Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was night when Zangetsu awoke properly for the first time.

That was the first thing he was aware of.

Night.

A cloudy night.

A storm was on the horizon.

It was night and his wielder was in battle.

His... wielder?

Yes, that was right.

His wielder: The one who would give form to him.

He was...

His senses were still dulled by sleep and disorganized from lack of a proper form. What was he?

Zanpakuto.

The word he could not have known made sense to him. And along with it was a name.

A jolt accompanied the name and three things made themselves known:

Zangetsu: A weapon. A sword. The power to destroy and protect. His self. Familiar.

The Other: An unknown. It was him, but also not. Something about that part of his power felt different. He regarded it cautiously. It regarded him back.

A Hole: An imperfection. Barely perceptible among the thrashing energy that was his wielder's soul, but present nonetheless.

His thoughts circled back to the name— His name— Zangetsu. Slaying Moon.

It was appropriate he awoke at night.

A new emotion— surprise— washed over him as he pondered why it had taken so long for his wielder to awaken him. There had been previous times Zangetsu had felt a tug towards consciousness: once when fighting that hollow with the lure on its head, and later when the competition started by the Quincy lured out a Menos. All those times he had come close.

But now he was awake. Now he was aware.

He was power, and his wielder needed him.

If only his wielder knew his name.

Zangetsu knew he just needed to call out.

His thoughts stumbled for a bit.

How would he call out to his wielder?

His form had yet to solidify, leaving him and the world around as abstract blurs of color and energy and emotion. He extended his newfound senses, trying to figure out who or what his wielder was fighting. Maybe that would help.

His wielder was on the ground, having just received a drastic blow to his left shoulder. Zangetsu winced, feeling the dull pain somewhere in his amorphous body but not quite understanding it.

Their opponent was strong. Not like that was a problem, Zangetsu was strong too. The red-haired shinigami was looming, raising his jagged blade to deal the final blow.

I'm here...

Zangetsu leaned harder against the limits of his wielder's soul.

Call on me.

His wielder slowly pushed himself to his feet.

We'll win together!

Pride and determination swelled in Zangetsu and his wielder. He could feel his vague form trying to coalesce, power solidifying as his wielder subconsciously drew upon his energy.

I am—!

Their power exploded outward, startling everyone in attendance. Zangetsu's wielder took a lunging jump forward, slashing a deep cut in his foe's shoulder.

"I don't know what happened, but I feel great!" His wielder's voice sang out after a few more blows to his enemy.

A different emotion pierced through him like ice. It seemed his wielder hadn't heard him. No problem. He would be able to hear him soon. The ice melted somewhat.

"I don't think I will lose to you!"

Zangetsu could feel his wielder's grin and matched it with one of his own. Sharp teeth and claws began to take shape.

Yes, that felt right. Can't be all bark without any bite to back it up.

His strength grew as the wild energy around him began to press into him, drawing together to a single point, like a star before a supernova. Battle instincts flooded his mind and he felt the heat of adrenaline coursing through him. This was their power. This was their drive. He was alive!

"This is the end!"

His form was almost complete. The space around him was beginning to take shape as well, clicking into place; all that was needed was the final act to seal it in permanence: his wielder to speak his name. He should be able to be heard now.

My name is—!

The laser-focus the two had achieved during the short battle was immediately gone; as was most of his wielder's blade. Zangetsu could feel the emotions of his wielder shift and felt something cold run through him: hesitation.

He wanted to open his mouth, to scream his name at his young wielder. They could win together if only he could hear!

The growing connection was severed before Zangetsu had the chance.

His form collapsed, no longer able to hold itself together without his wielder's draw and reverting back to raw energy. Confusion and fear swirled through his nebulous mind. He tried his best to resist the draw of sleep, trying in vain to do something to stop his wielder's almost-certain death.

If he survives, he will be powerless... Zangetsu wasn't sure how he was aware of that fact, but he knew it was true nonetheless.

The bitter burn of loneliness settled over the sword spirit. He had been so close to actualization. So close to recognition from his wielder. To have awoken and then be pulled away so soon.

His thoughts wandered, trying to remember how it felt to have been almost given a form. He hadn't gotten a good look at himself before it all fell apart. All he could recall were fangs and claws and pure strength before it fell apart.

It wasn't fair.

Zangetsu wouldn't accept it.

I will do anything to protect him. That is my only goal: to make him strong. I will crush anyone who stands in my way.

All throughout, The Other sat silently, watching.

They couldn't resist the pull of unconsciousness any longer.

Chapter Text

The second time Zangetsu awoke, there was pain.

No, not pain... That wasn't a strong enough word.

Agony.

His wielder's agony.

Beyond hurt. Beyond tortured. Beyond dead.

And yet, Zangetsu was awake again. He could feel his wielder- muffled and far away- pleading for help.

Zangetsu tried to call for him- comfort him- say something- but found that he could not.

A tremor ran through him.

He's dying. No... It's worse than that, isn't it?

