Title: Vengeance is My Blood
Author: Nakora-chan
Email: nakora(dot)chan(at)gmail(dot)com
Rating: T (may end up M later on)
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Hunter x Hunter.
Summary: Kurata Kurapika--he never went back--he never went back home--he watched his whole clan get slaughtered and he never went back home once he left. Five years later, he returns but memories aren't the only thing that he needs to face...
Warnings: blood, angst
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Chains rattling…
"Onii-san! Onii-san! I'm going, okay?" A little boy around twelve years old stood there at the edge of the horizon waving back.
His brother looked up and smiled benignly. With a mischievous grin, he replied, "Yo, Kurapika, you better come back!"
Laughing, the boy's twinkling crystal eyes had that knowing and mischievous look as well, and he waved back as he yelled, "Hai, onii-san!" Turning around, he walked away into that sunset that would be his last.
Onii-san thought that I would be back that night, but I didn't.
He sat at the edge of a lake few miles away from his home. Smiling, he stared into the fire cackling merrily. The woods were quiet and peaceful; the birds chirped and cooed sweetly. The waters of the lake rippled gently and lapped at the banks, making the sounds of waves hitting the beach.
He thought, 'I wonder what it'd be like to live like this for my entire life. It'd sure be fun!'
Screams suddenly peeled out of the forest peace and the birds in the trees flew the coop, fleeing for their lives. The tremors that rang through the ground made even the water of the lake fall back. He shot up and stared in the direction screams came from. His eyes were wide, and searching for any signs of danger.
Not having a care at all, he quickly dumped a pile of dirt on the fire and grabbed his pack. Taking off in a run, he twisted and turned as trees came flying out of nowhere. He tripped on the roots of trees that wanted him to stop and rocks that laughed at his disheveled look as he got up. The angry branches of bushes and sharp trees bit his face, and his beautiful blue and gold clothes were ripped and torn by the snags of every single plant that wanted him to stop.
Tearing away from the forest, he ran—ran towards the direction of the screams. He didn't know what to expect or think, but all he knew was that people were in trouble, and that he needed to help them
Meeting nothing on the path, he just ran as fast as he could. Sweat lined his forehead, and soaked his clothes; his crystal eyes were focused on nothing else but the task ahead of him. There wasn't a thought of where he was going except that this was the direction from where the screams came from. His mind wasn't registering anything that was going on except the need to run.
He stopped.
The sight that I saw was different than anything I would have ever expected.
His home… His great and illustrious home… was in ruins. The fire was piled high and the signal the smoke gave was over a thousand feet high. The darkness of the night and the fire of destruction were eating away at the people and the entire town. Screams of terror rang hollow in his ears; shock was all that he could feel now.
Stepping down the hill that overlooked his home, he gradually stared around at his once beautiful home. Shambles—rags—ruins… was all that was left. The women and children were running for their lives, but gunshots were like a barrage and no one was able to escape. He stayed in shock as he walked along the streets of his home. People he knew and saw everyday were splattered all over the place body parts strewn all over.
As he gazed into the faces of each man, woman, and child, he was greeted with anger. His home's illustrious beauty was taken away from the faces of its people. Walking down the streets, people were still fighting and his family—his tribe was still fighting and unwilling to surrender.
He stopped suddenly; the blood flew across his face and he looked up into the face of a man with a blank face. His black hair was slicked back and he wore a fur-lined coat. This man didn't even see him as he turned around, and on the back of his coat was an upturned cross. Staring in shock at the man's coat, he couldn't feel the anger that lurked in heart rise. Without a single thought as to why, he started to follow the man.
With a face still streaked with blood, his eyes started to glow—not with brightness or happiness, but his crystal eyes were flashing from the crystal color to a beautiful blood. The man that he was following didn't even notice that he was being followed.
With footsteps sinking into the mud that was not water-logged but logged with the blood of his tribe, the disgust and the hatred towards the man in front of him was like a bonfire and seeing each dead person along the streets of his home was adding an explosive and tons of fuel to the fire. The black and red fire in his heart was slowly consuming his entire soul.
Freezing, he stared. The man had stopped and was looking at the sight in front of him.
From behind the man, he stared at what the man in front of him was looking at. Onii-san!
