The problem with Darrow always seems to be predictability. Monsters are starting to slip out of the woodwork, monsters of a sort that Rukia can't even begin to fully fathom — and with them, perhaps even more problematic, come the hunters. Far from being the only person trying to solve for an entire city's problems with violent, supernatural creatures, it seems like there might be a good half dozen people tracking an amount of ground that Rukia's accustomed to having completely to herself. The sting of venom against her shoulder is nothing much to worry about, but when a person steps forward with a gun in his hands, Rukia finds panic teasing about her skin at once.

"That won't work!" she calls out to him, although if he's anything like that other guy she came across some time ago, he'll shoot anyway. "You'll only make it angrier."

Indeed, the Hollow does turn its head at the shout, tail lashing about on the beach and driving both sand and water every which way. About twice the size of Rukia, the Hollow doesn't have quite as much size on the newcomer, but still it surges forward towards the man, seemingly unafraid.