A rift appeared; a tear right through the center of Zangetsu, splitting the raging energy. Several pieces splintered off, sputtering off into the darkness before being consumed. His attention turned to the cause:

The Hole.

It opened up somewhere in the depths of his core, somewhere where Zangetsu and his wielder connected. It was hungry- ravenous- and it began to eat.

Agony wracked through Zangetsu as he was torn apart. Knowing his wielder was experiencing the same only made the pain worse. The rotting cavity would swallow up both him and his wielder if Zangetsu didn't act.

'There's nothing you can do.' A voice, hauntingly familiar, said from somewhere nearby: The Other. The different energy had pulled away, using the forming rifts to separate itself from Zangetsu's main core.

'What are you saying?'

Their soul shuddered again. something tugged at Zangetsu's consciousness. He reached out into the darkness, trying to grasp for his wielder. He could feel him begging to be saved, but without knowing how to reach back to accept the offered help, it was useless. Zangetsu could not reach him. Not yet.

He needed more time.

'Help me stabilize him!' Zangetsu shouted at The Other.

The Other thought for a second, then replied: 'No.'

'What do you mean!? You have to help!'

Laughter. The Other was laughing. 'I will do no such thing.'

Fear. Dread. Agony.

The Other's responde hurt almost as much as the cold blaze slowly spreading from The Hole. Zangetsu couldn't understand. The Other was part of him, right? They were there for their wielder. That was the sole purpose of their existence.

'I am sorry.' The Other said, though its tone implied anything but remorse. It pulled farther away as it spoke, untangling itself from Zangetsu's wild thrall. 'However, you know what I am. You should know why I can't allow him to access his shinigami powers.'

Zangetsu saw red. His energy quaked from the strain and from his own emotions. He did know. He always had known. He just didn't want to believe it.

The Hole pulled on him further, preventing him from stopping The Other as it turned, drifting away and compressing into a more solid form.

'What are you doing!? Where are you going!?' Zangetsu could feel himself starting to slip. Confusion and anger spilling over.

'There are two possible outcomes to this situation without my interference. Either Our Master becomes a shinigami, or he becomes a hollow. I will guide him to the third option, and then I will purify what remains and rid myself of you.'

Frantic, Zangetsu tried to push the Hole away. Invisible hands grabbed out from it, dragging him back. He could see it, nestled in the shining center of his core- now dulled by a thick white smoke that had begun to pour out and twist like snakes.

Hungry. Ravenous. Demanding.

Zangetsu was trapped, waiting for the end. Flashes of color assaulted his vision as he-

A tall man clothed in black stood in a sideways city, ready for the task ahead. The world was lonely and blue. His wielder was nearby, strong and determined in spite of the damage being done to him.

"Who are you?" His wielder's voice.

"You do not recognize me?" The tall man- The Other- spoke.

Wait...

"Such a shame. You of all people should know who I am."

No.

"I am..."

STOP!

"Ẓ̴͇̻̥̹̎̋͒̈́ͅA̵͇͎̺̱̱̻̖̱͔͛́N̸̢͖͖̫̬͔̭̤̗͉̮̎̂̈́͊̾̐͆̄͑̍G̷̫̈́̂ͅE̶̢͖͕͉͓̗̗̤̟̋̈̕̕Ț̴̬͓̖̦̦̫̞̦̔̊̑͛͌̌͌̇̔̏̚̚͘Ş̶̤͎͕͈̹̭̥̬̈́̌̀̾͆͐̄͆̉͘͝͝ͅU̶̫̣͓̖̘̒̽̒̃̈́̎͠"

WrongBadStopNo!

The name broke on the Other's tongue. It sounded like poison and felt like glass in Zangetsu's ears.

Unforgivable.

The Man continued, "One of these boxes contains your latent shinigami powers. Before you become a hollow, you must find it."

Their wielder couldn't hear The Other's unsaid addition: 'You must find it, so I can destroy it for good.'

Zangetsu's energy was failing as his wielder's very humanity crumbled out from beneath him, coinciding with the skyscrapers' collapse. He grabbed at the smoke, trying to push it out of the way, but it only stuck to his energy more. It wasn't just smoke anymore. A white fire had begun to blaze, using Zangetsu as kindling. He tried his best to keep the damage contained.

It wasn't enough! He needed more time! He-

There was a sudden tug on his mind.

Far away, he could feel his wielder... reaching for him? He had been found.

Zangetsu reached back, daring to hope. Maybe if he could make contact before The Other acted...

"What are you waiting for? Pull it out!" The Other shouted.

"I can't, it's stuck!" His wielder replied, frantic.

Alarm prickled through Zangetsu. He could see through the eyes of The Other, standing behind the orange-haired teen, a hand raising slowly. A dark bow materializing.

Zangetsu struggled, but the smoke and flame and decay had tangled him so tightly, he couldn't move.

