Title : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken
Author : lynlyn
Yahoo ID and email : cloud121383
Warnings : The main pairing here is Kurapika / Kuroro (slash, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, then don't read! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.
Summary : Now read about Kurapika's thoughts as he wakes up to find himself in the midst of his worst enemies.
Rating : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence
Disclaimer : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.
A/N : This repost has a few edits. I changed a couple of terms and played around with the formatting of the inner voice system. I'd rather do away with it completely because it feels so strange now, but I figured that taking that away will mean drastically changing some of the scenes.
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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN
Chapter 3 – Caught in the Spider's Web
What...
Wrong.
What am I doing… on the floor...?
Not right. Something felt… off – like he'd forgotten to finish a very important task.
Ugh…
That, and the fact that his head hurt like hell. His tongue felt like dry cotton, his limbs like heavy lead, and he couldn't open his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to force them to give him his vision back.
Wrong. Not right!! Danger – unfamiliar territory – hostile nen –
Normally he would have understood, and pinpointed immediately the reason his instincts were going haywire, but today his sluggish mind just wasn't up to it. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs; then instantly regretted it, for his headache doubled in ferocity at the sudden movement.
Ow… He gripped his forehead in a vain attempt to curb the insane pounding in his head.
By that time his instincts were already screaming at him to get up, and he could do no more than comply slowly, groggy brain unable to process the command faster than a snail's trudging pace. Seconds later he'd succeeded in propping himself up against the rough concrete of the wall (post?) at his back, and next up was the task of figuring out the five W's and the lone H…
He was in the middle of trying to think of a possible 'where' when a low voice to his left suddenly growled a warning.
"Don't move – or I'll cut your head off."
And with that Kurapika came completely awake, warning bells blasting away the thick fog of lethargy that had threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. He kept his eyes closed, though, and didn't move – nor could he, even if he wanted to. His memories were returning, resurfacing at a rate faster than he could process them, and they were anything but reassuring.
He had failed to finish something – and that failure was rapidly turning into one that could very well cost him his life.
The Geneiryodan had thirteen members. He'd killed one, a large man named Ubogin, supposedly the strongest in the group in terms of physical strength. And right now there were twelve aggressive auras around him, to his front, sides, at his back – not counting the two smaller, seemingly suppressed ones to his right.
No… oh, God, no…
If he took them on individually, and with ample information about his opponents' abilities, plus the element of surprise, he could probably win each confrontation without mortal consequences, which was why he had singled out Ubogin after seeing the extent of the other's powers at the crash site. Now, though…
He was trapped. Caught like prey entangled in a spider's web.
No! I don't know yet! Might be someone else – the group of assassins, anyone! Not the Geneiryodan, please, not them…
His babbling internal denials trailed off when he finally opened his eyes, and received visual confirmation of his worst nightmare turned reality.
Geneiryodan. His clan's murderers. The people he'd sworn revenge on.
His mortal enemies.
They were everywhere, and he didn't need to look around to know that his escape routes were blocked off. Not that he could move, anyway. That first threat wasn't a mere bluff. He could feel some sort of aura enveloping him, not unlike the kind naturally emanating from nen users when they were at rest. This one was more ominous, had more concentration imbibed into it, and it was coming from a samurai standing a couple of meters to his left, who was crouched in an attacking position – and said samurai looked very, very angry.
Kurapika had no doubt that he'd be diced to pieces even before he was able to move an inch.
Prey caught in a spider's web…
How could things have turned out like this?
Your own fault. You got distracted. Never lose concentration in a life-and-death situation. Now pay for your mistake.
No!!
He lashed out at his ruthless inner critic, as he felt his power stir to life – power that every Kuruta had, that enhanced their abilities and doubled their strength and speed whenever they felt particularly strong emotions. He welcomed the anger, the pain that he remembered when confronted with situations reminding him of his lost tribe mates – drowned himself in fury, and promptly forgot everything outside of the need to satisfy his hunger for vengeance. Dimly, he registered the indrawn breaths, the surprise when his eyes turned completely crimson; and from far away his logical, analytical side informed him that he most probably wouldn't make it out alive.
So be it. It was better than just surrendering and letting his memories of his family and friends die with him, forgotten, and without anyone to honor them. If he was going down, then he'd better do so in a blaze of glory, and at least take a couple of these bastards along with him.
He leapt, exploding from inaction to action in a barely discernible blur of motion; his speed startling his enemies and causing them to pause in confusion, the microseconds spent trying to follow him with their eyes seemingly minute, but invaluable for him because it meant more time to reach his target.
The head of the spider. The leader of the Geneiryodan, the one who'd escaped his trap.
