I forced myself upright, legs shaking, lungs burning. Lightning crawled back into my grip, condensing, stabilizing—shorter this time, denser. A shortsword of crackling blue-white formed in my hand, the hum of it steadying my breath just enough to think.
Defensive stance. Feet planted. Blade angled.
Protect him.
That thought anchored me.
Matthew, somehow, wasn't panicking.
Adrenaline should've scrambled him. Anyone else would've been screaming or frozen. Instead, he watched—head turning slightly, eyes tracking the absence where my gaze kept snapping back. Like he was staring at a puzzle missing half its pieces and refusing to be intimidated by it.
The Hollow struck again.
I barely saw the motion—felt it more than saw it. A claw tore through the air where my throat had been. I twisted and brought the lightning blade up just in time, sparks exploding as metal-hard bone met raw energy.
The impact shoved me back a step, boots skidding on dust and tile.
"Shit—" I hissed, catching myself before I lost balance.
Matthew rose slowly from the floor, eyes scanning the wreckage, the scorch marks, the ruined gurney. Calm. Focused. Like he was studying the board state of a nightmare game and refusing to concede.
Then he looked at me.
"Orion," he said evenly, "how long can you keep that thing busy?"
I lunged, slashing at where I knew it was. The blade passed through empty air as the Hollow leapt back, graceful and infuriating.
"No clue," I snapped, breath ragged. "She's fast. I can't hit her. If you've got a plan, do it. I fight better when I'm not splitting my focus."
Another tentacle cracked toward me.
I ducked, rolled, came up swinging—fruitless again. A second tentacle flared and fired an energy blast. I met it with my blade, lightning screaming as the collision detonated in a concussive burst that rattled my teeth and threw me sideways.
I stayed on my feet by sheer stubbornness.
Matthew nodded once.
Decision made.
He turned and ran, boots pounding down the hall deeper into the hospital.
The Hollow laughed, low and delighted.
"Oh? Letting the prey scatter?" it purred, circling me now, steps light, confident. "How generous of you."
"Shut up," I growled, hurling a fan of lightning cards to keep it back. They sparked and shattered against walls and floor as it danced between them, amused, unthreatened.
Its attention flicked briefly in the direction Matthew had gone.
Then back to me.
"Don't worry," it said sweetly. "I'll finish with him after I'm done playing with you."
I tightened my grip on the lightning blade, heart hammering, muscles screaming.
Good, I thought grimly.
That means he's got time.
I raised my sword, lightning flaring brighter.
"How about focusing on dealing with my annoying ass?" I said.
The Hollow smiled—and lunged.
I twisted on instinct more than sight.
Too slow.
Pain lanced across my side as something sharp kissed flesh—just enough to burn, to remind me I definitely wasn't invincible. I staggered back and forced distance between us, boots skidding as I leapt away and thought fast.
The cards weren't working.
Too slow. Too predictable. She was reading them like tells in a bad hand.
I needed something faster.
Something Rukia had tried—and failed—to drill into my head.
I planted my feet, ignored the sting in my ribs, and pulled reiryoku inward instead of outward. Condensed it. Focused it. The air around my hand shrieked as it compressed.
"Special Beam—Byakurai!"
I snapped into the pose without thinking—index and middle finger pressed to my forehead, Piccolo-style, because apparently my subconscious was a nerd even in life-or-death situations. The energy screamed, sharpened—
—and I released it at the exact moment she reappeared mid-lunge.
A white-blue beam tore through the hall and hit.
Not a graze. Not a dodge.
A clean strike.
The Hollow screeched as it was blasted sideways, claws digging into the floor to keep from being thrown clear down the corridor. Smoke curled off its mask, a blackened gouge carved across its flank.
Not lethal.
But at least it was something.
Enough to make her stop smiling.
She straightened slowly, studying me now. Really looking.
"That…" she said, voice lower, cautious. "…was a bastardized Soul Reaper technique."
The eye-slits of her mask seemed to narrow.
Before I could capitalize on it—
She vanished.
Not blurred. Not cloaked.
Gone.
My pulse spiked as anxiety started to take hold, I spun, reiatsu flaring outward as I tried to feel her, to sense that predatory pressure—
Nothing.
"Shit!" I muttered, backing toward the hallway. "Shit, shit—"
Worse than an enemy I could see—was one who could just disappear, and that sent my heart pounding against my ribs in a panic.