Rough fingers notched an arrow

Time slowed to a crawl. Zangetsu could feel himself on the verge of annihilation. He wasn't done yet, though. He had enough energy- just enough- to make one final move. One final effort. He exploded his energy outward, aiming it all at the Other. He was stretching his limits, he knew that much, but maybe just maybe, he could reach them in time.

A steady hand began the draw.

His wielder wouldn't know his name.

The arrow blazed with blue energy.

Maybe Zangetsu wouldn't be able to ever reform himself.

The Other took aim right at his wielder's back. Lining up the shot.

But maybe that would be okay.

For his wielder...

For Ichigo...

He would do anything.

It only took a moment to unsettle The Other, a small spike of pure energy embedded into him. The arrow sparked out of existence and it was all the time that was needed as their wielder vanished from the world.

The box was empty.

Zangetsu collapsed, struggling.

"That was foolish." The Other shifted as Zangetsu bled out his energy. It ignited a burning feeling inside him. "You could have fought off the hollowification with that attack instead of coming for me."

'I know, but if I did that, he would never become strong enough to stand on his own.' Zangetsu's resolve was firm. 'I told you: I'll do whatever it takes.'

The Other raised a brow, "Even though he regained his shinigami powers for now, you will not be able to stop me again."

'I know.' He would have been smirking if he could, 'but I won't need to stop you.'

"What are you-?"

The Other was suddenly overcome with... something... a desire. A feeling implanted by Zangetsu. The briefest flashes of what their wielder could become if given the chance. It was glorious. Its own prior convictions wavered as Zangetsu poured in more and more of himself before it was too late.

"So... this is the sacrifice you're willing to make?" The Other mused, suddenly unsure, "Does he really mean that much to you?"

'Yes.' He couldn't keep the pain out of his fading voice.

The Other hummed thoughtfully, "He will never know you. The consumption has progressed too far for you to be saved. You should already be aware of that."

Zangetsu knew. He pushed away the despair even as more of himself was part of The Hole. 'He won't know me, no. But he'll know you. And maybe... maybe that will be enough for me.'

The Hole was dominating him now. He loosened his grip on The Other. It would do no good to drag it down with him. Zangetsu felt the last bit of his strength give out and allowed himself to fall.

'Protect him. It's up to you now.'

He submitted to the ever-expanding void.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

The Hollow awoke with a start. Back in the void.

He gasped for air, mind frantically clawing for purchase against the feeling of drowning.

Drowning in water.

In blood.

In battle and instincts and the desire to kill.

Coppery saliva pooled in his mouth, dripping free as he pulled in ragged breaths.

His head felt heavy and crowded, too many things pressing in all around and making it hard to focus. Hard to think. A shaky hand reached up to press against his temples, but clawed fingers met with something smooth and cool and much too rigid to be skin.

The Hollow knew instantly what it was.

He wrenched the helmet-like mask of his face, tossing it carelessly to the side and pulling in fresh breath. Without even thinking, one hand fiisted the cloth over his aching chest. A sharp stab of pain brought him to his hands and knees. He felt raw. Exposed. Pulled too thin. His thoughts like nails on a chalkboard in his own head.

"Steady yourself, Hollow." A voice reached him. "Breathe through it."

The Hollow growled out of habit, but nonetheless obeyed; slowly allowing his mind and nerves to calm as he focused on the sudden changes that had overcome himself: sharp black claws, a wild mane of hair spilling down his back and over his shoulders, bristly-soft fur at the edges of his new outfit, the horned mask that lay off to the side.

More hollow.

At least the hole in his chest was sealed.

For now.

The abyss around him was as barren and agonizing as before, though space was now accompanied by the heavy feeling of water all around. It took the Hollow a moment to realize that he wasn't alone. The Other was inexplicably there, standing passively off to the side in his bankai form. Right. The Other had told him to collect himself.

The Other!

"You— King!" The Hollow rasped though choking coughs. The words raked through his burning throat.

"Worry not, our Wielder is alive."

It worked. Of course it worked! The Hollow wanted to grin. A dull pain thudded in his left temple and he settled for a sharp wince. "...good."

"You are aware of what you have done, correct?" The Other wasted no time in diving into the inquisition.

The Hollow barked a laugh, "You think I'd be able to do something like that by accident?"

Ice-blue eyes narrowed, unpleased with the response. "You do not regret your actions."

"The only regret is that King didn't get more time to mutilate that worthless Espada." The Hollow answered truthfully. After what the green-eyed demon had done to his King, carving him up was the least of what he deserved. The Hollow had been eager to slowly rip him to pieces before the Quincy shoved his way into the fight he had no business being in.

"You could have killed him." The Other said. He wasn't talking about the Cuatro anymore.

Too many questions. Too much talking. The Hollow sneered, "Shut up. I don't need a lecture. I don't need you to tell me how dangerous that was." The blood still trickling into his mouth was a testament to the toll it had taken on his body and spirit. Such drastic transformations in rapid succession had been... not ideal.

"That is not what I meant and you know it." The Other tipped his head to the side, calculating. "You could have killed him, but you didn't. You could have eaten his soul and no one would have been able to stop you. But you didn't." The Other said it distastefully. A puzzle piece that didn't fit into his narrow world.

