Hunter x Hunter
In the denseness of the forest, calculated footsteps tread a path without the guidance of stars to compensate a sense of direction. Astronomical twilight slowly dyes the endless black sky into a shade of midnight blue, allowing him to calculate the distance he roughly covered within his hours of travelling. Today had been productive enough; there had been less interaction with wildlife compared to other days, speeding up his journey with a couple of extra miles. At this rate, reaching the next point of civilization would take about another two weeks.
While visiting the rural town would certainly be convenient for a stock-up of new supplies, there was little else to that prospect. If asked upon, he would reply indifferent to the change of environment. Whenever he travels by himself, he considers himself alone regardless of what surrounds him – whether this is a boisterous crowd or a desolate forest. Watching the changing colours of the sky by himself was something he was used to for long periods of time. It never fazed him.
At least, until now. Something has been stirring at the place his restriction lingered. A heavy feeling he could perhaps blame on the weight of the chains surrounding his most vulnerable organ. It was there, but not just as a hindering inconvenience alone. Cut away from the Spider, his inability to contact the Troupe members has left him speculating about their current state every day.
Having bared witness to Pakunoda's resolve and knowing her personality and abilities, he'd known - that very night in fact - that she would willingly sacrifice herself for the divided group to remain intact. Aside from the usual spats such a diverse group of strongly opinionated individuals could not avoid, he had blindly trusted their ability to make the right call without his guide. He once had faith that, in a threatening situation, the Spider would be able to unite and move as one. In the situation where he was taken hostage, it was clear that he lost his value as a member. And yet, as often experienced within the familiar playgrounds of the underground market, something becomes as valuable as others are willing to pay for it. He had severely underestimated the group's dependence on him. Pakunoda's betrayal to the Spider's idealism birthed from that dependence and the consequences… were saddening. It was clear that the situation made the Spider's legs unstable, hurting itself in the process of moving. And even now, Chrollo's position within the Troupe was still being leaned upon, regardless of his own formed opinion around the subject. Whether he could communicate them no longer mattered. The 'body' had decided to keep him as their 'head' and thus, it was his responsibility to prioritize reassembling the Spider, including all of its limbs. There were ways he could still aid the Troupe within the shadows of his isolation, despite the limitations implemented on him. Resourcefulness came with knowledge, creativity and intellect; it did not necessarily require physical strength. And yet, it felt as he was wandering aimlessly without a purpose. For the first time, he felt the mental strains of travelling alone.
The sight of a dead flower diverted his thoughts and his boot planted itself unto the soft soil next to it. In the lingering darkness until dawn, his eyes had no trouble adapting to the prevailing level of light, being able to see each detail on its petals clearly without the aid of Gyo. In particular, the very ends were curling up, blackened; as if one had scorched the ends with a lighter. His hand absently covered his lips in thought. The cause of this phenomenon was, without a doubt, some kind of poison travelling through the air. After all, deterioration would have set at the stem if its cause came from soil or water. The faint shimmering of red on the burned parts begged for caution and Chrollo resisted the urge to pluck the dying plant in elation. That's right… it was that time of the year, wasn't it?
Without aura protecting his skin naturally, making the right preparations had now become a necessity. He cut away at the tissue of the surrounding cork trees, using the suberin acids as a layer of protection, its waxy structure forming a waterproof barrier that would do as a temporarily solution. A cloth with a dense braid of fibres, dampened, was the best thing available to a makeshift respirator. In order to further protect his lungs, he needed to keep his heartbeat slow and stable, ensuring his intakes of breath are kept to a bare minimum. Any mistake could very well be fatal.
Pacing through the thinning grass, the trail was easy to follow once the stages of decay increased. Before too long, carcasses of small animals joined the wilted plants. Cutting one open to inspect its organs confirmed his suspicion. The tiny drops of red within the lungs were a favourable sight and the estimated age of the cadaver looked promising as well. This really was a fortunate discovery.
