The whip came down with a resounding crack. Turning his head to the side, he spat blood onto the ground. He could do this all day. Had done this all day. The whip did not let up, and the cuffs on his wrists didn't loosen. His hands were bruised and bleeding, but not from thrashing. He wasn't stupid enough to do that, not anymore. The easiest thing to do was give in. The wisest choice. He knew that now. Closing his eyes would be no use. Open or closed, only gloom played into view. Only darkness could be found within the dull emotionless pupils watching him closely. His mouth remained pulled tight in a deep frown. He would not whimper, and he would not cry out. The only rebellion he could get away with. He could not count time. Not by light, hunger or even wakefulness. The closest thing to counting time was counting the crack of the whip. He made it to 900-and-something he remembered. The numbers blurred together after that. He could no longer be sure.
"Open your eyes Killu."
He kept them shut. And then the pain stopped. Suddenly the harsh cold metal was not making contact with his skin, but the sound of the thin weapon couldn't be heard swishing through the air either. The sound of a door creaking open appeared to his far left, and for a second Killua could see a faint light through the cover of his eyelids. And then it closed, and the room was enclosed in darkness once more. He opened his eyes. Not a single shadow was visible enough to make out any one particular thing in the room, all they were, were a darker shade against the already light-deprived room. The white haired boy could have broken the cuffs that attached him to the wall. Could have, but would not. There was no breeze in the room, the air stale and thick. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds across his back, legs, arms and chest. He could feel the energy drain from him, seeping from him with every bit of the red liquid that flowed down and out. He could not see it, but it was warm against his cold flesh, running down the expanse of his chest, the length of his legs, before gathering at the tip of his toes and dripping onto the metal floor.
The door opened. Killua's head shot up, staring at the place he assumed the door stood, judging by the direction of the noise rather than the dim light. A huge figure stood in the doorway, outlined by a thin halo of white. Not large enough to be Silva, but large enough for Killua to instantly recognise who it was. But he was not alone. Holding the smaller sibling by the hair, Illumi walked into the room, his emotionless face as stoic as ever, even though for the first times his eyes held glee. It was unquestionable as to how that glee had been brought about.
The dark haired man let go of the girl's hair, who immediately slumped to the floor in a bundle of long flowy material.
"ALLUKA!" The first thing he had said in possibly three days, his voice was scratchy and raw, barely audible and hardly above a raspy whisper. He had only been allowed water once throughout those days, and never food.
With desperation he quickly pulled free of his shackles, the metal breaking into pieces and falling limply against the wall.
With every bit of his remaining strength, he dragged his injured body to his sisters limp one. Like him, multiple wounds lined her body, the barely oozing liquid coating her once brightly coloured clothes in the dark murky brown of dried blood.
If the large stain running down the front of her top was anything to go by, he was about one life time to late.
Her eyes refused to open.
