A/N: Hello! One-shot here! It's focusing on Grimmjow and a vital choice he makes in an attempt to free himself, and disobey Aizen.
: Hollow :
"If the whole world could not see, would you gouge your eyes out to walk with the blind? If the whole world could not hear, would you deafen your ears to the pleas of the helpless? You've been given the choice to do as you please, but remember; the blind cannot lead the blind, and the deaf cannot hear a single truth to speak to the world."
The vague memory of once being human eluded Grimmjow like the hole in his abdomen—like the mark of a hollow.
Like the arm he once had, and then had once more.
It eluded him like Ulquiorria's morbidly grotesque habit of stabbing people in the throat; the same place his hollow mark resided.
No. What eluded him about Ulquoirria was that ridiculously blind loyalty—that obedience that never seemed to carry any logic or have any grounds whatsoever.
Why? Why did they all follow so blindly? Why did they worship Aizen as though he were a god? It was true that when one disobeyed Aizen so blatantly, punishment would follow suit.
He still remembered the time he tried to leave the meeting, and Aizen's reiatsu shook the sixth espada to his very core. It struck terror in him—his eyes widening, pupils dilating, and hair standing up on end like that of frightened kitten.
Perhaps that was why he had been so angry; so infuriated—so disobedient.
He hated himself.
He was angry at himself.
So angry that he could not even be free to stand against Aizen without fear.
Surely, he had little respect for a man like Aizen—and yet, he had not the courage to disobey him as long as there was the knowledge of consequences.
Consequences…
The fear of losing one's life.
Your life would be the consequence of disobedience.
Grimmjow may have loved fighting—the excitement and adrenaline of the fight—the thrill of competition. He may have seemed somewhat psychotic and even sadistic. However, he was nothing compared to that man.
Aizen was a true psychopath. The kind that feared nothing, and felt nothing. He appeared polite, socially acceptable, even likable. And yet, one wrong move… one step on the wrong side of the line—your life would have ended in less than less of a moment.
Somehow, everyone found the man so attractive—so likeable.
That's what Grimmjow hated about him the most; his likeableness . He was so admirable, so noble among those on the other side—and yet, Grimmjow found nothing likeable about it. He hated it.
It was fake.
It was dishonest.
It was anything but noble.
"At least I have my honour," the sixth espada would repeat to himself, remembering his own code.
However, he had lost his honour the day he had given in to his fear of Aizen.
If he truly hated Aizen—truly despised his ways and every fibre of his being—he would have left. He would have betrayed the monster, tried to kill him, or something of the sort. Even if it had cost him his life—he should have at least tried.
But Grimmjow had pride.
He may have cried out in pain when his arm had been taken off by that blind man, Tousen—but he showed nothing more. He didn't curse, he didn't cry or scream or mourn the loss of his arm, nor his rank.
Not in front of those bastards, he wouldn't. Not until he was locked in the safety of his room would he crumble to the floor, gripping his mangled, bleeding arm, and curse—over, and over, and over again.
'Kuso, kuso, kuso, kuso! Kuso! Kuso! KUSO!'
The words came out like a flowing river, breaking through a weakened dam. Though they were meant to somehow relieve the frustration—the pain and the humiliation—they did nothing for his pride.
Thoughts of the orange-haired substitute shinigami kept flowing into his disoriented mind.
How he wanted to beat the shit out of him.
But he knew, with such broken pride—he could do nothing to the vaizard.
He heard the door to his room creaking open. Without even looking up, Grimmjow knew Ulquiorria had come for him.
"Aizen-sama has summoned you," he informed in that monotonously boring voice of his.
The blind cannot lead the blind.
The vague memory of those words—again—somewhere from his human life, kept returning to him. From where, he did not know.
"I won't be one of the blind," he hissed through his teeth, barely above a whisper. "Not like you."
He raised his turquoise eyes to meet the melancholy figure before him, rage filled in his every breath.
"Grimmjow," Ulquiorria began. "My eyes see everything."
Grimmjow snorted, an angry grin spreading across his face. "Shut the fuck up, and go get some make up remover."
Ulquioirra stared blankly, remaining unreactive to the insults of his fellow aranchar before turning and leaving.
"You are to go to the human world. Collect the souls of a hundred specific humans. Bring them back to Aizen-sama. That is your mission," he said as he disappeared out the hallway.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Midori! Hurry up and finish up with the cleaning! I don't want to have to wait for you all bloody night!"
