Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Vengeance of Children

He's tortured his son since infancy, poisoned him since he could eat, taught him to kill since he could walk. And yet, somehow, Zeno Zoldyck had never envisioned his son as a monster, or himself as the monster's creator.

"How could you?" Zeno wipes his eyes, as Silva's dogs – the love of dogs, at least, shared between parent and son – growl at him. "I cannot believe it took me forty-plus years to realize I've failed as a parent."

Silva regards his father coldly. "You have not."

Zeno feels himself flailing. Grabbing for any blame that is not himself. "I let you marry that bitch."

Kikyo sucks in her breath from the doorway, where Maha holds her. She practically vibrates with hatred.

Zeno sees hatred for him, but Silva sees hatred for herself. Silva's face grows red with fury. "If you ever speak like that about my wife again, I will kill you, old man."

Zeno raises an eyebrow, but remains quiet.

Kikyo's sobs begin to grow. She's failed, she's failed again.

Your children will save you.

So why have hers turned out this way? Why are they reminders that she can never live beyond what happened in that place? Why do they torment her?

Was Killua, the one who looked like a Zoldyck, the one who looked like Silva, not good enough?

"Kikyo." Silva looks at her. He's always seen beyond her visor. He's seen her eyes, and beyond – he's seen to her, to whatever is really her.

Ignoring his father, Silva strides towards Kikyo. He lifts his wife in his arms, the way he carried her when they were first married, the way that made her heart fill with hope.

He turns back to Zeno and Maha. "None of that was Kikyo's fault. I am tired of you looking down on her, old men. As proof: everything that was done was my idea."

Zeno turns green.

Silva strides away, directing his words towards Kikyo. "We will make this right."

Zeno rushes towards the door, but Maha stops him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"How can he right what he doesn't even see as wrong?" Zeno simmers.

How could he, Zeno? Just now, he couldn't even face his own responsibility for his son?

He hopes Silva is lying, but Silva never lies. Not that Zeno knows his son well after all.

Maha stays silent, waiting, until his great-grandson has fled the mansion. He has no desire to fight him, yet, for once, he has no desire to stop the certain coming conflict. "He can't."

The golden rays of the rising sun peek through heaps of trash. The smell has dissipated during the cool night, but it's sure to return soon. And outside the ramshackle cabin in which they spent their night, the Phantom Troupe finds surrounded by children.

Children, desperate for food, fun, attention. Curious at the newcomers. Excited to meet the legendary Spiders.

This place, Kurapika understands, is the one place they do not have to hide. This godforsaken place is to Chrollo what Kurapika's Kurta village is to him.

Leorio paces as he barks into a phone. Kurapika feels almost nauseated by his friend's jumpiness, but honestly, his illness may just be the work of his own fear.

Palm hasn't been able to identify Chrollo's location. The Spiders are lost without communication. Even as he plans, Kurapika mourns that he's first experienced Meteor City without Chrollo.

"That man transforms phone calls into an art-form," Cheadle says, settling besides Kurapika. She points to a stomping Leorio.

"Heh." Kurapika has to laugh. "He's a good balance to me."

"All you and your friends balance each other well. You're lucky." Cheadle adjusts her glasses. "The Zodiacs could use people like Gon and Killua, too. Most of us were loyalists to Netero, excepting Pariston and Ging. I used to wish we all were allies."

"You don't now?"

"I wish we could all get along. I don't wish for identical viewpoints." Cheadle wraps her arms around her knees. "Perhaps, if I remove the deaths in the Hunter Exam, that isn't betraying Netero."

"I think it would be a way to honor him, actually." Kurapika swallows. "You're righting what he did wrong, correct? It shows you cared."

"You want to do the same for Chrollo," Cheadle says, eying him.

He nods. "But if I do…I'm betraying my family. My clan."

"Someday you'll learn, Kurapika. You can't betray the dead." Cheadle clears her throat as Leorio hangs up. "What did Morel say?"

Leorio blows out his breath. "Sounds like Knov is already interviewing people about the disappearances. We can take the kids to him and Morel. Shoot and Knuckle are on their way to us. We're gonna find your goddamn Spider, Kurapika."

"And Gon and Killua arrive by tonight," Cheadle adds, nodding towards Kurapika.

Kurapika tries to force himself to hope. But where is Chrollo? Palm couldn't identify the location.

Palm couldn't –

Palm, the powerful ant –

Couldn't.

He knows, somehow, that if the mafia has deviated from their planned route, they're plotting. Most likely they're expecting the Troupe to appear, and hoping to slaughter them all. If he's honest, most likely their thoughts are similar to Kurapika's in Yorknew.

But as Kurapika surveys the children laughing around them, he can't quite believe that.

The Spiders are popular here. No one would risk slaughtering them all in Meteor City.

Something else is happening, but he can't parse it out. Like the failure he is.

He failed Pairo, and he's about to fail Chrollo too.

"Is that a sword?" A little boy with a cleft in his lip tugs on Feitan's umbrella.

"No," he says uncomfortably.

"It's an umbrella," Oito says quickly, tugging it free from Feitan's grasp. "For blocking the rain. See?"

"Oooh!" The kid grins wide despite his misshapen smile.

Seated on her mother's lap, Woble tries to stick the umbrella in her mouth. Feitan snatches it away, brushing off a moment of uncharacteristic panic.

"It's also a sword." His shoulders slump as he withdraws the blade from the umbrella's center. He might as well give them fun. But should children have fun with swords?

Oito offers him an understanding smile.