The Hollow held back a curse, not liking how it felt to have Other peeling back his skin to poke at his motives. But— as much as he loathed to admit it— the Other was right. As challenging as it had been to hold himself back from ripping apart every vaguely-living in front of him, it had been even harder to refrain from turning that same desire inward; the pull to fully consume the glimmer of blue-white-red-black cradled in his grasp. To snap his jaws shut on that burning, shining, quivering, sliver of a soul. Kindling for a fire raging out of control.

This is your power, your life, you could be whole again.

It would have been so easy to make good on the promise to become the King himself.

The Hollow shuddered, forcing back the strange mix of hunger and disgust. He got to his feet slowly and ignored the Other's piercing gaze to grab the discarded mask. His own mask. A spark of possessiveness ignited in his chest. In his short existence, had he ever had anything to call his own? Gazing into the menacing facade, the Hollow felt the urge to slip it on again. To hide his fear and shame and weakness like all hollows did.

Forcing his energy to the surface like that had untethered the Hollow from the King and the Other alike. Without those balancing forces, his own being had begun to come undone. The core of his self being eclipsed by the Hole that was also him. He had been aware, of course, enough to remember every slice of his sword through the Espada that dared to think about claiming his King. Aware enough to remember shearing off pieces of himself to appease the hunger inside.

"You almost killed yourself to ensure his survival." The Other narrowed his eyes, "You didn't have to give back control. He was too far gone to even recognize that you saved him. All he knows is the aftermath. So why? What benefit do you hope to reap from this?"

The Hollow growled. How many times would he have to repeat himself? "I told you, didn't I? He's mine. I won't allow anyone to push themselves in between us." Not the Cuatro, not the Quincy, and certainly not him. "I'll take back what's owed to me and make him strong. I don't care what I have to do. For him I'll—"

Something inside of the Hollow shifted: a pang of sorrow and longing— familiar words on his tongue.

For him, I'll do anything.

Gold eyes fell back to the mask.

That's the sacrifice I'm willing to make.

He didn't understand the feeling twisting in his gut.

Even if that means becoming a monster.

The Other stopped, echoing footsteps falling into heavy silence.

"I think I'm beginning to understand you" The Other broke the silence.

The words swirled in the cold water.

The Hollow wanted to growl and snap and shout because how dare he presume such a thing. The idea was absurd. How could he— the Other— the thing that had usurped his right as a zanpakuto and stolen his name— How dare he claim understanding!?

"You're not Zangetsu."

How dare he! How dare he!

The Other was unaffected by the Hollow's obvious simmering rage "You're not Zangetsu," he repeated, "At least, not the same Zangetsu that existed before."

The Hollow's eyes narrowed with suspicion. What was the Other playing at?

A sudden realization hit him: 'our wielder.'

the Other had said 'our wielder' in reference to the King.

Our Wielder.

"You're different. Hollow. And yet, you hold pieces of his power. You have a right to his name"

Ours.

"You have... more of a right than I do."

Shock, disbelief, and confusion all flickered across the Hollow's face. Was this a trick? A sick joke? Or did the Other really, truly, see him for once? "I've been telling you that from the beginning," he did nothing to keep the scathing tone out of his voice, "why start believing me now?"

The Other's gaze was steady as their eyes met, "You know why."

And he did. Just like he knew his name, he knew the reason.

He knew and he hated it.

"You know what our Wielder is up against. He needs us both."

"Che. You think he'll accept me after what I just did?" The Hollow growled, "You said it yourself, He doesn't remember that I helped him." He probably didn't even remember begging for the aid in the first place, or giving permission.

The Other's face was impassive, "That will not be a problem. I will take care of that."

The Hollow's eyes narrowed, reading between the lines. "You're still going to lie to him."

The Other tightened his jaw and met the Hollow's eyes with a sharp look.

"If we told him the truth, we could obliterate that traitor" The Hollow continued

"It would be too much for him to take at the moment. He needs to rely on us. He will not be able to do that if we break the bonds we have already forged."

"If you break the bonds you forged." corrected the Hollow.

The Other didn't reply.

The Hollow got the sense that his next moves would be critical. Their dynamic was going through a shift. In a fluid motion, he slipped his black mask over his face. He wasn't hiding though, the fear and uncertainty had burned away. No, he put on the mask simply because it felt right. The mask was him and he was the mask. With it on, he felt complete.

He strode confidently towards the Other, looming over. A white sword materialized in his right hand.

Clawed and horned and armed. The Other at his mercy.

"What benefit do you get from this?" The Hollow asked, grinning at the ability to throw the Other's words back at him. "It's not like you to help him altruistically. Remember: you were the first one to try and kill him."

"I..." The Other lowered his gaze, finally submitting. "I never expected to care so much for him. I do not know if it was time or Zangetsu's interference that changed my perception, but... I want our Wielder to be strong." Blue eyes lifted again, defiant. "I understand why you did what you did for him. I apologize that I did not see sooner."

