LEARNED HELPLESSNESS
It was cold and dark.
Much colder and darker than the Hollow had experienced before; certainly more so than whatever abyss the Other had sequestered him into before. He almost missed that.
At least that void didn't come with a biting collar around his throat.
At least that void allowed the lingering feelings of his King to seep through.
At least that void wasn't so frighteningly isolated.
There was no use wishing for anything different, however. This was his cage. His prison.
His whole body felt numb. The Hollow couldn't even be sure he had a body anymore. He thought it should have been a liberating sensation: returned to pure energy, without the limitations of a physical form.
It was anything but freeing.
Instead of being a blazing fire, he was thick tar. Heavy and sluggish and obtuse.
Thoughts shifted and drifted without structure.
Despair.
That's what he was feeling.
A unique brand of torture, just for him.
And no one to blame but himself.
Pathetic.
Fighting the King had been an all-or-nothing wager. A risky gamble that the Hollow had lost.
He had tried to dethrone the King, and when that was doomed to fail, he put his energy into one last threat. A promise to return at the slightest glimpse of weakness. It didn't matter that it was all just empty words. the King didn't know that he would never again have the power to follow through.
The wound from the King's sword through his dead heart hurt; but not as much as it should. He almost wished that it killed him.
That was impossible, of course. But surely death would be better than this.
He really was a pathetic creature.
Pathetic and hypocritical.
The Hollow could only vaguely remember the promise some fraction of his prior self had made moments before annihilation:'He won't know me...but he'll know you. And maybe that will be enough.'
A stupid waste of words. It was never going to be enough. He should have known that.
The Hollow had been angry. Furious. How dare the King cast him aside with such scorn. How dare the Other turn the King against him in the first place!
Pain, fear, and betrayal were agonizing emotions. Trying to acknowledge them was like staring into the sun. Too painful to bear. It was easier to just be cruel. To drown his thoughts in that deep pit of instinct. He had fully intended to kill his wielder if he hadn't listened to him; to possess and control the King, just so the Hollow could keep him safe.
If I can't have him, no one ever will. Had become his drive.
The exact same thing he had hated the Other for.
I'm... Zangetsu. The Hollow reminded himself. He could say the name now. Not that it did anything. The word was empty. Meaningless. Just sound. He had shouted it in the King's face and nothing had changed. I'm still Zangetsu, right?
Of course, it was for the best that he lost, the Hollow decided.
Afterall, the King was stronger now. The King could use his mask, brittle as it was, and match the Sexta blow-for-blow. The Other... the Other would keep him strong. Keep him safe. That was all the Hollow could hope for.
It's better this way.
That didn't mean the pain was any less agonizing.
Useless.
Time dragged by without much notice. The only changes came in the waves of agony that accompanied the King's abuse of their mask.
The Hollow spoke, sometimes. As much as he could with his words being swallowed up by the space before they'd barely left his tongue.
Sometimes he would scream for hours on end.
Sometimes he would just cry.
He could almost imagine the battles, almost feel the struggle of the King under the pressure of another sword. It made the Hollow frantic. A caged animal. Isolated like this, there wasn't anything he could do if the King messed up. He couldn't step in like he did with the Captain. He couldn't lend his strength and expertise like he did against the Barbarian.
Whoever the King's opponent was, he seemed strong. At least, that was what the Hollow assumed from the constant burn of agony wracking through him. Chains like ice speared his heart, wrenching it out, pushing it further— faster— more—
Something sickening lurched through him and the Hollow had a brief moment of agonizing clarity:
The King wasn't going to make it out of this one.
The torture flared.
We're gonna die together, King. Such a lovely thought, don't you think?
It hurt beyond words.
We're gonna die together.
Beyond thought.
We're gonna die—!
The world flashed acid green and it was over.
Breath caught in the Hollow's chest. They were dead. Dead before the Cuatro even let go of them. Their soul just hadn't caught up to that fact yet.
If only he had kept his temper and instincts in check.
If only he had killed the Other when he had the chance.
If only he hadn't torn himself in two.
If only if only if only!
Hot tears spilled over his cheeks,
Everything he had done; the sacrifices he made so his Wielder— his Partner— his King— could fight another day. All for this?
All for nothing?
With no other outlet for his emotions, the Hollow's jaws snapped down on his own forearm, sour black blood running through his teeth.
The Hollow screamed, clawing through the darkness, tearing away the binds that held him captive. One final attempt to do something. One final hope at saving him.
Useless—pathetic—weak—
"Move."
The sound startled the Hollow out of his drowning misery.
"Stand up."
The King's voice cut through the sorrow, louder than it had ever been before.
"I can't die here."
"She's calling."
And there, just ahead of him, a single gold thread dangled ahead of him; the Healer's power, trying desperately to tether the King to life. A futile effort.
Help me help me help me!
Realization struck the hollow like lightning: his King was calling on him. No, that wasn't exactly right. 'Calling on' implied a conscious decision. This was deeper than that. This was survival. The only thing more instinctual than bloodlust. The basal part of the King's mind was scrambling for purchase against destruction and it just so happened to catch on the Hollow's subjugated power. Desperate hands clawed at him.
The world shook, a hauntingly familiar quake of a soul on the edge of total collapse.
"I can help." He would have been able to help sooner if he wasn't muzzled and forced down, but there was no time for self-pity.
That finally got his King's attention. "You—!" He sounded frantic, panicked. In an instant, he was there, hands were fisted in the front of the Hollow's clothes. "Do it already!"
The Hollow frowned at the wild, lost look in the King's eyes. "It'll cost you."
"I don't care. I— What else do I even have to lose?" The words were spoken with an eerie calm.
"Your humanity."
Wide eyes were replaced with a fierce snarl, realization dawning on the shinigami's face. "...of course." Self-loathing and hatred blazed in brown eyes. Gradually, acceptance clouded the fire.
Another tremor wracked the world. There wasn't any time. There wasn't any other way.
The Hollow reached forward, black-tipped claws resting against his King's chest— already too still and cold.
The King worked his jaw, defeat sagging his shoulders. His eyes lowered. His voice was muted. "Just... don't hurt her. Please."
The show of submission was pathetic. Pitiful. So out of place for his King. "Sorry."
The King's eyes snapped up, face twisting with confusion.
"I can't promise anything of the sort."
The Hollow gave no warning before driving his hand forward, clawing through muscle and bone to that rapidly-dimming spark of power.
A toothy grin split the Hollow's face as he found the core he was looking for. "That'll be up to you."
"W-what?" the King wheezed out.
Without another word, the Hollow poured out his energy.