Something bit into his left arm just before he passed the boundaries of the samurai's nen circle; but he dismissed it, a serious injury, from the burning and the numbness that had simultaneously erupted all along the concerned limb, passed off as an insignificant scratch. If it isn't incapacitating, then it's not serious, not where his goal was concerned.
Kill the leader! Cut off the head of the spider, and maybe the legs will follow soon after. Take out the man who had the gall to wear the symbol of an inverted cross, and finish the task he had undertaken. He would settle for nothing less – and he was almost there! Five – four – three more meters –
"Ow!!"
"Gon!"
Kurapika skidded to a complete stop, a mere foot away from his target, the shouted exclamations intruding into his consciousness like a bucket of ice water on a hot day. His bloodthirsty side howled a protest at the abrupt loss of motion, and at the same time he felt his last chance at escape drain away. Already the Geneiryodan were recovering from the initial surprise he'd caused, and were training their sights back at him. There would be no chance for another swift attack, for this time he was caught at an extremely awkward position, center of balance slightly off in his desperate lunge, right arm up and tensed into a claw.
Then he committed another mistake. He all but turned his back on his enemy, head swiveling to the right in the direction of the pained cry; and just as his eyes fell on the bound figures of his friends, cold steel met his neck.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't chop your head off right now."
For a fleeting, morbid second Kurapika was tempted to answer rudely, perhaps add fuel to the fire and end it all, but before he could snarl back in reply the Geneiryodan head spoke.
"Nobunaga," and with a hand raised in warning, gestured for the seething samurai to put his sword aside.
Nobunaga complied reluctantly, but only after shooting his leader an angry and confused look – sentiments that Kurapika shared at the odd command. Apparently they wouldn't kill him – yet – so he straightened slowly, and forced his hand down to his side.
What? Are they going to torture me first?
He found it funny that his inner voice was still able to keep its sarcastic edge up even in a situation as dire as this, and even funnier that he felt sort of detached – as if it wasn't him whose life was currently in danger. Admittedly, he did feel fear; some part of his mind undoubtedly yammering away in horror, though suppressed, and perhaps cruelly so – but if he had let it run its course he might be crying hysterically right now.
They say that anger is temporary insanity, but in this case it's definitely better than fear, so he let himself feel the anger, the hatred that had accumulated over the past five years, and felt the chains on his right hand undulate in sympathy.
But the cloak of anger crumbled a bit at the edges, the frayed ends withering in apprehension as he looked at the stern face of the Geneiryodan leader; and it took his full concentration and skill to keep the glare of defiance and hatred, even as he was seeing the face of his captor clearly for the first time.
Black hair entirely slicked back with gel gave the face a predatory, unforgiving appearance. His eyes were quite large, contradictory to the stereotypical narrow-eyed look of villains, but a closer look showed that they were a deep obsidian black, nearly emotionless in the way they were obscured by shadows. An ornate cross marking decorated the wide forehead. And if he'd passed the gang leader on the streets without knowledge of the other's true identity he would have thought the other's outfit quite ridiculous. As it was, though, he had no right to laugh at other people's choice of garments. His smart-ass, side-comment-y inner voice suddenly came up with a vain complaint about not wanting to die in pink female receptionist clothes, and he had to fight to swallow a choke of dismay.
Well, overall, the Geneiryodan head was actually an attractive man… if only he'd wipe that infuriating smirk off his face!
"I have proposal to make," the object of his scrutiny said suddenly, deep baritone echoing unnaturally in the eerily silent caverns of the abandoned building.
Like I'd agree to anything you say, Kurapika had started to retort, but his words died in his throat as the other plowed on without waiting for an answer.
"If you can strike me down before either Machi or Hisoka over there is able to inflict grievous harm on your friends, then you are free to go."
The single sentence sounded like a death knell to Kurapika's ears.
My, aren't we being uncharacteristically poetic –
Shut up!!! How can he do that?!? It's… it's impossible! I… I…
It didn't take a genius to figure out that he would never be able to reach Gon and Killua in time. He could kill the Geneiryodan head, the other man was right in front of him, relaxed and unguarded, practically inviting him to take a swing. To do that, though, would be to sentence his friends to death. That rat Hisoka and the girl named Machi would no doubt act as soon as he moved, and send Gon and Killua's heads to the floor. To say nothing of his own certain death; the other members will rip him apart, their retribution swift and vicious.
"If you agree, then go ahead and take a shot; I won't move or try to defend myself, but I will not be responsible for what might happen to your friends, and I don't care what happens to you afterwards. Should you decline, though, you will have to surrender. Unconditionally. Do you need time to think about it?"