"I still don't trust you" The Hollow raised his new blade, pointing it at the Other's throat. "However, the King needs me. Needs us. So I'll do what I can." Still hidden behind the mask, his face broke into a wide grin, "Just don't get in my way. You try to keep me away from him and I'll make what happened to the Cuatro look like a sparring warmup."

The Other offered a sly smile, "I wouldn't even think of it."

Chapter Text

It was the longest they had been in direct contact with their wielder.

Chapter Text

It was night when Zangetsu awoke.

His blurred and subdued sense could register that much at least.

Night.

A rainy night.

Water pelted the sidewalk and collected in sombre puddles.

How he hated the rain.

It was night and his wielder was in battle.

His... wielder...?

Yes, that was right.

His—

The Hollow's eyes flew open, shock and disbelief jarring him awake. "King!?" He couldn't stop from calling out the name.

Memories came crashing down, a tidal wave of sounds and images:

The Other acknowledging him as an equal—

His wielder accepting their blade—

Mugetsu—

The indescribable bliss of finally, finally, being whole—

His existence shattering like glass not a moment later—

A million billion crystalline fragments: infinitely small and scattered. No indication of where 'he' ended and 'nothing' began—

He shouldn't be awake.

He shouldn't even exist anymore.

And yet here he was.

He glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. The world was still hazy with half-formed, shifting energy. Raw emotion surged around him: grief, despair, loneliness, all being burned away as the freezing waters receded and buildings knit themselves back together. His King's heart and determination solidified in the presence of the returning power.

His own form was equally in flux. The outline of his pale hands shifted, reiatsu sparking along the edges like crackling electricity, barely able to be contained. Still solid enough that he could tell that some of the changes— his long hair, his clawed hands, his mask— had disappeared.

He was also alone.

An individual again.

The Other wasn't around.

Not yet, anyway. He was still in torpor. Buried too deep for the coursing reiatsu to reach him for a while. He would be awake soon enough though.

The Hollow's attention turned outward again, trying to piece together the fragmented images of the King's memories.

Betrayal.

Friends and family, led astray by false visions and memories, turning against the King,

Power.

The glowing sword speared through the King's chest, reigniting the spark

Fullbring.

The Hollow knew the concept as instinctively as he knew everything else.

It was a hollow-based power. Of course he would have been pulled to wakefulness first.

Sudden anger, hot and piercing, poured through the spirit as he recognized what their enemy had done moments prior to his awakening: siphoning off his King's power— his own power— like a leech.

Disgusting.

Revolting.

The violation somehow felt even worse than when the Other stole his name. At least the Other was technically a part of him.

He was surprised, though he probably shouldn't have been, to feel the same sentiment reverberate throughout the re-forming world. Echoing from the King.

The sensation gave the Hollow pause, a sinking feeling opening up somewhere inside. How long had the King been alone? How much had he changed?

Their power was merely a fraction of what it was— their soul still unsteady and fragile; hastily patched together and not given any time to heal before being forced into a fight. Who knew how much they could handle?

It was enough concern that the Hollow chose to stay back, lending his strength only as it was asked and keeping his influence low.

He would observe.

Observe and only step in if absolutely necessary.

The enemy outside was talking, ranting about something that the Hollow didn't care enough to focus on. All of his attention was turned on the King, on the reactions and sensations reverberating through him. If the Hollow listened close enough, he could almost hear words.

I don't understand you.

Why are we fighting?

Why am I your enemy?

The world rumbled with each clash of their blades.

If I were in your shoes, would I feel the same?

The King was faring surprisingly well for not having held a blade in... however long it had been. His muscle memory was quickly returning; reflexes springing forth to block and counter attacks that his conscious thought couldn't process fast enough.

Rage bloomed in both the Hollow and his King as their enemy threw an attack their way— their own attack. Name and all.

The absolute wrongness left a palpable weight in the air.

It was despicable and the Hollow couldn't help the snarl on his face— had to physically hold himself back from jumping in and tearing the man limb-from-limb.

They started talking outside again and the Hollow was growing more and more antsy by the moment. His King should be better than this— shouldn't be wasting time trying to understand his opponent. He could feel the King's emotions shifting through the world: a strange mix of shock and acceptance all at once.

And then, the King spoke a single word that grabbed the Hollow's attention and wouldn't let it go: "Bankai."

The city rumbled, heaving with the massive surge of reiatsu. Something almost like concern flared in the back of the Hollow's mind, expecting the buildings to buck and crumble under the added strain. They held tight. Gathered strength, in fact, from the fire of reiatsu raging the streets. The King's willpower crystalized in that way it did when he needed to get stuff done.

The Hollow realized that the world was not on the verge of total collapse. The tremble that shook the earth wasn't the King pulling too hard on his soul, it was the King's own overflowing energy straining against the channels that had withered with lack of use. The small spark of reawakened power was quickly turning into a blazing inferno.