In all stages of maturity, the type of flora he was looking for is a valuable find. Its petals store small amounts of fluid with an antibiotic effect, which will corrupt into a strong poison once it starts wilting. The deterioration would last four to six days, depending on the weather conditions. The veins of the petals would eventually give way and the leaking fluid would slowly evaporate into the air, creating a consistently present deadly fume. Though, it was rare for it to reach that stage. They tend to grow as buds for a couple of weeks each year before blooming, but without thorns these flowers are quite vulnerable. Before they are able to sprout and release their spores for the next generation, they are often consumed by wildlife, making them a rare find in itself.
Making his way back to the spot he came from, he calculated the estimated distance between the rodents and the poisonous fumes of the flower, based on the capacity of their lungs and their slow reaction time. He did not want to end up like them and took a moment to inspect his own skin for redness and blisters and to check for any irregularity in his breathing. Once he deemed everything normal, he washed the cloth thoroughly and decided on a number. It would be best to stay cautious and regularly check his health. He would allow himself twelve inhales of breath before returning.
Once the dried grass he stepped upon pulverized on contact, any vibrant colour in a field tinged with sickness would naturally stick out. It did not take long before Chrollo's eyes were drawn to a healthy-looking yellow bud, completely unaffected by the very substance that sucked the life out of everything else around it. It was clear that this was not the target he was looking for, but he plucked his find nonetheless. After all, having a strong antibiotic during long adventures in isolated areas would be considered a life line by most other travellers.
When he continued his search, his first reason for concern was perhaps the corpse of a crow, sprawled into the old stain of its own blood, its neck bend at an odd angle. It had fallen from a great distance; from the top of the trees or maybe even mid-flight. He thought up several possibilities for this. The bird could have spent too much time low to the ground and only succumbed to the effects of poisoning after reaching height. It was also plausible that it attempted to consume something infected and quickly passed away from that. Another, more troubling possibility, is that the poison easily reached the height the crow was at. If its swift lethalness took it by surprise, the fumes were a lot thicker and reached more area than was usually expected from the wilting process of a single flower. And once Chrollo finished mapping out the area and came out empty-handed, this hypothesis gained more ground. He retreated afterwards and debated his options.
If carefully collected, one flower can contain five to six drops of poison. Its lethalness would mostly depend on the creative use of the assassin. One drop in a bottle of wine would burn the oesophagus and weaken the stomach lining, causing heavy internal bleeding that would kill the victim before paramedics could arrive. However, that same drop can also be processed in something like a homemade candle, releasing toxic fumes that could wipe out a whole conference room without a hitch. It could also be processed in something like a popular factory-made facial crème, reaching hundreds, if not thousands of victims before the news could cover its danger. This is an ideal substance to commit murder with, discretely and from a safe distance, when direct approach is not preferable. It makes a hefty price on the black market because of this very reason.
After revaluating his physical condition, Chrollo decided to press on with caution. In his next two trips, he found three young buds and thirty-six cadavers of animals that exceeded each other in size. He reapplied the protection on his skin, yet found the first small blisters poking through his layers; a second cause for concern. He cut his exposure time in half and decided to limit his trips down to just three more. The risks were in balance with the reward and walking alongside death was a path he was not unfamiliar with.
Finally, at his second-to last breath of his second-to-last trip, he finally found a flower in the state of wilting. Its petals were a calm yellow with bright red poison pulsating from its swollen veins; a clear sign that the liquid has been converted and is ready to burst free at any given time. That meant that it was not emitting poison and yet, this was exactly what he was looking for. He wondered if he was being ungrateful for feeling the slightest bit disappointed. Placing the flower in one of the empty bottles he uses to contain his water supply, he decided to head back for now and take a break.
A quick evaluation on his health did not shed positive light on his objective. Entire parts of his skin had reddened and the number of blisters had multiplied. His breathing did remain mostly unaffected, but this was likely due to his self-limited exposure time and the use of a constantly cleaned cloth.
Curiosity debated with logic. Would he continue if he was able to produce aura? The answer was probably yes and he wondered how much this should influence his decision. People who lean too heavily on their Nen often get themselves killed in their first years of using it, but that does not take away that the body is much more vulnerable without it. Making rash decisions without knowing your limitations is a very easy and fast way to die, regardless of your skills and abilities.
