AN: First time posting my stuff here, so I'm rusty. Haven't written properly in years so it's gonna be a jiffy.

Enjoy. I appreciate all feedback, criticism and the like.


What are you made Of?

{ 1 }

One can always tell where there has been war because it is more easily seen than anything else in this world. They can see it in the landscape; the way it's ravaged and ruined, decaying from battle scars that will never heal. They can see it in the sky; once a beautiful baby blue and now a sickly black and gray from the fog of ash and smoke still thick on the air. But the places that bore most of wars truest affects carries in the people who live in its hell.

Their bodies, their postures, their attitudes, and worst of all; their eyes.

Where war happens it is the people who carry its flag. They wave it on their grave, distilled hearts swelled with pent-up anguish and hopelessness. Emotions that can never fully be cured or eased. They were permanent. Everlasting like the song of the deceased.

It was the same for Whale Island; even the small and secluded coastal port couldn't be saved from the First Hunter War. It devastated entire continents, already traversing half the globe with its maddening pollution of blood and devastation. It seemed impossible to stop. The Hunter Association was using everything in its power to just prohibit the advance of foreign Chimera Ant creatures that appeared from out of nowhere; apparently birthed in secrecy far off in the whee forbidden corners of the globe. They were demolishing everything in their path; so powerful that even the founders struggled at their fullest potential.

Already, over hundreds of thousands of causalities had been confirmed and that hadn't included all the missing and wounded. That number continued to climb and at this point of time; humans and hunters alike were facing extinction if they weren't eradicated. Their leader; Meruem the ant 'King', was so incredibly powerful, he could extinguish over 100 of the best nation's hunters with just a bored flick of his wrist. The calculative slaughter was brutal and yet so effortless for the Chimera Ants, that most humans would rather end their lives before suffering the fate of such violence.

By no means were the Ants even the slightest bit kind; torturing every bit of innocent persons for however long their will power could handle before they broke. From slow dismemberment, rape, snail-paced torture with every kind of weapon, poison, and method available to their knowledge, and more; the list was endless to what one would face in the greedy claws of those venomous, alien species. Not a soul could bare imagine living or surviving through that.

Death was the easiest answer and the quickest, most willing escape route.

Back to the situation at hand. It has been almost four months now since the beginning of the Chimera Ant invasion and the First Hunter War. Soldiers from the Hunter Army had several manned camps settled throughout the continents, split into two stations. One for battle and one for rescue. As there were still survivors, there was a large priority in rescuing and finding anyone still alive and have them transported to the very few safe 'houses' that were set up furthest from the battle field. Any able bodied people that could fight would be recruited, but right now, their biggest priority was to save as many as possible. The battlement was to provide back up and protection when necessary. They knew what their lives meant and were willing to sacrifice at a moments notice; at least to an extent.

Several encampments where Chimera Ants had imprisoned people at were constantly and gradually being raided by the Hunters. It was never an easy win; when more than 75% of the time their attacks and attempts to dismember the camps would be futile and end up in almost a 100% chance of total catastrophe. But they still tried, still fought, even to their graves. It was all humanity had left. All what little hope remained. All of it held in blood-stained, torn apart digits never drying.

Only wet with the fresh reminder of reality.

Killer hands that should never had have to tear through flesh.

That was what Leorio Paladiknight; age 24 and fresh out of college and on his way to becoming a full-fledged doctor/now turned war medic, thought anyway as he stood at the borderline between the encampment's forest line and the large expanse that clearly showed the three fortified buildings in sight. Another Chimera Ant hold. The fourth and last one that had been set up on Whale Island; thankfully because it wasn't a very heavily populated or large island for that matter. His eyes were rimmed with shadows from lack of sleep, bags under heavy lids that spent nights crying out what little tears his body could spit out on such small amounts of fluid he lived off of.