With that recognition, the Hollow allowed himself to sink into the wonderful, powerful feeling. The King was drawing on his power. Unconsciously, of course— it still stung that he didn't know the truth. But that wasn't an issue at the moment. No, the Hollow was basking in the infectious inferno of his wielder's determined spirit.

You'll have to share this power again once the Other wakes up. Some part of his thoughts pushed forward. He ignored it. Later… I'll deal with that later.

For now it was just the Hollow and his King.

The fight progressed well, trading sword blows instead of words. The enemy raised his blade, fired a fuschia energy beam from it, and the King stood his ground. His hand raised almost in slow motion, confidence guiding the action.

It was then that the Hollow felt it twisting through the world; that cold thread that he had worked so hard to pull free from where it had been hidden away.

The King's recognition that he couldn't save everyone he crossed blades with. Letting go of his stubborn refusal to stop fighting with his head. Tossing aside the proclivity for trying to win while doing the least amount of harm possible.

All that time fighting himself… all the struggles against his nature… all the excuses…

The King finally embraced it:

His killing instinct.

Pride swelled in the Hollow's chest and he said with a smirk, "Took you long enough."

The fight ended with a single, decisive strike. No hesitation.

Inside the city, the blazing reiatsu settled, falling back to the comfortable glow of banked embers.

The Hollow allowed himself to relax. There was so much still that needed to be done— so many words to be said— too many questions that begged for answers.

But that could wait for another time.

If this was the King he had now, after however long they had been separated, they were going to be just fine.

Chapter Text

Their wielder knew the truth.

About himself.

About his parents.

About the Hollow.

Mostly.

The Swordsmith had sent them away, forcing the King to confront his past before reforging his weapon, and he had found his answers. Answers enough for him to feel confident in returning to the Royal Realm. Answers enough for him to put the pieces together and complete the whole puzzle.

Only he wasn't putting them together.

Not completely.

The air buzzed in the sideways city. Anticipation, agitation, the peace of answers combined with the fervent why why why of more questions being shoved to the side and not looked at, save for quick, sidelong glances.

Though their wielder was known to be exceptionally dense on occasion, the Hollow was sure it wasn't stupidity preventing him from seeing the truth At least, not entirely. And, as much as he wanted to, the Hollow couldn't really blame his King. A lot had happened and there was little time to process it before more was coming their way.

The return of the Quincies to the limelight of Soul Society

The Noble Captain asking— pleading for their help.

A sword through the King's neck.

Asauchis.

Masaki.

Yhwach.

The Hollow heaved a sigh, reveling in the moment of quiet peace that was surely not going to last. Idly, he rubbed at his throat. The wound wasn't there anymore, but he could still feel the tingling numbness of the King's tendons and arteries being severed by sharpened steel, along with the acidic burn of pure Quincy reiatsu rushing to block as much of the damage as it could.

Blut Vene had saved the King's life.

The Other had willed it forward, breaking his self-imposed limits and drawing upon the core of his own power.

He had willed it in spite of the fact that the attack was coming from his own hand.

A defiance of his own nature.

Insubordination against his very self.

Said Other was stoic; standing ramrod straight nearby, silent as usual. Though the Hollow could easily pick up on the undercurrent of tension and unease. The Other spoke slowly, quietly, "This is what I was hoping to avoid. This is why I didn't want him to fight. I knew all along… this path would only lead to him."

"But that's not really what you were worried about, was it?" The Hollow intercut, a knowing glint in his eye. "You're worried about our King facing him, sure. But you're worried about yourself more. You're worried about having to go against your past promises— your millenia-old grudges— yourself." The Other's shoulders tensed, an involuntary tell that showed the Hollow how spot-on his analysis was.

"When it comes down to it, will I be able to do what is right?"

Right by me wielder?

Right by myself?

The Hollow heard both in the simple question.

The Other continued his monolog, "It would have been easier if you had not intervened in the first place. If you had let me destroy his power before its fruition."

"Oh? Blaming me for these troubles is hardly fair with all you've done to help him grow." The Hollow chided. "Come now, it's much too late for doubt, don't you think?"

The corner of the Other's pursed lips twitched downwards. "I expected you to be more sympathetic. You should understand the struggle of fighting against your nature fairly well, afterall."

"You're misunderstanding me again." The Hollow muttered, turning away.

Everyone always was.

"How so?"

"It was never my nature I was fighting against. I always knew, deep down, what I was meant to do. Who I was meant to be. It was turning away from all of that, trying to be what everyone else— what you thought I was, that caused the struggle. The pain." His eyes dropped to his hands: white skin, black nails. His own disregard of his split nature; trying to be either a zanpakuto or a hollow. The futility of forcing a dichotomy.

He wasn't either.

He was both.

The Hole. The blot of hollow energy had always been there, inside his wielder— inside himself. Even if they had not been forced into hollowification, it would have happened eventually; an agonizing process that would have only caused more harm if allowed to fester.

Zangetsu had never been just one thing.