I didn't know yet—couldn't—that Hollows slipped between layers of reality as easily as breathing. That to her, the boundary between worlds was more suggestion than rule.
I moved anyway.
Slow. Careful. Blade up.
The hospital swallowed me as I pushed deeper—past the elevators, past the stairwell, into a long, narrow corridor that smelled of dust, rot, and forgotten antiseptic. Lights flickered overhead like nervous ticks.
I knew I was being hunted.
The irony didn't escape me.
Orion.
The hunter.
Guess tonight the universe had jokes.
She struck from my blind spot.
A blur of motion—too close. I barely brought my blade up in time, lightning shrieking as claw met energy. The force rattled my arms and sent sparks skittering down the walls.
She vanished again.
An energy blast screamed down the corridor.
I hurled cards on reflex, trying to intercept it—detonate it early—
Too slow.
I dove, heat ripping past where my head had been, the blast punching a crater into the far wall.
I rolled to my feet—
And that was the mistake.
Something burst behind me.
Wet. Heavy.
I felt it before I saw it—sticky, burning pressure slamming into my back and shoulders. I slashed wildly, cutting through strands of it, lightning hissing as it burned away patches of the substance—
—but not enough.
The rest hit like glue mixed with acid.
My back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud as the slime hardened, pinning me in place. It ate at my jacket, my skin, sizzling where it touched. I gasped, struggling, barely managing to keep my chest free enough to breathe.
The Hollow reappeared in front of me, slow and deliberate now.
Amused.
"Well," she purred, circling just out of reach, tentacles swaying lazily. "This is much more fun than the others."
I strained against the slime, lightning flaring uselessly against it.
She leaned closer, mask inches from my face.
"You struggle beautifully," she said softly. "And your little Soul Reaper will come running when she feels you scream."
Her laugh echoed down the hall.
I clenched my jaw, pain flaring, fear pounding in my ears.
Hold on, I told myself.
Think. Survive. Protect Matthew.
Lightning crackled tighter in my grip.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
The slime tightened as I struggled, biting deeper where it had hardened, each movement punished with a sharp hiss of pain. My arms trembled—not from weakness, not yet—but from the furious pace of my thoughts.
Say something.
Anything.
Matthew was doing something. I didn't know what—couldn't see him, couldn't hear him—but I knew that look he'd had before he ran. The one where his brain went quiet and dangerous ideas started lining up like dominos.
He was stupid like me that way.
The kind of stupid that, when faced with impossible odds, didn't freeze—just got creative.
So I stalled.
I forced a breath in, lightning flickering weakly around my trapped hand, and tilted my head as best I could toward her.
"You must be new around the neighborhood," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "I'm Orion."
The Hollow paused.
Actually paused.
Her head tilted, predatory and curious, tentacles slowing their lazy sway.
"And you are?" I added, like we were meeting at a bar instead of me being half-melted into a hospital wall.
For a moment, there was only the hum of broken lights and the distant drip of water.
Then she laughed—low, pleased, genuinely entertained.
"Oh," she said, stepping closer, claws clicking softly on tile. "Polite. That's rare."
She leaned in, mask almost touching my forehead, voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous.
"I haven't decided yet if you've earned my name."
Her fingers traced the edge of the lightning blade, not touching, testing.
"But I like you, Orion."
The slime tightened again, just enough to remind me who was in control.
"And I'm very curious," she continued, eyes gleaming behind bone, "to see what your friend is planning… while you keep me company."
I swallowed, heart hammering.
Good, I thought grimly.
Talk. Listen. Breathe.
Buy him time.
The slime creaked as I shifted against it, testing, failing, pretending not to care.
"So," I said lightly, like we were killing time in line somewhere, "you used to be human, right?"
Her head cocked again. The amusement was back—sharp, predatory, pleased with itself.
"Of course I was," the Hollow purred. "All Hollows are born of humanity. Desire. Fear. Regret."
"Figures," I nodded. "You've got… opinions."
A tentacle brushed the floor. Slow. Deliberate.
I swallowed and kept going before my nerve could evaporate.
"So you look like a cat now, which means I have to ask—back when you were human, were you hot?"
Silence.
Actual, stunned silence.
