Hollowed Minds Novels & Stories

“It’s not physical. It’s in his soul.” I thought as much... But unfortunately, that makes it more difficult to even do anything now. A whisper rides in the wind. I don’t know who speaks it first. Maybe one of the old fae who linger at the edges of the battlefield. Maybe one of the dying spirits. "The Hollow has taken him." My blood goes cold. The Hollow. It’s not death, not exactly. It’s the space between, a veil-thin plane where souls are neither here nor gone. Where time frays and memories decay. Where you forget who you are.

The government’s towers were nothing but blackened skeletons of twisted steel, but the damage they had inflicted was walking toward us on two legs. They emerged from the fog in clusters: silent, rhythmic, and terrifyingly orderly. These were the "Hollows." Unlike the Unbound, who carried the chaotic, violet fire of the Elder blood in their eyes, these people were empty. Their pupils were fixed and dilated, their faces devoid of the micro-expressions that signal human thought or emotion. In clinical terms, they were suffering from a Total Cognitive Erasure. The frequency wall had not just blocked their resonance: it had performed a localized "Format" of their cerebral cortex.

I reached out with my spirit, extending thin, violet threads of energy toward the three wagons. The moment the threads touched the silver crystals in the prisoners' eyes, the impact hit me. It wasn't a sound; it was a physical blow. A tidal wave of filth, grief, and oily, black rot surged back through the threads. It hit my system like a battering ram, the sheer weight of three hundred siphoned souls trying to crush my heart. I felt the first fracture in my mind—a sharp, jagged crack in my concentration as the voices of the Hollowed began to scream inside my head. “Help me... it burns... give it back...”

“The Hollowed are closer than we thought.” I swallowed hard. “Is it Aria?” “I don’t know,” she said softly. “The Hollowed are masters of mimicry. They take the shape of familiarity, of comfort. That’s how they survive.” “So… how do I tell who’s real?” “You don’t,” she replied sadly. “Not until it’s too late.” She stood up, and just before fading away, she added: “Trust your heart, May. And watch who avoids your light.” –––

Why wasn’t I hearing anything? Then it hit me. I hadn't heard a single thought from him since the second we'd collided. Normally, people’s minds kicked in right away when someone accidentally got a drink spilled on them. A stream of annoyed, low-level swearing thoughts about the stain, the fabric, and how the night was now officially fucked. But with him, it was just a total, unbroken void. Which should not have been possible. Humans thought constantly. Their brains never shut up. I knew that better than anyone. I had spent years drowning in it, learning how to filter through chaos that never stopped moving.

The hollow shrieked, edges flaring violently, tendrils striking unpredictably, but the lattice held, chaotic yet coherent. The ally from the crevice moved forward, releasing a surge of stabilizing energy that intertwined with the twin currents. “It will test you in ways you cannot foresee,” the figure said quietly. “The hollow is older than anything you have faced. Its hunger is intelligence and instinct combined. It will try to break you, physically, mentally, spiritually.” Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Then we stand. We adapt. Together.”

To suppress the scream in my throat, I pinched myself to stay focused, but the ghost had noticed me. Its bloodshot eyes locked onto me, like it was about to lunge and tear me apart any second. Soon, every other ghost seemed to sense something and slowly turned its head toward me too. Dozens of empty or blood-filled eyes stayed fixated on me. Great. It seemed like today was the day I died for sure. I squeezed my eyes shut, only to hear faint voices echoing in my mind, carrying different tones and inflections. "A human! It's a human! She looks so well-behaved!"

“Lucien… don’t move.” The Alpha glanced back at her sharply. “That is not the time for—” “Don’t move.” Something in her voice stopped him. Not authority. Clarity. She stepped forward. Just one step. And then she opened her mind. The world changed. It didn’t feel like hearing thoughts. It felt like falling into an ocean made of broken voices. The Hollow wasn’t one mind. It was thousands. Maybe millions. Fragments. Memories. Fear. Hunger. Loss.

She wanted to know if they were attacking the humans or if they were strictly targeting the wolves. Marcus’s expression went completely flat. He told her that the things in the mist didn't care about biology anymore. He said they were feeding on the panic. Every time the Aegis broadcast a new warning or locked down a neighborhood, the collective fear of eight million humans fed the Hollow. The Soul Eaters weren't just stalking the alleys; they were manifesting inside the tube stations, pulling people into the shadows from the crowded platforms. He said that the city was on the verge of a total psychological collapse.

The hours had ticked by with agonizing slowness, each one stretching out like an eternity as Phoebe waited for Archie's return. Her mind was a maelstrom of emotions, her thoughts swirling in a maddening dance that refused to let her rest. As the clock struck 11 pm, the door finally swung open, and Archie trudged in, his face a map of exhaustion. The shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen as he walked past Phoebe, his gaze fixed on some point beyond her.