"I think it was always meant to be like this."

Inevitable.

"There were plenty of opportunities to kill him if that's what we really wanted." The Hollow turned back, leveling his gaze at the Other. "You already made your decision a long time ago. We both did."

The Other only bowed his head further, dark, windswept hair shadowing his face.

"Keep him safe." The Other concluded. He turned to his pale companion.

"Keep him safe." The Hollow repeated.

The Other frowned again. "We will not be able to do that this time, I'm afraid."

The Hollow looked at him, really looked at him, and tried to imagine the proud figure he had once been, standing on his tower of lies behind their wielder. Guiding a sword he didn't know how to use as best he could without the Hollow's help.

"He'll learn the truth soon." The Other almost whispered.

And there it was again: that fear. Swirling in the air like poison. They had worked so hard to rid that fear from their world entirely.

Look forward, move forward.

"He'll learn the truth, and then he will abandon me"

Stupid. As if the Other wasn't aware of how naive and forgiving their wielder could be.

As if the Hollow hadn't torn out his King's own heart without much consequence.

As if they both wouldn't follow him willingly into the oblivion that certainly awaited ahead, even if he did try and cast them aside.

He needed them.

And they needed him.

"We'll see." was all the Hollow could offer

"We'll see."

-0-

The Hollow bowed before his King, the asauchi's deep purple-black skin flaking away to reveal pristine white underneath. He knelt, naked, his masked face lowered in subservience, one arm lifted as an invitation.

The moment of truth.

His King had recognized the Hollow's importance before: during the three months of fighting to attain their final form. But he had been merged with the Other for that, combined with the more "presentable" aspect of the King's power in hopes of not frightening him off. Cut down to be lesser, more palpable.

There was nowhere to hide here.

The King would have to accept him alone and completely.

"It's you." was all the King said, the slightest edge of surprise in his voice.

The Hollow wished, desperately, that he could respond. But something beyond his control stayed his tongue. 'Of course,' he would say, 'it's always been me.'

The short trip to the forge passed by in a blur. New sights and sounds assaulted the Hollow's stunted senses. Everything felt all too quiet and deafeningly loud at the same time. Each step shook his frame, each caress of the breeze was electric across his bare skin.

For the first time, he felt something other than glass and metal beneath his feet.

For the first time, he heard his wielder's voice speaking his name clearly through the air.

For the first time, he was beyond the reach of the Other. His thoughts and feelings— the very reiatsu he was made of— was entirely his own.

It was nothing short of euphoria.

And yet… the Hollow's dark eyes were drawn to the person in front of him. The only thing that truly mattered.

His King.

His Wielder.

His Partner.

The Hollow wasn't supposed to be here; outside and away from his home.

Not a moment later, the Swordsmith called him forward and his physical form failed. He didn't resist the pull. Pure reishi broke free of the limitations, returning him to his primordial, pre-awakened form. He rushed forward, into the flames and the molten metal awaiting its new soul. Ready to take the shape he was always meant to be.

He knew this feeling, altogether new and yet completely familiar:

Zangetsu.

His partner was right next to him, pouring in more and more energy. Blurring the already faint line between them.

No longer Hollow and Shinigami

No longer King and Horse.

Zangetsu would have laughed if he could.

Haven't you realized it already?

Was he talking to himself or his wielder?

Isn't it obvious?

Oh. Right. It didn't matter.

We're one in the same.

There was a discussion happening somewhere, far away in a place that should have never existed as it broke apart and reformed with everything else. Zangetsu couldn't hear the words being said, but he did understand the meaning: Acceptance.

And for the first time, Zangetsu felt whole.

Awake.

Alive.

Chapter Text

The air was thick in the city. A shimmering heat wave blanketed the area in a stifling blaze, not yet cooled since the fight's conclusion. The Hollow stood at the edge of a building, not bothered by the sheer drop mere inches from his toes, and only mildly annoyed by the glare of the over-bright sun glinting off the windows.

He was alone.

Time was warped in the soulscape compared to the outside world. That combined with the adrenaline flooding their system made it a fool's errand to estimate the duration of their battle.

An hour?

A second?

It didn't really matter.

They were alive.

They were alive, and Yhwach was not.

That's what was important.

With another scowl, the Hollow craned his neck to inspect his shoulder, peeling away the hem of his clothes for a better look. Thin, rough, lines cross-crossed the area like cracks in porcelain. He could feel, without having to look, that they stretched down along his left side and at least halfway across his chest. The movement pulled at the wounds uncomfortably and the Hollow brushed off the stab of sharp pain.

He'd survive.

Still, being broken several times in rapid succession was far from pleasant.

In his opinion, his Wielder should learn to take care of his things better. Careless idiot.

The Hollow heaved a sigh. No use getting upset. There were more important things on his mind. On everyone's mind.

Like how close they had all come to absolute annihilation.

His wielder's mind, as well as his own, was scattered. Exhausted. Too much happened all at once, and the stories trickling in from other shinigami only left the King's thoughts reeling time and time again.