In his left hand Leorio carried his trusty suitcase filled with medical supplies, heavy and stuffed full. He could never have too much on himself during combat. And in the right; his grip tight and stiff like the scars and wounds that laced his arm with its grizzly reminder that he too, had a killer's hand, was a gun. A gun that killed; Leorio counting 157 lives so far and each one left another unrecoverable mark upon his guilty, shameful soul, as they did the same upon the weapon in his grasp. Those 157 deaths were his nightmares in the middle of night, waking up screaming and thrashing in a fit of sweat and shakes. But he wasn't the only one.

He was lucky, actually, Leorio always told himself. Because, despite the fact he murdered people with cold, steel bullets to whichever place was easier to shoot, he never truly had the victims blood upon him. Not like those who were fighting on the front line.

Killua Zoldyck. A prodigy in his own right from a family of world renowned assassins. He was the one person he first thought of on that instance whenever he stared at the empty, soulless eyes of those he had slayed and watched them bleed out every last drop; no matter how ugly and grotesque the Chimera Ants appeared. They still somehow resembled humans, with humanoid bodies and humanoid speech patters and mannerisms. It was no different to him. It was still another that he had killed, but it was no worse then what he imagined it would be like for that boy of 16, so innocent and clean, now bloodied and disgusting just like everyone else around him. Killers. Murderers. Assassins.

Death Bringers hoisting the Grim Reapers flags when they marched into the battle field with expressionless faces and crimson liquid branding their skin, their hands, their faces in a grim reminder of who they've became.

But it was still Killua; the strongest (and youngest) Hunter of their entire battlement: Silver Squadron 2 of the West Division, that Leorio could not tear his mind off of whenever they were trudging towards their next battle. The boy was by no means the leader; hell, he made the leader look as weak and puny as the powerless humans that laid dead at their feet. He blamed it on his own undying need to care about someone, having lost his own brother to the war himself. He couldn't handle watching someone so young follow suit.

But, alas, even he had to admit, that Killua was good at what he did. And more times then most, everyone in the group had faith in him; in a sick and twisted way or another.

The snowy haired teenager was reveled as a monster among the other members. He was cold, silent, and lifeless. He moved and breathed, even lived like a natural born killer. And that terrified not only Leorio, but everyone else who had to stand alongside him in the heat of desecration and defilement. The commander himself; Hanzo of the infamous Ninja Clan back North; heralded for their insane gift of stealth and assassination, even gave a wide birth whenever that cool, crisp white shadow stalked past their ranks; eyes dead and empty, devoid of anything but the blood that freshly splattered on him like a painted canvas of what real death actually looked like.

Even when the poor boy showered; alone of course, no one would get within ten feet of him. Leorio could still smell that lingering scent of dissolution and decay. The grimy, metallic scent wafted around his entire being; past the icy wave of his aura that sent chills down Leorio's spine two rooms away. It was unbearable, to the point of madness, but no one dare rid of the guy. No, because he was the strongest of them all, they knew, and when the battle begun, he would be the first to begin attack and the last to land the finishing blow.

Usually it was with his bare hands; on top of that, with nails and daggers as sharp as their strongest swords and metals that tore bodies like they were cutting through water. It was effortless for Killua to swing his knives through bodies and hack away at all their vital organs until they were nothing but crimson paste and chalky dust. Heads would roll and limbs would fly until nothing remained, and that was only in the span of seconds. Most of the time; sighs of both relief and disgust would emanate from the squadron, as more than half of the percent of work would be of Killua's doing and save a lot of the recruits their grief and turmoil of killing once again.

But Leorio knew, the teenager would never be saved from the burden he bore on his back, wings brandished only by the Devil himself – The one who dances with death.

He shuddered at the memories and the thoughts, bile threatening to spill from his severely chapped lips as he licked them and readjusted his small rimmed glasses back onto his nose.

"Well, ready for another day at 'work', Leorio? Thankfully this is the last one and it'll be at least a few weeks before we arrive at our next assignment. Which means a nice, well-deserved break, don't you think?" A small, quiet voice broke his thoughts, almost sending him into a flying panic, but calmed the moment his eyes fell upon that familiar blonde. Being a seasoned war veteran did little to calm anybody's nerves, not bettered by time whatsoever.

