WARNING(S): Adult situations, coarse language, graphic depictions of sex, violence, and violent or rough sex. There will potentially be some OOC-ness until I adjust to the characters, but I'll try to work through it quickly. Also, shoddy nen stuff. Shout out to the Wikia for helping my poor brain along with all mentions of nen. I'll continue working on remedying the situation.

Please heed these warnings if you are easily offended. More specific warnings will be divulged when needed at the start of the chapters as required.

Horticulture

01.

The Killer of Deene City

"Saar Ozwell? You haven't heard? She's dead. Who did it? That's an odd question. No need to glare, it was some vagrant off the street. Beat her to death. Where did it happen? Hmmm, where was it? Oh! That big city with all the bright lights—full of casinos and bars? What's the name again? Yes, yes, Deene City, that's the one! It happened there."

Hisoka Morow prowled the luminous Deene City. Chrollo Lucilfer had given him the slip last night and it'd take him a day to track him down again, so he entertained the idea of a detour—an aperitif—with an overdue challenge against Saar Ozwell. Two years ago, Hisoka allowed her to live and urged her to nurture the potential he saw in her, but he overestimated her if she met death. He didn't take pleasure in being wrong about his prey, but in dismantling the details surrounding Ozwell's death, he obsessed over the vagrant that murdered her.

He observed the lively tourists and inhabitants of the colorful Deene City. Rainbow neon signs set the crowded streets ablaze. The popular casinos spilled onto the sidewalk in the form of brawling men clutching the last of their jenny in a fist and jerking away from the grips of security. Private clubs for all manner of debauchery hid in plain sight, among strip clubs blaring music that filtered past their padded doors like a mist that engulfed the senses and rowdy bars swarming with night dwellers guzzling down alcohol to appease their sorrow or fuel their rage.

Hisoka slipped into the darkness of its inner city. Comprised of the interconnected alleys behind restaurants, casinos, and sleazy establishments existed a world once rumored to have been governed by one of the Ten Mafia Dons. Crowds thinned into sparse groups of esteemed individuals indulging their darkest desires within the security of members-only shops. He roamed the area for as long as he remained unnoticed, but even using zetsu, he sensed a shadow creeping behind his every step.

He returned to his hotel room after an unsuccessful hunt. He dropped into bed, his hair still wet from a shower, and scrolled through the information he gathered on the vagrant. The older man racked up a high bounty in a matter of weeks. A difficult catch, last spotted in Deene City because there were places where deaths went unnoticed and he could practice his craft.

Hisoka frowned. He let his arm fall over the bed along with his phone, its backlight melting into darkness around a name: Peter.

The following morning, Hisoka found the vagrant in tattered clothes in front of a boarded-up restaurant on an outer part of the city. The wizened man shook a tin cup at every person that walked past him and grumbled insults at everyone that shot him a dirty look.

A nen-user. Hisoka felt the vagrant's power blooming in the marrow of his bones and licked his upper lip, savoring the small taste of the man's contained power. Seven. No, a nine. The homeless man stared into his cup with glimmering eyes as though it were a portal to a fortune.

He looked up straight into Hisoka's face.

Oh. He noticed. I wasn't very careful. Oops.

Hisoka sensed the rise of the wall dividing them.

The old man stood on shaky legs, pocketed his spoils, and blended into the stream of people headed to the main road.

Hisoka pursued him into an alley. Bloodlust oozed from him like a miasma. He stalked him through every twist and turn, the adrenaline built up inside of him, until he lost him. Hisoka paused in the middle of rotting piles of garbage behind the cluster of restaurants and bars. The putrid scent of spoiled meat and fruit stung in his nostrils, forcing its way inside him. The old man's presence vanished, but his emotions betrayed him as the vagrant drop kicked Hisoka.

Hisoka parried with an arm. The weight and power behind the assault left his forearm throbbing.

The man flipped backward, landing into a fighting stance. This killer had the grace of a trained martial artist and it appeared to him that all of the information he gathered on the old man was wrong.

"Your bloodlust gives you away, boy," the man said, voice deep and gruff with hints of a foreign accent. "What do you want?"

Hisoka's lips twitched into a smile, his intent slipped as he drew the four of spades from his deck of cards. This wasn't an ordinary killer. "You killed my prey."

The vagrant didn't flinch when Hisoka's malice engulfed the alley. He couldn't read the old stranger.

"You don't look like the type that cares."

"I don't." Hisoka stepped forward and made the four of spades disappear with a gesture. "I planned to reap the benefits of my patience."

"Sounds like a creepy hobby, kid. Find yourself a new one."

"I'm looking at it."

The stranger appeared before Hisoka and grabbed a hold of him—an iron grip on all of him, dick and balls. Hisoka's breath caught in his throat. One wrong move and he'd become a eunuch. If the fight proved worth it, he'd risk losing a limb or two, but he considered his precarious position. He had two arms and two legs. He had Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise. Would it impair function to his dick if he reattached it as he would an arm or leg? No, for Machi's Nen Stitches this was a simple feat. Her reaction to the situation would be worth the loss.

"Then line up," the man said, his voice changed into a deep feminine sound.

The grip on his junk tightened as excitement coiled in his stomach. An assassin? He was certain of it. Someone good at disguises. There wasn't even a hint of a woman in the wrinkled face that stared up at him, blue eyes framed by bushy, furrowed eyebrows.

"I don't accept free challenges. Perverts are double. You look like you'd put me out for a couple of weeks, so quadruple."

"You wouldn't live long enough to enjoy the money," said Hisoka, confident though tempted to pay her price. He wouldn't lose, but should he kill her now or kill her later. He gauged her power, but what he felt like static under his skin wasn't its entirety.

If he overestimated her and she died fast, he wasted his time. Not worth it. Better to wait.

A glass bottle smashed into the back of the assassin's skull distracting Hisoka from his mind and the green shards fanned out, chittering to the floor.

In the split second when the bottle made contact with her head, forcing her into a stagger, Hisoka breathed her in. Her unbridled aura washed over him, scorched through his bloodstream and numbed his senses. A guttural, beastly sound left his lips, his eyes rolled back, and his skin chilled, goosebumps rising over its surface.

She would satisfy his hunger.

He sucked in a breath, equanimity slow to sink into his tingling body. He needed to shatter her into a thousand pieces, grind her into dust and inhale her.

"Where's my goddamned money, Peter?"

The disguised woman released him. She whirled around and sprung off the ground, avoided Hisoka's weakening reach. Silver caught in the sun as she dropped in front of the drunken man outside the alleyway and landed in a crouch with a dagger buried in her overcoat.

Blood spluttered from the man's neck and he fell forward into a heap of garbage. The assassin was gone before the man's body hit the ground.

Hisoka shuddered. This wasn't enough. Calm down. You can track her now, track her later.

"Tsk."

She vanished from his radar.

Calm down. I can find her later.