He tilted his head upwards, to a sky that had brightened in a strong cobalt blue. The signs of night were edging away and the first hints of orange were telling him that he had spent about an hour on his objective, without feeling gratification. The number of dead animals… the large contaminated area… Everything he discovered pointed to the possibility of multiple wilting flowers huddling together. Like the sun lingering below the horizon, his decision had already formed beneath the surface… he really wanted to give this one more try.
After making preparations, Chrollo took off, quickly venturing past his previous point. There was little alive in this part of the forest; even the trees has succumbed to the poison, its barks blackened and rotting. This time, he could actively feel the prickling on his skin and doubted that the suberin acids would do much to protect him from the thickness of the air. Animals two to three times his size were occasionally blocking his path, which was disconcerting in itself. This might become too dangerous to continue, but before he formed his decision, something caught his attention at the tree line. The colour of bright yellow, splattered like a brush on an empty canvas. He could tangibly feel the peacefulness of its beauty as he stared at a sight any botanist or plant hunter would kill for. Small buds, growing low to the ground… hundreds of them… could very well end the life of the entire twenty-thousand kilometre forest in a couple of weeks' time.
Corpses of animals in different stages of decay were present in every other step he took, flourishing the soil for these flowers to continue growing despite the strain they put on the environment. He was also drawn into this field for different reasons than the fertilizer, passing through its value that should be in the billions. The straining effect he now felt on his lungs did nothing to lower his determination. The moment he laid his eyes on it, he knew he wanted it; a deep, shining red that put the most expertly cut ruby to shame. Chrollo held his breath when he approached something he did not know could exist and has never been documented as far as he was aware of. The flower's original colour was barely visible; its petals were covered by thick drops of poison, glistering threateningly at him. The flower had grown tall, as if using its height to watch over the rest of the field. Its vengeful aggressiveness had erased any threat, big or small, animals and nature… while protecting its fellow species at the same time. And in response, they were able to flourish in such absurdly large numbers, huddling close to its protector.
And as the sun peeked from the horizon, its glow silencing the night, Chrollo released the breath he had been holding, now understanding the wave of familiarity that made his hand subconsciously seek his chest. He saw those rays of golden represent itself in dishevelled hair, the sharp silhouette of a young man a head smaller than him. Finding a stunning shade of red, while acknowledging he had underestimated its deadly potential – yes, this was exactly like staring back into that last attached pair of Scarlet Eyes.
For such a strange parallel, this flower reminded him a lot of the chain user. Cruel to anything and everything that threatens him, kind and protective towards his comrades. The natural ability to draw loyal allies that were fond of him, attracted to his strength and personality. It could be debated whether or not Kurapika was actively aware of his own potential to climb high ranks, but this natural charm of his was not his only virtue. His demonstration of intellect in a quick-witted response to the capture of his comrades was just as impressive as his victory against a veteran like Uvogin as a beginning Nen user. The ghost of a smile framed Chrollo's features. The sting of his cheek was a feeling he could still recall. If they met under different circumstances, he would have probably taken a liking to him.
But for now, he lowered his eyes to the prospect of their next meeting as he stared down at a flower, readying his knife. As the liquid could and would penetrate far into the skin similar to acid, he was utmost careful at handling it. He collected the poisonous liquid into the glass first before cutting its stem. This was a very valuable find and yet, as he stared at the sealed container, he felt rather sullen about his lost interest in it. For now, he would retreat and lick his wounds until recovery.
He left the field of flowers buds, absently wondering whether they would fall victim to natural selection, or are able to take their revenge for their comrade's disappearance in a few weeks' time. Either way, he wasn't planning to stick around to see. He might have lost his interest in these flowers, but would not let himself forget such a stunning shade of red.
Author's note:
This one-shot was initially created to challenge myself. For a while, I have this urge to write about Kurapika, since I feel like I could grasp his character. But at the same time, that made me afraid of making mistakes. So I went to the character I felt is more difficult for me – Chrollo Lucilfer – and try to force myself into his mind. Since Chrollo has little screen time and his personality is often shown through interaction with other characters, writing a story in a setting without characters or dialogue was pretty challenging. But I did enjoy the experience and gained confidence with it. Even though it's short, I hope this will entertain you guys as well. I hope to upload more HxH works in the future.