Kurapika; age 21 and an up and coming Blacklist Hunter. Blonde, rather short with gray eyes (they were contacts; his real eyes a grayed blue), and lithe body wrapped in a uniformed styled version of his clan's outfits (It took some persuasion from Hanzo but the guy was just too open-minded and nice, so of course he let him in the end). He was the last remaining 'Kurta' as they call it, a gifted and rare breed with piercing red eyes that glowed whenever their emotions were heightened to a point. They were hunted and sought after all the over the world for their scarlet-enhanced rarity; leading to their massacre, so that left this young man as the soul survivor.

It was a miracle he had so readily chose to be upon the front lines; but Leorio was thankful all the same. Him and Kurapika had built such a strong friendship since the day they met at their first Hunter exam, that they were almost inseparable. Leorio had helped Kurapika in his search for eyes several years in advance before the war had begun and Kurapika had willingly volunteered in aiding Leorio's studies in the medical field whenever he needed a good push up.

And now, during the first ever Hunter War, they were partners on the battlefield, still inseparable and still with a tightly knitted bond that failed to bend or break even in the throw of all the insanity they faced day in and day out.

Kurapika was probably the only reason Leorio could wear a smile on his face, could fathom pushing himself up every morning and continue stepping out onto the desolate wasteland for another day. It was only him.

"Yeah." Leorio's dry, deep voice finally said with a sigh before he glanced down at his friend who now stared out at the expanse with his usual calculating expression he wore whenever they were preparing for their typical duties. "I'm ready. Hopefully this one will be a piece of cake with little blood shed. I just washed this suit and would rather see all the hard work I put into rinsing out those stains at least last for a week for once! Am I right, Kurapika?"

They both joined in unison for a laugh, sharing the joking tones together as they always have, if anything to ward away the pre-battle jitters. It usually helped lighten the mood, however brief it may be.

"Come, now, Leorio. Put more faith in yourself." He nudged a friendly elbow to the taller man's side and smiled very softly up at him, "I have a good feeling about this one. Hanzo reported that there was very little guards but hordes of captured people. With our luck, we can hopefully rescue a lot more people for a change. Can you imagine all the lives we'll save? It'll be worth it, won't it?"

Leorio nodded eagerly and straightened his shoulders with renewed vigor. "Yes! Yes." he laughed, louder than necessary. But it felt good for a change. A shred of hope. A chance. A new-

"EVERYBODY REPORT TO YOUR STATIONS! WE ARE MOVING OUT IN TEN MINUTES!"

The two young adults spared one last quick glance to each other, smiled big and fist bumped fast, before trotting off to their posts; feeling revived and ready for work.

Ready for war.


"So, how is that 'special' prisoner fairing today, captain? I heard he was giving the other Ants a load of trouble earlier."

A large bodied fish-like man; his body rippled by muscles and covered in scales from head to toe up towards the gills on his cheeks, strode purposefully forward through the dank halls of the highest security storage building of the base. Alongside him strode a younger patron; another male, laced by a full-furred torso and a sleek under bottom, resembling that of a lion with a naked underbelly. He was holding a clipboard, writing fast and nodding his head along with whatever the head guard said knowing that one slip-up would be a slow and painful demise.

Chimera Ants hated doing anything quick, finding it much more pleasant to let the blood drip slow and the agony last long.

"Good, good." The aquatic gentleman cooed, hands clasped with eagerness and rubbing together. "The sedation is finally kicking in and that wretched boy just began adjusting his temper. He has been our most bothersome but no matter how many times I try to convince the leader otherwise, he insists we must keep him alive!" Shaking his head in disbelief, the captain threw his arms up and gestured around while he continued to ramble, "Something about 'great potential' and 'obvious strong auras'. Things like that they have yet bothered informing us about."

"From what I hear," the lower lion lackey mumbled, eyes rooted firmly on his notes, "They plan on turning him into an Ant. Apparently he's one of those exceptionally strong humans that everyone has spread nasty rumors about avoiding, but when you talk to him, he seems completely confused over the subject. I'm not sure if he's lying or not, but the other Ants seem to agree that the boy is as oblivious as they come."