His brother had the twin swords of his family and held them up to attack and defend at the same moment. Blocking off the blows from three attackers, he deftly and skillfully struck back. The furs on one of the attackers slid from the skin to reveal a black spider with a carefully detailed number there, but what struck the most was that the spider had twelve legs.
Breathing heavily, he gasped out, "Genei Ryodan?" Instantly, the eyes sparked and the power and the beauty of his tribe was revealed: the blood eyes of the Kurata tribe.
From out of nowhere a string twanged and some invisible force pulled him up, but it didn't matter. He cut through the string as he would brush away cobwebs, but five attackers was just too much for him to handle. Striking away some punches and swipes, a hand came out of no where. He fell to the ground, a hole in his chest, bleeding and soaking the earth with his blood. His eyes were still blood.
Quickly, he looked towards the man that was in front of him. The man's hand was bloody and in it, he held a heart. The man threw away the heart, and took out his knife. Snapping out a single blade with a book in the other hand, it became a disgusting sight. The eyes of his brother was scoope out with the knife, and the man took out a huge jar and in the eyes went.
All the attackers gathered there. The man that he had followed spoke calmly and quietly, "Let's go."
One of the attackers stepped forward, "Dancho, did we get all of them?"
The one that was called Dancho looked around, and with the look in his face, it seemed as if he were intent on sensing something that was there. Calmly, he replied, "I'm not sure, Phinx; I believe that there is still one more, but I can't be sure."
Another one laughed, "If there's still one more, it's probably a baby! It's nothing to worry about! The eyes of the Kurata tribe are all ours!"
Stepping on his toe, a female walked up to Dancho and replied, "Nobunaga may be right, Dancho. I feel it too, but it's too small for it to be a real threat."
"You think so, Machi?"
Machi nodded.
Dancho sighed and looked around. "Let's go," he repeated. Each of them, one by one left the battlefield, without a single care as to what would happen. They left bodies and blood strewn all over the place; they left death to rank the air; they left vengeance and hatred grow in the heart of the last survivor.
The last things that he remembered of them was their name, Genei Ryodan, and the jar the man Dancho held up. The jar was filled with eyes: all the eyes of the Kurata tribe, frozen forever in the beauty of blood.
I never forgot that day, and they never forgot me. They knew that there was a survivor in that slaughter, and they forgot about time. Time hasn't healed my wounds or my hatred; it has only forced me to make my vow of vengeance. I won't ever be able to let it go, because now vengeance is my blood.
"Kurapika! Kurapika! Over here!"
The sight of my tribe's eyes floating around in that jar staring at me was disgusting, but the seed of vengeance was born from heroism that I wanted when I started running. Funny how when I started running I never expected not be the hero but the wronged one. The eyes of my family and tribe spoke to me when they stared at me, wordless and death-defiantly. The blood in their eyes never vanished as I stared at them, and as they stared back into the blood eyes of their last descendent. The words they gave me were the last ones any one of them ever gave me, and I've never forgotten them.
"What are you waiting for, Kurapika?"
Sun in the sky…Trees upon the ground… Our bodies are from the earth…Our souls come from the Heavens above… The sun and the moon sheds light on our hands and feet… The nature rejuvenates our bodies and sends our bodies to the wind that blows across the plains. Give thanks to the Gods who abode in the heavens for the land of the Kuruta... Let our spirits live in everlasting vigor and protection. I seek to be capable of sharing the mirth with my people...To be capable of sharing their sorrows... Offer homage to the people of the Kuruta Tribe... Let our Blazing Scarlet Eyes bear witness...
"Yo! Kurapika! Let's go!"
They only gave me their prayers and I have never understood why.
"Kurapika!"
As I stand here at the same edge as I did those many years ago, their meaning is clear finally. I never truly understood why I didn't understand; maybe it was because I never really came back. Yes, I did come back to see the murder but I didn't really come back home. I went to a land of vengeance, and now just standing here, I'm coming back.
"Kurapika, daijoubou?"
Looking down at the spiky-haired boy, he smiled softly, "Gomen nasai, Gon, I was just thinking."
"It's beautiful! I've never seen any place like it."
Kurapika laughed quietly and stared down. In a soft voice, he whispered to the souls of his family, "Gomen nasai, demo… I've come back… finally."
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End.