As I woke up by the bonfire, I was already another man. Being a hollowing undead has its advantages, I suppose, since the awful headache and overall “becoming not human” effect also had freed me from human flaws and weaknesses, but that was gone now, and being now able to see who I was and what situation I was in, finally as a full human being, seemed to me as almost too much to bare. Being human again, fully healed by the bonfire, would become a nightmare by itself, probably greater than the hellkite dragon and the black knight together.
Before, I had no life, I was but a shell of my former self, awkwardly swinging around a zweihander. But now I had to look at my life and balance things out, and it was completely bleak and hopeless. I would probably never see my family again, since my death was almost certain. Judging by the state of everything I saw in Lordran, I might have been slowly hollowing for more time than I realized: for the first time I realized that the Firelink Shrine and the burg had not been destroyed recently, but perhaps years, or hundreds of years before.
The sun still didn’t move, there was never any night, and that couldn’t be normal. Perhaps the whole world outside of Lordran had become like the Undead Asylum while I was rotting in my cell, and maybe now the world was so much dead that even the gods that keep the sun moving in the sky were gone, and I was alone fighting a useless and unwinnable war.
Maybe my whole family was killed, and my hollowed father waited for me at home, ready to murder me for the scraps of soul energy I might have when I get there.
But most of all, I could feel again something that had been unknown to me for what felt like ages, sadness. Deep, overbearing sadness, a profound loneliness that couldn’t possibly be quenched. If I felt like this in the Asylum, I would probably have cut my throat with my broken sword. The sadness made my quest seem even more futile, for I needed love and affection more than I wanted to ring the two bells of awakening. That’s when I realized, that’s what happened to the crestfallen warrior. That poor man couldn’t gather strength to as far as stand up and shake my hand when I arrived. His existence, like mine, was devoid of meaning, pointless, only bearable by his ability to laugh of the stupidity of fools like me, or by his own personal, ultimately gentle quest: to kill all of the beaten, hollowed would-be saviors of the world, to finish their miserable life once and for all, as mercifully as another miserable soul could strike a deathly blow.
But the crestfallen warrior was clearly hollowing. His sadness, the same as mine, was killing him inside as much as his undead state. I couldn’t help but think of it as a joke on the expense of every undead, the revenge of the undead curse from the rebels who dared to reclaim humanity: from their beating heart would come a sadness so deep, they would hope to be fully hollowed and be free from the awful burden of being alive and being only human.
So this much I knew for sure, I had to find something to keep me alive, something as powerful as the curse itself, something so powerful that could make me lift my zweihander and fight a hellkite dragon. Such a force could surely expel the sun and turn this land into night again, such a comparably easy task. And that was how I decided that, crawling around Lordran killing hollows and demons alike, I would find love, I would find a wife and with her have children that would outlive this curse. If I had to become a god, I would, and Anor Londo itself would be my new home. This much I hoped and decided to achieve by the end of this ordeal. And with this goal in mind, I knew I could kill Lord Gwynn himself, that incompetent bastard who couldn’t even move the sun in the sky anymore.
But anyway, being now fully human and able to desire a woman so, I felt the urge to masturbate, and so I did, and was proud at myself for having thus reconquered my full humanity. I was now a man again, and gods damn if I wasn’t ready to sink my zweihander in some demon’s face.