Down in the Hollow, leaving so soon?

[moonsheen]

It crawled out of an alley, twice the size of a large dog, back arched and moving at a slow lope. The boy saw it right away and dropped his ball. It was black and white, with high flanks and thin legs, larger in the back than in the front. It was the funniest looking animal he’d ever seen, and it must have thought the same as him, because it stopped, shivered, and swiveled its long ears his way. Its eyes seemed to be on him, though he couldn’t be sure, from the distance he stood he could only see that they were very large, very round, and very dark. It shivered again, more strongly, and cringed back a little.

“Hullo,” said the boy uncertainly.

“Hullo,” said the animal, much to his surprise. It had a small, breezy voice that made the back of his neck prickle. He picked up his ball and held it out. It was a magic creature, then. Magic creatures had to be respected. If I’m nice enough, he thought, maybe it’ll grant me a wish. It slid forward cautiously, low to the ground, tipping its pale head like it was considering.

“Wanna play?” he asked. It stopped. He could see a pair of little white lights trembling in each of its blacker than black eyes. “Do you know how to catch?”

“Catch,” said the creature, and shook so hard it had to fix its footing. “Catch.” It jolted up, began to skitter forward more surely, and the boy began to think: wait. no. maybe this isn’t such a good idea—

A line opened in the road; left of a narrow approaching forepaw. Dirt flew. Something clacked; the animal gave a high, alarmed shriek and shot off the road. It left no footprints. The boy had dropped his ball again; he scooped it up again quickly. For a moment he felt a warm breeze pass over him, ruffling his hair like fingers. It’s getting late, he thought. I think I’ll go home.

Later he’d tell his mother about the encounter: how he saw a large, mangy dog that had looked very hungry—and how he’d kept his distance from the stray, like a good boy. He would remember it no other way.



The hollow wasn’t a large one, in comparison to others the shinigami had fought. It wasn’t a terribly aggressive one, either—but it was fast and built for escape, and that complicated things a bit. Still, the shinigami was fast too. The hollow hadn’t managed to steer out of his sights. He cornered it in a backstreet by some barrels, and when it sprung panting from the ground to the rooftops he followed, watching its bobbing dark form against the red tile. He’d nicked it. It ran with its head crooked to the side.

He wasn’t expecting the break in its stride when it happened. The shinigami was nearly on the hollow when it hooked its forepaws around the neck of a stone statue, spun around and reversed itself, strafing his shoulder as it dived back the way it had come. He let the momentum carry him and his blade full circle. He hit it. One of its front legs folded as it landed on the next roof over. It squealed loudly and shoved itself mask first back into the streets. The shinigami was soon behind it. His toes had barely touched the ground again before he sidestepped a kick from those vicious hindquarters. The hollow slid as it tumbled, chest in the dirt, moaning miserably. The shinigami approached. The lights in its eyes contracted into points finer than his sword’s edge.

He struck quickly, meaning for an end, but the hollow had enough fight left in it that it could propel itself backwards and into the wall with a nasty crack. It fell in a flail of remaining limbs, shaking its head—its right heel left exposed. He cut it at the bony joint. The hollow, disabled, severed, speed its only grace, screamed its defeat. It screamed, screamed and screamed and thrashed until parts of its mask were hanging by a thin membrane of the Fear that had possessed its existence and its voice had managed to form itself into words.

“No,” it sobbed. “No. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to. Nononono--”

The shinigami stopped—an action that would have brought him under a superior’s critical eye, if one had been present to witness it. “…you were a little girl,” he said, startled, because a hollow child was rare enough that he’d never seen one before. “Weren’t you.”

The wretched thing quieted. Shaking, trying to press its face into the one forepaw it had left. “No no no. ” It whimpered, long ears pressed flat against its spine. “Yes.”

“Did you have a name?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember it?”

“No.”

Of course not, he thought. What am I doing. “Are you afraid?”

“…yes.”

“Why?”

“Hungry,” it whined. Its jaw jerked. The broken bits of its mask flickered like cracked eggshells. “Hungry.”

“I see…and did you want to play? You were attacking that boy, you know,” his voice held mild reproach. The hollow flinched; the bottom curve of an eye socket had fallen away.

“I can catch,” she--because she sounded like a girl again, proud and petulant in the face of a scolding--sniffed. “I can play /catch/.”

“You would have hurt him.”

She hung her head. “…I know.”

“Come here.”

“Hungry--”

“You won’t be for too much longer. Come here.” She did, worming as near as her body could take her. The shinigami knelt and began plucking the loose pieces of her mask away. There were more than he would have guessed, and nearly her entire face came clear—his teachers from Academy would have been furious with him. She’d obviously died of illness; that little face was white and thinner than it had any right to be. “Shh…” he said, and he found he had to steady his voice. “You’ve had it very badly, haven’t you?”

“Mother went someplace,” the child confessed, and that was all he needed to hear. He could picture a number of scenarios: roving spirit in the streets, fixed one waiting in an empty house. The shinigami didn’t know which it was, and never would. “I’m hungry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Food?”

“No. Just no hunger. It’s somewhere I can take you, somewhere you’re supposed to go now. It’ll hurt a little, but after, you won’t be hungry anymore and--”

“Will mother be there?” The little girl looked up at him; she must have been pretty when she was alive and healthy. She had wide blue eyes, and glossy black hair. A strand of it fell in her face. He brushed it away for her.

He’d never had the heart for lies. “Someone will be there.” It was the most he could promise. Her eyes lit up. It was enough, then.

“Ok.”

“Good,” said the shinigami, relieved. Pressing her to his chest a moment—the form was hollow shaped but it didn’t feel so far from child shaped anymore—Aizen Sousuke smiled, took a breath, and raised his sword.