Hollow From Bleach Novels & Stories

A white rose lay on the floor dripping with blood. A small, shiny blade lay beside it. A beautiful object in such a terrible and painful condition. The blood stain on it did not hide it's immaculate and beautiful nature. She puffed smoke in the air and took a sip of the liquor beside her, as she glared at the bleeding rose with sad and anguish filled eyes, it told a lot about her and her agony. She was as beautiful as the rose in front of her.

Hallow Words Ayame Filling the hollow inside. One so deep and endless, it takes him pulling out and slamming it in over and over until every fiber of my being coils around it. Until I find the apex that brings my soul to life, unleashing the chains I’ve kept on my heart.

The Hollow was guiding them, aiding them as only a living place could. At the center of a clearing stood a grotesque figure—twisted branches, bleached bone, and ash formed into a towering figure. It pulsed red like a second sun, emitting waves of evil. Symbols carved into it oozed black substances, and at its base lay fragments of something that looked far too much like infant clothing. Lyra didn’t hesitate. She sprinted to it. “Wait—” Kaelen called, but it was too late. She thrust her hand into the heart of the figure.

Vernon had returned, looking exhausted. He was even holding a bouquet of fresh flowers. He walked toward me with no trace of guilt or remorse. "Avril, I brought you your favorite roses." Red roses represented sincere and passionate love. Right now, those flowers looked like a joke in Vernon's hands. I accepted the roses. Thinking that I was no longer angry, Vernon began to explain. "It's Peggy Cahill. She's been diagnosed with bone cancer. All she wants is to marry me.

LYRA The Hollow does not celebrate. That’s the first thing I understand as the council’s voices fracture behind us and the city exhales like something wounded but not yet dead. There is no triumph in the ground beneath my feet. No warmth. No reassurance. Only gravity. The Hollow pulls—not forward, not down, but inward. Toward a center that has nothing to do with geography and everything to do with cost. Cain feels it too. I know by the way his steps slow. By the way his shoulders square, not in dominance, but in readiness.

And as I fall, tail limp, blood spiraling upward in threads that will be gone before anyone at the surface can notice them, every bright hue in my scales beginning, very slowly, to drain, the Hollow begins to drink me. The pink goes first. And then, somewhere very far below me in the black, something much ol der than pink begins, patiently, to wait.

The symbol inside the Hollow burned into my vision. The compass. My compass. Identical. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. “That… can’t be possible,” I whispered. Yet the truth pulsed through the bond, undeniable. The Hollow wasn’t simply born from imbalance. It had once been balance itself. The creature roared, its massive body writhing as silver, gold, and white light clashed against the darkness surrounding it. Cracks spread across its form, revealing flashes of the same radiant energy glowing within me.

“It’s reacting to them—channel its power!” Aria didn’t know how, but she thrust the orb forward, willing its energy to obey her. A burst of blinding light exploded from it, slamming into the Hollow One with the force of a battering ram. The creature reeled back, its screech twisting into a wail of agony as the light seared its shadowy form, tendrils of smoke rising from its charred limbs. Caden seized the moment, driving his sword deep into the Hollow One’s chest. It let out a final, agonized howl and collapsed, its body dissolving into a pile of ash and brittle bone fragments that scattered across the cave floor.

There’s no cruelty in it. No condescension. Just a certainty of his own. I inhale, sharp and shaking. I narrow my gaze on him. “You don’t get to decide that.” “No,” he agrees slowly. “But the Hollow does.” I don’t respond. My answer is me stepping off the porch. The moment my boot hits the dirt, the Hollow’s reaction is immediate. It begins with a tremor in the wind—so faint I almost think I’ve imagined it. Then the sky darkens in a blink, like a sheet pulled over the sun. No rolling clouds. No warning. Just sudden, suffocating grey.

The nursery was silent now, save for the ragged breathing of our family. The scorched mark on the floor pulsed with a dying violet light, a rhythmic reminder that the "Hollowed" was merely a scout. The veil hadn't just thinned; it had torn. Kaelen shifted back into his human form, his skin glistening with the sweat of a failed kill. He looked at his hands, frustration etched into the hard lines of his face. He had killed gods and kings, but you cannot bite smoke.