"Suits him right!" The captain boasted, turning the corner and picking up pace a little, their destination in sight. "Killing five of our best soldiers barehanded in his dumb, idiotic rage and not remembering a single thing that occurred? Preposterous! I say off with his head and maybe some of his other limbs, too, cut with a pair of those... those.." He seemed to be trying to be thinking of the proper word for it, using his hands in a sort of snapping motion with two fingers, squinting hard with his beady eyes at the aforementioned digits.

"Scissors." The lion Ant interjected when he recognized the notion.

"Yes, those! Scissors!" He pointed back at his underling. His feet paused at the doorway leading to a solitary cell. "He should be sliced to pieces nice and slow with a pair of them scissors."

Nodding resolutely, the lion Ant set his clipboard aside on the small stand set against the wall before picketing out he keys from a safe beneath it, shuffling through the many pairs that lay within the safety box as he muttered unintelligible words to himself.

"The keys, sir." They were offered to him the second they were within sight and the captain nodded. He stepped forward and carefully inserted the metal trinket into its slot. Afterward, a five digit code was pressed on the keypad fastened underneath the lock, followed by a resounding click to signal it had accepted the pass code. He did a few other safe-cracking methods; things like removing chains and more locks tangling along the door's edge, before he finally finished with his work and moved back to appreciate his success.

With one last creak, the door was opening and the two Ants hovered like large, angry shadows with the light at their backs over the smaller, lone teenage boy dressed to the hilt in heavy steel restraints. His arms were pulled impossibly high, legs uncomfortably pinned to the floor, and head held low by the collar that dangled at his neck. But his eyes; deep golden irises that glowed through the darkness of his cell, stared straight ahead. Straight at them, actually, never breaking contact as a small grin began to break out on the tanned skin like polished brass.

The Ants couldn't helped but shiver, hesitantly taking a step back out of pure reflex at even the faintest hint of danger. And it was there, radiating in pools of hungry tendrils leeching out through the tiny room's crevices, tasting the air, lapping it up.

Feeding on their fear.

The boy's smile curled up to his ears, golden color shutting off into the darkness for a moment, if only a moment. And the voice that followed, cemented that fear inside them. Permanent and true.

"Hello there!"

The change in atmosphere shifted from terror to sunshine and rainbows in the blink of an eye. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, the forest brat was actually squirming and bouncing in place excitedly, looking so elated to see a face; any face, if it meant finally being able to talk to someone. He didn't appear the least bit phased by the fact he was trapped in the darkest, tiniest cell imaginable and bound to the hilt in iron that it was nigh impossible for any able-bodied human to break free.

A feet most disturbing for two sheltered Chimera Ants with little interaction with these strange creatures.

"Oh, boy! I'm so happy someone finally opened the door. It's so stuffy in here. And I am soooooo hungry!" The loud growl of a stomach affirmed this. "When is lunch? I think it's lunch time right about now. Are you guys the ones who bring lunch or are you here to check up on me? Cause my chains are a little tight." He wiggled them, the clinking of metal on metal causing the two Ants to subconsciously back away further. "Would you mind loosening them? Oh! And also. Have you two seen Aunt Mito or Oba-chan? I can't really remember what happened or how I got here, but I would really appreciate if you told me! Oh! Oh! And-"

The cheery, sing-song voice coupled with the damnedest happiest grin humanely possible was too much for either Ant to handle. The higher ranking fish-man promptly slammed the door shut as soon as he had opened it, effectively silencing that shrill sound from their ringing ears. There were some subdued muffles, but nothing was understandable enough to make out. They turned to each other, expressions devoid of emotion and eyes sunk back into their skulls for safety. Both were quivering from the tips of their toes up.

"Yeah. He's truly terrifying."

"Insane I say. Missing most of his screws, even."

"Pretend this never happened and tell no one?"

"Pretend this never happened and tell no one."

Both men immediately walked off, quick in the step if anything to get the furthest away from that thing as fast as possible.

Neither would admit they just shit their pants, but at least it was a secret best shared between them.

And both agreed in the end; humans were truly crazy creatures.