Grimmjow hated cages.
Freedom meant so much to him, meant everything to him. Freedom was his driving force, his greatest desire.
He wanted to be free, to run and fight and become stronger and do what he wanted whenhe wanted to. To take orders from no one but himself. To be his own man. To have the whole world to explore and travel, to have everywhere to go and everyone to meet and fight.
He dreamed of it, could taste it. Sweet and heady like the best wine. Just a sip, and he wanted more. It was addicting, freedom. And he was already so far into the high there was no turning back.
Therefore, he hated cages. They were the antithesis of freedom, the weakness to his strength. They held him back and trapped him and tortured him with the claustrophobia and the leashes and chains.
And he had been in one for the longest time.
The cage was not iron and bars, oh no. That would have been a physical cage, and he could have torn it apart, destroyed the bars and won his freedom with ease.
The cage he had been trapped in was carved of white marble, of stone and open spaces and artificial sun. Of cruel, cold brown eyes and horrible reiatsu – sharp and cold and heavy like a weight on his soul.
Las Noches was his cage, and he had tested the bars many times, only to be dragged back by his collar, a panther trapped in a gilded cage of false promises of power.
Oh, he knew the promises were false and the claims were lies. They were obvious to anyone who didn't blindly trust. Terribly, plainly obvious. And he was the only one who ever really knew.
So he fought the bars and pulled at his leash and clawed at the chains. Wanted real power, real strength, the kind the false king could never give him – the only thing that fake smile could give was subjugation and death.
But finally, finally, even though death nearly came and took from him his chance, he was free.
He left that white stone cage behind him and never looked back.
He was free, and he would die before he let anyone cage him again.