At first, he still remembered his old life, his sister. But the more he ate, the more it faded. The more souls he consumed, the emptier and hungrier he felt.

He travelled to different places, consuming as many souls as he could.

At first, it was just dead people.

Then he decided it wasn't enough, because he was too hungry.

So he made up his mind to try the living people.

The first human he ate was a kid—probably six or seven. But he tasted oh-so-good, and his hunger seemed to abate, a little. But when the pains began anew, he devoured souls, both of dead and living. The smell of souls, their taste—

It was all good.

He was on the every shinigami's list of Hollows to kill (It seemed that once souls became Hollows, they knew instinctively to avoid death gods), but he was good at hiding. His stamina was long lived, his speed unnaturally fast for an ordinary Hollow.

Oh, he once lost an arm, and one of the horns on his mask was cut off, but it was really nothing—as long as he kept his head on his shoulders and avoiding getting sliced in half.

Years passed; he didn't care. His memories her dim; he didn't care.

All that mattered and all that was in his mind were two things: Staying alive—well, staying away from getting kicked into Hell by those high-and-almighty shinigami—and eating souls.

He ate all souls, but only of one gender—the males.

A part of him still remembered he had a sister, and it would be a disgrace to her if he ate females.

He had yet to kill a shinigami, though.

Finally, he was cornered by two shinigami. They held their swords high, ready to bring it down on him.

I'm already dead.

I'm already a Hollow.

I'm not going down now!

He screamed, the sound so piercing loud that he was sure everyone, both dead and alive, could hear it. He felt something rip through his back, and found that he had grown wings.

He only dimly remembered the battle—bitinghackingshriekingslashing

What he remembered clearly is how good those two shinigami tasted.

They tasted better than souls.

And he began eating all souls—humans and shinigami alike.

But the hunger was always there, clawing at him and his mind. He refused to succumb, though. He wanted to keep hold of his mind and thoughts; he didn't want to become just another stupid, bumbling Hollow.

He still had his wings. At first, flying with them was slightly awkward. He adjusted himself quickly, and found that he could elude a lot of his enemies by using his wings, stamina, and speed combined.

More years passed, though every day was the same to him (eat, kill, and run).

He met other Hollows, some bigger and more powerful. More often than not, he fought with other Hollows for souls. He usually won, but sometimes he was left with wounds.

He didn't like that.

I've come this far, only to be pushed aside.

I need…to be on the top.

The top.

Hollows…they were once souls…

I wonder if they taste good.

The more he thought, the better it sounded to him.

So he tried it one day, after a fight.

He ripped the other Hollow's head off and devouring it—

It was like the drugs he once took. Blissful. The hunger pains lessened.

From then on, he only ate Hollows.

Little did he was now evolving into a Menos.