It hadn't been a good fight.

Sure, they were victorious, but there was no joy in their triumph. No sense of accomplishment, of growth. Yhwach had shown them, over and over again, that their own strength wasn't enough— would never be enough. It didn't matter how many times their sword was split and reforged, how much determination and reiatsu pumped through their veins.

It was futile.

His wielder's voice had echoed like thunder across the sky, screaming his terror:

It's too much.

He's too strong.

I… I can't win…

Hopelessness. Panic. Despair.

They had been losing up until the very last second, plain and simple. And while many of the King's fights had been won with a last-minute turnaround, this was no sudden mastery of skill, nor quick strategizing to outsmart their opponent.

Winning had been luck. Pure, stupid, uncontrollable chance.

A fleeting moment that they had barely grasped at the last possible second.

It left a bitter taste in the Hollow's mouth.

It could have been worse, some foolish glass-half-full part of the Hollow's mind offered, At least he accepted you. He gave a genuine attempt to follow that thought, chasing the feeling of truly fighting alongside his wielder; a horn atop his head, red-black markings streaking his skin.

Hollow, but without a mask.

Hollow, but no longer hiding.

No longer afraid.

It was sad, the Hollow thought, that they would never again achieve that form. The death of Yhwach marked the beginning of peace, and that glorious new power would be packed away and never touched.

But then he once again glanced at the heavy clouds of fear and doubt still lingering at the horizon.

The Hollow suppressed a shudder. No, he was glad it was over.

For once, he was sick of fighting.

A rumbling off to the right caught the Hollow's attention and he impassively watched the plume of dust rise from the just-collapsed building falling to the ground at the hollow's back, not having gotten the memo that gravity was a little screwed up.

It was fine. Just aftershocks from the fight rippling through. They would rebuild.

Still, the damage to their soul was evident, the Hollow didn't even want to guess how many skyscrapers had been destroyed while Yhwach was meddling with their soul; pulling at their power like it was his own.

He winced at the memory of the Quincy reiatsu burning through him— searing, blinding pain that disrupted his synchronicity with his King. Watching blue tendrils grab the Other, pulling them apart.

The utter terror in the Other's face as he clung to the fading world around them.

The unspoken words spilling a torrent of emotion into those usually stoic blue eyes: Don't let me go. Please… please!

It would have been so easy for the Hollow to have just sat by and let the Other get dragged away. So easy to take advantage of the weakness and become the sole source of power like he always dreamed of.

Like he always should have been.

Just a Hollow and his King.

After he had been reforged by the Swordsmith, the Hollow had scowled at his hands, still white, and flicked his eyes, still silver-black, across the landscape, still impossibly sideways.

He had hoped, in some back part of his mind, that being reforged would have changed him somehow, made him into whatever form he was supposed to have taken on the first time he awoke two whole lifetimes ago, even though he had long since forgotten the glimpse he had gotten. Or if it would have fixed the broken world he resided in.

But no, everything was the same.

Or so he thought.

Because there, among the destruction of their soul being torn asunder, with the Other reaching out, searching for salvation, the Hollow's dead heart had stirred. Empathy, an entirely new emotion, sprung forth. He couldn't just sit by and ignore the Other, not after what they had been through together. Not after all they had sacrificed. Not after the Hollow knew what that sting of betrayal felt like from that position better than anyone.

Zangetsu was a concept that they represented together. The King had all but said so when he had confronted the Other about his deception.

You're both my power.

You're both Zangetsu.

And I accept you just the way you are.

Without a second thought, the Hollow had grabbed the Other's hand and hauled him back to safety.

It could have been a disaster. He had almost been too late. Almost burned himself away ripping through the Quincy reiatsu. Almost left their wielder completely and utterly defenseless at the mercy of a lesser god. And that more than anything made his blood run cold.

But he couldn't go forward alone.

Hesitantly, the Hollow mentally reached inside himself, checking on the little ember of blue nestled safely away, too weak to exist on his own at the moment.

Time would heal him, the Hollow thought, looking again at the broken city and the long road of recovery ahead of them. Time would heal them all.

A change in the wind broke the Hollow's thoughts, The refreshingly cool whisper of familiar reiatsu against his neck heralding a visitor.

The King had entered his kingdom.

The Hollow stood still and let his King come to him.

There was silence when they met, looking at each other without malice, without fear. Unarmed.

Their dynamic had changed in such a drastic way so quickly. Their future uncertain, a chance to begin again. The proposition was thrilling and daunting all at once, sending the Hollow's new heart fluttering. A litany of what if's streaking across his thoughts.

The Hollow felt the beginnings of a snide comment forming on his tongue, a habit he quickly reeled back in check before he could open his mouth. He didn't want to mess this up.

"Hey." The King broke the silence, a calm smile on his face. "I think we have quite a bit to talk about, Zangetsu."

Zangetsu flashed a quick smile in return, taking a few steps closer. "Yeah… I guess we do, Ichigo."

-END-