobarra's eyes seemed to be filled with recognition. He straightened his posture, a new sense of purpose radiating from him as he said, "Serve you?" His voice was devoid of the old Barragan's arrogance, replaced by true loyalty. "It will be an honour, my lord."

A murmur of awe rippled through the Espada. This display of power was unlike anything they had ever witnessed before.

Aizen, with all his intellect and cunningness, would never have dared such a feat. This Silas, however, possessed the ability to do something neither Aizen nor Barragan could truly do: manipulate death itself.

Ulquiorra stepped forward and said, "If I may ask, lord Ichigo…"

"Go on, Ulquiorra."

Although Ulquiorra's tone was soft, like a blank slate, he still had a hint of awe. So he asked, "May I know how you knew of my Segunda Etapa, my lord?"

This was indeed the first time anyone had ever heard of a second Resurrección. The other Espada murmured, their eyes wide with a mixture of dread and respect for their new leader's knowledge.

Silas answered, "My familiarity with you all is far beyond that of Aizen or any other being you have encountered. I've watched you and read about you since before your creation, knowing your likes and dislikes as well as all your secrets."

A shiver ran down Nnoitra's spine. He, who relished a good fight, couldn't help but feel fear in the face of such absolute power. If he didn't understand why Barragan didn't stand a chance, now he does. This wasn't just about strength; it was about supremacy over the very fabric of existence. 

"However," Silas continued, his voice taking on a softer tone. "Fear is not what I seek from you. Loyalty, on the other hand…" He paused, letting the silence play out. His gaze lingered on all the members, letting them understand he meant no harm so long as no one crossed him.

"Yammy, though dense, is powerful with extreme bouts of boredom; Ulquiorra, you're cold and callous, but brood indifferently. Nnoitra is crude and sadistic. Grimmjow, you're rather laid-back yet impulsive. Zommari can be calm and serious with a contemplative personality; Szayelaporro is a meticulous intellectual; Aaroniero enjoys toying with others; Cirucci is rather cocky and blunt; and Dordoni can be goofy yet loyal."

Silas addressed them all by name, showing his expertise. His voice was both cold and clear, identifying who they were without needing to overexert his knowledge.

"At any time, I can destroy and recreate any one of you with even greater power…"

Silence descended upon the chamber once more. With their minds racing, the Espada watched their leader. Silas's gaze landed back on Neobarra, who stood stoically near the pedestal, looking every bit like a loyal servant. A feint played on Silas's lips. 

"Follow me until the end," he finally declared. "Then you'll see a new creation of an army no one can stand against."

Some of the members, like Cirucci and Dordoni, let out a collective sigh of relief. They were grateful that their minds and positions as Espada members wouldn't be tarnished. Perhaps Silas wasn't as ruthless as they feared.

"However," Silas continued, his voice turning cold once more. "Loyalty is paramount. Disobedience, as you have witnessed, will not be tolerated."

The Espada bowed their heads in unison, all agreeing to fully serve Silas without question or doubt. Fear still lingered in their Hollow hearts, but it was mingled with grudging respect. Silas by no means was Aizen; he was something far more powerful, a being who commanded both respect and awe in the eyes of men, Soul Reapers, and Hollows.

Not even the king of all Souls could match his greatness.

Silas's gaze then fell upon Sol, now filled with curiosity. "Sol," he addressed.

"Y-yes, lord Ichigo?"

"Come here and kneel," Silas commanded.

Sol obeyed without question. He dropped to his knees next to the pedastal and lowered his head, bowing before his king.

Silas raised both hands, one hovering over the Hōgyoku and the other over the Great Hollow's head. A surge of energy erupted from his palms as tendrils of dark purple light emanating from the Hōgyoku wrapped all around Sol's body.

The Espada watched in stunned silence, having already witnessed this scene before. The transformation was swift and painless. Sol's fur retreated, replaced by smooth, pale skin. His body became slightly slimmer, and his mask began to change. When the transformation subsided, a figure stood before them—a spitting image of Starrk.

In unison, the Espada gasped. What Silas had done was turn Sol into an Arrancar, much like they were. The process was much quicker and more easily executed than what they remembered. And they knew it was a success when they noticed Sol carrying a Zanpakutō.

With a blank face, Silas lowered his hand. He then gestured towards a metallic table at the side of the chamber. 

"Stand here," he instructed the newly-formed Arrancar.

Sol did as he was instructed, despite his impressed look. Silas retrieved a small, wicked-looking blade from the table and approached Sol with it.

In all of Bleach, it was never revealed how the Espada retrieved their tattoos. Was it carved with someone's spiritual pressure? Was it tattooed on them personally? And if the latter, what sort of material was hard enough to pierce their dense skins?

Silas, after having resided in Las Noches, knew.

He took the blade and poured his spiritual pressure into it. He then pressed it against the back of Sol's left hand and, with a swift motion, carved the Espada's trademark tattoo—the number three—on his skin. It was surely painful, but Sol hadn't let a yelp escape his lips.