Midori's deep emerald eyes darted from her angry mother to the large pile of dishes in the sink. She sighed.
"Yes mother."
It had been another gruellingly miserable day. Life at home was miserable, life at school just as miserable. Midori hardly slept, she hardly ate, and she certainly never went out anywhere. For some reason, she failed to make friends—and the ones she did make, she failed to keep for very long.
For whatever reason, Midori was simple different. She never understood why—but the knowledge of it was enough to change everything.
After completing whatever work there was to be done, the eighteen year old slipped away into the dark sanctuary of her room. It was lonely, but at least it was peaceful. Once locked away behind her protective wall, she threw herself down at her bed, embracing her pillow as though it were a lover. Burying her face in its warmth and softness, she let the tears flow, silently, but free. Sometimes the isolation became too much. Midori often wondered why she was so alone. She had been in love—wanted to be with a man whom she would have cared for with all her heart. Yet, there seemed to be a gap between them; a difference in being.
It was as though Midori was never meant for a human.
Rather, she was meant for a demon.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
If there was one thing Grimmjow hated, it was collecting the souls of the living. Not only did he feel like a gopher, he was a murdering one at that.
"Ninety-nine," he sing-songed to himself as he gathered the second last soul. Moving swiftly, the arranchar levitated into the air and in the direction of his final victim. As he approached, he sensed a strange aura coming from the home in which the final human lived. It was possible that this one simple had more spiritual power than the others—but somehow the air seemed different.
It was true the other victims hadn't even noticed Grimmjow. Their spiritual energy was so minimal, they could not see, or sense him. Taking their souls was far too easy of a task. However, Grimmjow had a nagging feeling that this one wouldn't be as easy as the last ones had been.
Floating outside the window of one of the upper floor rooms, Grimmjow looked in, observing his next victim. His eyes narrowed, eyeing the human with a strange curiosity that gripped him like nothing before.
It was a girl.
A sad looking girl.
For some reason, seeing a depressed woman was far more difficult than an angry or fearful woman. There was just something about killing depressed women that didn't strike Grimmjow as being particularly pleasant, or nearly as easy as killing others.
As he gazed at her, sobbing quietly into her pillow, he felt a strange pinch in his chest that hadn't felt familiar in hundreds of years—probably since he'd been human. It was as though he could feel her despair. She seemed in so much pain that she clenched teeth as she cried, as though she were somehow trying to lessen the anguish. Lifting her head, she moved on the futon, shifting onto her side so that she could sit up.
Grimmjow watched idly as she rummaged through a drawer, evidently searching for something. He tilted his head, a strange sensation running through him as he saw the object she had pulled out.
It was a knife.
What the hell was she doing with a knife?
Though her back was turned to him, the aura of anguish, pain, and desperation emanating of the young woman did not escape Grimmjow's senses.
It only took a moment for him to realize what she was going to do.
She moved the steel against her wrist. Slowly, she dug the edge of the weapon into her soft flesh, preparing to drag it across.
Instinct taking over, Grimmjow rushed through the bedroom window, easily snatching the weapon from the girl's hand and tossing it somewhat inconspicuously. He couldn't have his final victim killing herself before he got his hands on her soul, now could he?
Startled by the random occurrence, the girl gasped, jumping slightly as the knife flew out of her hands and landed on the floor with a clank. She stared at it momentarily, her breathing slightly laboured. Grimmjow could tell that she sensed his presence. He stood to behind her, observing the girl as she slowly raised her head to stare in the mirror. Her deep, dark green emerald eyes widened then, and the arranchar knew that he was visible to her.
No use hiding now.
This girl was not blind.
"Oi, woman, what the hell are you looking at with such horror? You look like you just saw a ghost," he mocked half-heartedly, feeling something akin to pity towards the young woman.
Slowly, and cautiously, she turned, her eyes catching his in a soul-piercing gaze. For a moment it took him aback, the depth and emotion in her eyes. They were green like that bastard's, Ulquiorria, but so very different. Though they shared the same hue, the story they told was complete different. Filled with emotion and desire, this girl's eyes were the polar opposite of that zombie-ish Aizen worshipper.
"W-Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why did you stop me?"