"Like," I rushed on, words tripping over each other, "how do you even cope with going from girl to cougar in the span of—however long that takes? Not that kind of cougar—unless you were, I don't judge. Eh. Doesn't matter."
Her claws scraped the tile.
"So," I finished, because of course I did, "how'd you die?"
Her amusement cracked.
"What… are you?" she asked slowly, irritation seeping through every syllable.
"Terrified," I answered honestly. "But I ramble when I'm scared."
I didn't stop.
"You know Rukia won't come, right?" I said, forcing a shrug that the slime didn't allow. "She's probably buried under a mountain of paperwork in Soul Society. Forms on top of forms. Captain-level headaches. Even if she did come back…"
I laughed weakly.
"I'm just a guy with dad jokes and a static personality."
A beat.
"…Static," I added, wincing. "Get it?"
Her patience snapped.
The air shifted—pressure rolling off her as she lunged forward. Pain exploded across my chest as her claws raked through the exposed gap in the hardened slime, blood blooming hot and fast.
I gasped, teeth gritting, lightning flaring uselessly as the slime tightened in response.
"Enough," she hissed, voice dropping into something sharp and venomous. "You think humor will save you? You think she makes you untouchable?"
She leaned close again, mask inches from my face.
"You will scream," she promised. "And when you break, I'll drag your soul out piece by piece and use it to lure her back."
My breath shook. My chest burned.
But I met her gaze anyway, heart hammering like it wanted out.
"Yeah," I rasped, forcing a grin that hurt like hell. "Well."
Lightning crackled weakly around my fingers.
"I've been told I'm hard to shut up."
Somewhere deeper in the hospital, metal clanged—sharp, deliberate.
I felt it then.
Matthew was ready.
And the Hollow didn't know it yet.
Pain throbbed through my chest, lightning sputtering and snapping uselessly around my pinned arms. The slime held fast—cold, heavy, uncomfortably intimate. My breath came shallow, my thoughts skidding in every direction except the one that mattered.
I didn't need a plan.
I needed noise.
"So," I said, forcing my voice into something casual, tilting my head as much as the hardened gunk allowed, "you're planning on eating us, right?"
The Hollow leaned closer. I couldn't see her eyes through the mask, but I felt the focus sharpen, the way a predator's attention narrows until the world becomes a single point.
"Obviously," she said. "You are bait. Then you are food."
"Okay," I nodded. "Counter-offer."
She paused.
"What if I eat you instead?"
Silence.
Actual, physical silence. Even the hum of reiatsu seemed to hesitate.
"…What?" she asked.
"I'm just saying," I went on, because apparently my survival instinct had clocked out for the day, "what happens then? Do I get your powers? A cool bone mask? Because I could pull that off. Día de los Muertos is coming up—very on brand."
She stared at me.
I could feel it—her reiatsu cycling through confusion, disbelief, then creeping offense.
"You are… a pathetic human," she said slowly. "You think consuming a Hollow is—"
"Hold on," I interrupted. "Because if it's transferable, that raises some ethical questions. Like, do I get the tentacles too? Because—no offense—they're not really my aesthetic."
Her claws flexed.
Whatever faint amusement I'd stumbled into evaporated, replaced by raw, simmering indignation.
"You dare mock me?"
"Boldy and audaciously," I said, grinning despite the pain. "It's kind of my brand."
She leaned in, reiatsu flaring, ready to remind me exactly how badly I'd misjudged the situation—
"HEY!"
The shout cracked down the corridor like a gunshot.
Her head snapped toward the stairwell just as Matthew stepped into view, squared up like he was about to start a bar fight with God. Hands cupped around his mouth, posture aggressive, fearless in that uniquely stupid way only Matthew could manage.
"Oh wow," he called out, voice dripping with contempt, "this is what you turned into? All those tentacles and you're still insecure?"
The Hollow hissed.
"I mean seriously," Matthew continued, doubling down without hesitation, "you look like a midlife crisis with claws. Is this the form you wanted, or did you settle because therapy was too expensive?"
Her attention locked fully onto him.
"And don't think I didn't notice," he added, pointing, "you attack guys who can't see you? What's wrong—afraid someone might actually look at you? Judging from Orion's reaction you can't be much, his standards are rock bottom."
Her reiatsu spiked violently.
"Run," she snarled, fury eclipsing everything else. "I will enjoy tearing you apart."