That damned, innocuous smile again.
And no, he didn't need 'time', especially if it were offered to him by the enemy. He knew the answer all along, and it was final and irrevocable. Now they were playing with him, playing him for a fool, and he couldn't do anything about it.
His inner voice was right. It was all his fault, for getting Gon and Killua in danger, for acting so rashly and letting his emotions get the better of him – heck, for even thinking of hunting down the Geneiryodan in the first place! If he hadn't befriended the two, if he'd ran away from them when they tried to contact him they wouldn't be where they were now, trussed up and a choice away from losing their lives. From where he was standing he could see his friends' wide, frightened eyes. He could see the thin line of red forming along the side of Gon's neck, dangerously near the carotid artery, caused by the razor-sharp card Hisoka was holding up. Killua, so far, was unharmed, but he had a loop of blue-tinted wire running around his own neck. Look a few feet lower and you could see bandages covering the younger boy's ankles, evidence of a wound inflicted earlier, at his very first run-in with the group.
His chains by then were clinking wildly against each other like angry vipers provoked from slumber, the agitated action mimicking his own inner turmoil. His eyes had closed sometime after hearing the leader's demand, and he didn't see his captors tensing at the tinkling sound, or the way they stared at his right hand in apprehension.
Why was he always such a burden for his friends? Even back in the Hunter examination he'd caused them undue grief by stubbornly refusing to finish off the fake Geneiryodan convict quickly.
No more… Kurapika suddenly felt very, very tired. Tired of fighting, of having to constantly watch his back, of pretending to be something he hadn't wanted to be in the first place… Fate was cruel, indeed, to have chosen him to be the last surviving member of the Kuruta clan. He was a scholar, not a fighter. His father, or even his sister would have made better candidates. They wouldn't have had difficulty taking revenge, or felt guilt as he had when he killed Ubogin. He should have died along with his clan five years ago.
Well, no time like the present to rectify that mistake, Kurapika thought bitterly.
But first, to get Gon and Killua away from here. He'd be damned if they were to die with him in this godforsaken place. They were still young; they had bright futures ahead of them. He will not let this event stain their paths.
He forced himself to calm down; it was a surprisingly easy task, given that surrendering violently went against his survival instincts. It could only mean that he had already accepted his own death. Seconds later he felt the last traces of his nen dissipate and then disappear, as his body went into the aura-less state known as Zetsu.
It was quite ironic that the technique he'd planned on using to bring about the downfall of the Geneiryodan would now be used as his gesture of submission.
"Good."
No need to open his eyes to see the satisfaction on that one. Better if he kept them closed, though. He might not be able to control himself if he opened them again.
"Paku."
And that would be the memory-reader now. Kurapika kept his eyes closed, head bowed low, hair hiding his face in shadow. He felt the tension in the room rise sharply as footsteps clicked closer. They probably thought that he might attack suddenly – not surprising, since it would be folly to trust him. But, no, he would never attack now; to go back on his word after waving his white flag would be meaningless, and show that he was no better than them.
Well… he might try to do so… but only after getting them to agree to releasing Gon and Killua, and only when the two were at least miles away from the cluster of buildings.
He made no move to hide his flinch when a hand grasped his right shoulder.
"What is your reason for wanting to hunt us?" a rich, even alto asked.
Because I hate you and everything you stand for.
But the unspoken answer was in vain, for Kurapika knew that she wasn't really asking for it, rather, she was looking for his memories, the secrets and thoughts he would try to hide after hearing her query.
It was over. He knew of no way to block her probes. They would now know of his secrets, his past, and worst of all, his weaknesses. It was one thing to be killed by the people he'd sworn revenge on; it was entirely another matter if they killed him using his weaknesses.
He would have to see to that. Later.
The woman named Pakunoda asked another question, this time about how he'd obtained his abilities, but Kurapika paid her no heed. She would get to his memories either way. It was better if he stopped thinking, and let the white noise of indifference take over his senses. Thinking hurt too much, and reminded him of his past and his shortcomings.
This way they could only hurt him physically.
I'm sorry, everyone. Mother, Father… Wait for me, I'll be with you soon.
--- end of chapter three ---
notes:
1. For clarification, Gon cries out because Hisoka pulls his head up by his hair, in order to expose his neck. The carotid arteries are the pair of major arteries to either side of the trachea. You can feel them pulsing just below the skin if you place your fingers on them.
2. Before anyone gets confused, as my sister did: The technique to bring about the downfall of the Ryodan is his Chain Jail. Whoever he catches with it will be forced to go into Zetsu, right?
Reposted on March 6, 2007.