He paused, eyeing the girl as though she had sprouted another head. She certainly was a strange one—not screaming at the sight of an arranchar.
"Grimmjow Jaggerjack," he replied simply. "And I've come to take your soul," he added with a wicked grin.
"Oh. I see," the girl blinked, seeming unfazed.
Confused by this, the sixth espada's grin faded. Why wasn't she afraid?
"What's your name, girl?"
She paused for a moment, her lips pursed together as if she weren'tsure.
"Midori," she finally answered.
"And why the fuck are you trying to kill yourself? I need your stupid living soul, woman!" he lectured. "It'll be useless to me if you're dead!"
"Oh… I'm sorry."
Grimmjow wasn't sure what it was, but something about the woman pissed him off. The fact that she was so passive about everything—didn't give a shit whether or not she lost her life at his hands or her own.
"Idiot!" he yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes.
"Why are you so willing to throw your life away for no reason? Or even worse, for a monster like me?"
"I wouldn't mind dying by your hands," she replied calmly, her eyes never leaving his. "I hate this place."
Grimmjow stopped for a moment. Die by his hands? Was she crazy?
"Stupid girl, dying by my hands means losing your soul. You won't be going anywhere after that. This is as good as it gets!" he yelled angrily
Her lips turned, a placid smile finding its way one her face. "You seem very kind for an evil spirit," she commented, causing him to make a strangled noise of objection. "And it doesn't matter to me," she continued "losing my soul and all that. I hate this place—I hate it so much that I feel as though my soul has been lost forever. So please, if you were meant to, take this wretched soul away with you. I belong with the demons…"
Grimmjow's grin had faded. His eyes didn't sparkle with the fire that drove him to fight and kill with pleasure. He saw the dullness of them reflecting in the girl's mirror across the room. His face was grim, prepared for something he suddenly did not have any desire to do.
Exhaling, he drew his Zanpaktou from its sheeth. Moving forward, step by step, he stopped in front of the now standing Midori, his eyes closed. Raising the great blade with one arm, he allowed his turquoise orbs to open, looking down at her face just before bringing down his weapon of death in one swift motion.
She was beautiful.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Ulquiorria sat waiting. Grimmjow was taking longer than usual to complete his mission. He only prayed he wouldn't have to go after the arranchar and drag him back like last time.
Just then, Grimmjow entered the great hall, his face paler than usual, and his expression uncharactacteristically serious.
"Did you collect the one hundred souls?" Ulquiorria inquired, his eyes boring into the other arranchar.
"Last one was dead before I got there," Grimmjow responded immediately, his voice quieter than usually. Before Ulquiorria could question him further, the sixth espada disappeared through one of the halls.
As he entered his chambers, a dark thick aura descended upon him while remembering what had happened;
Mirodri stared blankly at her hands. She could see the floor underneath them. Waving them around, she managed to pass them through all the objects in her room without breaking or knocking anything over.
"You'll get used to it," the arranchar said.
"Can't I pick things up? Move them around?" she inquired curiously.
"If you learn how to," he replied simply.
"I see." She smiled at him. "Thank you. I'm finally free now… and no longer hollow."
Her last word caught him off guard. Had she just said hollow? She was no longer hollow? The irony of it sent Grimmjow's head in a whirl.
"Just be careful," he warned. "Any regrets or unhealthy attachment to this world will make you a mindless hollow."
"Is that what became of you at one point?" she asked gently.
Grimmjow paused. "Yes."
"Do you have any memories of being human?"
"Not really—just someone telling me never to be blind… even if the rest of the world is."
Midori smiled again. "Sounds like a good message to remember."
Grimmjow turned to look at her. "Well, woman, you stay away from any evil spirits you might run into, including me. But more importantly, stay away from those pesky Shinigami."
"Why the Shinigami?"
"If t hey catch you, they'll send you to Soul Society where you'll be stuck forever."
Midori laughed lightly. "Is that so bad? Must be a nicer place than this world." She paused." Why would I want to stay away from there?"
Grimmjow said nothing. He turned away from her, making his way to the window and preparing to leave. Passing through with ease, he floated up a few metres, then turned to look down at girl with captivating green eyes one last time.
'Because then I'd never see you again, stupid woman.'
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I think I have idea for this to become a much longer story, but I'm not sure If I wanna put in the effort of a long one… What do you guys think?