Matthew smirked and started backing toward the stairs, he couldn't have heard her but his survival instincts were sharp.
"Matt, she's pissed!" I choked out.
"Yeah? Cool. Try and keep up, Tentacle Monster."
She vanished in a blur, chasing him upward, her shriek echoing through the stairwell.
The corridor fell silent.
I sagged against the wall, panting, lightning flickering weakly as I tested the slime again.
"Oh my god," I muttered. "Matthew, it's not actually a tentacle monster—"
I stopped.
The realization hit me all at once.
I was pinned to a wall. By slime. From a female panther demon. With tentacles. In Japan.
"…Nope," I whispered. "Absolutely not. I refuse. This is the worst possible combination of circumstances. I want no part of whatever degenerates are writing this story."
The echoes of the chase faded above me.
I swallowed, breath shaking but steadying.
"Okay," I said to the empty hallway. "Good news: Matthew's alive."
I grimaced, and speaking to myself went nearly unnoticed as I worked through the problem.
"Bad news: I really, really need to get unstuck before this turns into someone's weird fanfic."
The humor drained out of me the moment the slime fully hardened.
I strained against it again—harder this time, teeth gritted, muscles screaming in protest—but it didn't give. The stuff didn't stretch, didn't crack. It just held, cold and corrosive against my skin, eating slowly at my patience and much faster at my nerves.
Fantastic.
In that moment, a very specific regret set in.
Years of not working out. Years of telling myself wrangling kids, hauling groceries, long nights hunched over a desk, video games, and marathon D&D sessions totally counted as functional fitness. Turns out none of that prepares you for being glued to a wall by extradimensional murder slime.
Who knew.
I forced myself to breathe and stop wasting energy. Panic wouldn't help. Strength clearly wasn't the answer. So I did the only thing left to me.
I studied it.
The slime had a glassy sheen now, crystallized in places, like some kind of organic resin. Corrosive, but selectively so—my lightning hadn't dissolved it outright, just destabilized it. That meant composition mattered.
Against my better judgment, I leaned forward and cautiously touched my tongue to it.
Instant regret.
"Oh—ugh—nope."
It was bitter and sour in the worst way. And I love sour. This wasn't citrus or vinegar tang. This was chemical wrongness, like licking a battery that hated you personally.
I gagged, coughing, spitting, and shaking my head.
"Okay," I muttered hoarsely. "Not food."
Focus.
If it didn't break easily, then I needed to overwhelm it. Not cut. Not burn.
Flood.
I drew in everything—every scrap of reiryoku I could reach—and pushed it outward, not as lightning, but as pressure. Into my skin. Into my jacket. Every fiber, every pore reverberating as energy surged and expanded violently.
The slime resisted.
For longer than I liked.
Cracks spiderwebbed through it, the corrosive surface sizzling as the energy destabilized its structure. My arms burned. My chest screamed. Just when I thought I might pass out—
CRACK.
The mass shattered outward, chunks sloughing off the wall as I dropped hard to my knees.
The impact knocked the wind out of me. I stayed there for a second, hands on the cracked tile, gasping—half relief, half dread.
Matthew better still be alive.
I forced myself up, legs trembling, and shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it aside without a second thought. It hit the floor with a wet sound. Blood soaked through my black t-shirt, the chest wound still bleeding freely.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pack of firecrackers I always carried for no good reason other than being that dad. The one the kids' friends thought was cool even when my own kids rolled their eyes at me.
I had once vaguely worried about why the problem kids always gravitated toward me.
Not today.
Today, I was grateful for every dumb, impulsive habit I'd ever picked up.
Pain flared in my chest again, sharper this time. I grimaced.
"I can't afford this," I muttered.
Before I could second-guess myself, I channeled lightning straight into the wound.
The smell hit first.
Then the pain.
I cried out—sharp, broken—but clamped a hand over my mouth, choking it down as my body arched against the agony. White-hot electricity seared flesh, sealing the wound shut with brutal efficiency.
When it was done, I slumped forward, shaking, vision swimming.
Breathing hurt. Everything hurt.
But I was upright.
Alive.
And not bleeding out.
I straightened slowly, firecrackers clenched in one hand, lightning flickering weakly around the other, and turned toward the stairwell.
"Hang on, Matt," I whispered.
Then I took off up the stairs, chasing my friend—and the Hollow that had decided today was a good day to hunt us both.