"Wowwwww." Three grimy kids clamor around Feitan, and he nearly drops the sword in surprise.

He hasn't dropped a sword in years.

Brats. Making him mess up.

"Teach us!" The tallest kid, a girl with grimy blond hair and two black eyes, stomps her foot. "

"You can't learn so fast," Feitan retorts. If he knows Meteor City kids, that's all he needs to say.

"We'll learn faster!" The freckled boy shakes his fist in Feitan's face.

Feitan's lips spread into a grin. Gotcha. "I know."

At the other end of their cabin, Machi stitches a woman's skirt. But as he watches her, he notices Machi stealing glances towards him. She watched his battle dance with a soft smile on her mouth.

Kurapika's about to drown in misery when his phone rings.

Chrollo.

But his phone's been off. Kurapika scrambles to answer it, waving towards Melody and Shizuku, the closest two to him.

"H – Hello?"

"Is this the Chain Vigilante?" asks a crisp voice. Clean. Thick. Dark. As Kurapika expected of a mafia official.

Yet Melody pales, and Shizuku has to hold her upright.

Kurapika watches her with a sinking sensation. What has she overheard?

The remainder of the troupe gather around him, excepting Oito and Feitan, who remain with the children as they try to mask their anxious expressions with bright laughter and distracting play.

"I don't ask twice." The voice speaks again.

The Troupe turns to him – some with anger, some with resignation. Leorio, too, with a sad expression. Oito, with compassion.

Kurapika swallows. "That's me."

It hurts.

It hurts to admit it.

Vigilante.

Extorter.

Murderer.

And Chrollo knows this, and his friends know this, and they love him. Even if his parents and sister and Pairo wouldn't anymore.

Kurapika feels himself vacillating wildly between hope and despair, self-loathing and self-forgiveness. It's dizzying.

"I have news for you." Every word the man speaks is what Kurapika would have imagined. And yet, he's not soothed by this at all.

"Is it your name?" Phinks shouts.

Kurapika jerks. You know, as long as he's taking responsibility for his actions, he might as well acknowledge the past. "Did you learn nothing from Yorknew?"

"I can't believe I agree with Chain Boy," Nobunaga grumbles, to Phinks' chagrin.

"What is your news?" Kurapika asks. "Let me speak to your hostage."

"You're not in a position to make demands. Unlike Yorknew, if I recall. You have nothing and no one of value with you." The man's voice is matter-of-fact, and Kurapika hates him for being correct.

"I'd say that no matter who your company was. Don't fear, there's nothing special I have against the Phantom Troupe."

"Then why do you have Chrollo?" Kurapika challenges.

"Do I need a reason?"

This is abnormal. A mafia official should mention Yorknew; he clearly knows about the massacre. Kurapika's heart quickens.

"Just let me hear his voice."

"Are you begging?"

"I've never been ashamed of begging when it's the best option." He's begged for eyes before, though it didn't work, so he broke a man's arm. In a church.

"That's good to here. We have nothing to be proud of, do we?"

"Who's we?" Phinks growls, but quietly, to Oito. She shrugs.

"Say something," says the man through the phone.

"Something," says Chrollo's slick voice.

"Danchou," breathes Bonolenov.

Kurapika rolls his eyes. Just like Chrollo. Calm. Mysterious. And devoid of any clue that might help them.

"Your murderous friend is about to go on trial. Meteor City style." The man laughs. "I suggest you all come as witnesses."

"I know where that is," Franklin blurts.

"And then you slaughter us?" Kurapika counters.

"Then he'll be executed. Meteor City isn't one to wait around for justice. We make our own."

"You're playing something," Kurapika pushes. Something is wrong here. Something is very wrong.

The man hangs up.

Kurapika turns towards his companions. He can't help it – his eyes have gone scarlet.

Phinks swallows at the sight. He looks a little ashamed, as if finally, finally, he recalls the Kurta massacre.

"Kurapika – he's not a mafia member. He can't be." Melody speaks as quickly as she can. "Whatever you heard – he sounded calm – his heartbeat was full of sadism and joy. Whatever he has planned, he's excited."

Illumi wipes his eyes as Beyond finishes talking. Tsubone shakes with fury, and Canary holds a weeping Amane.

The rest of his siblings look at him with dead eyes.

Mother and Father. They knew who Nanika was. And why she was in Alluka.

And yet they let Illumi explore her abilities, as if they were a mystery. They acted horrified, terrified, and of course Illumi wanted to protect them.

They told him she was a thing, not a family member. They locked her away.

"It's likely they truly didn't know your sisters' powers, even if they knew her species," Meleoron offers.

"I never spoke to them," Nanika adds.

"That's no excuse," Hisoka growls from besides Illumi.

They could have told him. Then, he would have tried to free her instead of killing her. Illumi shudders. He bends over to rest his head in his hands.

Perhaps. Perhaps he would have killed her anyways. That was always the safest option.

He doesn't know, and he's afraid to find out.

A muscular arm wraps around him.

"The good news," Hisoka whispers in his ear, "is you can't erase how you've changed, so everyone's safe from Illumi now."

Illumi glances upwards. Hisoka seems to like his change. Killua and Kalluto, Alluka and Nanika too.

"Especially Illumi himself." Hisoka winks, and Illumi can't resist returning a grateful smile.

He licks his lips. He has to say it one more time. "Nanika, Alluka…I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Nanika says. "You love us now."

"Besides, you've already said sorry," Alluka adds, with an impish smirk.

"Oh, so Alluka's going to be the sassy one?" Milluki sniffs.

"No, that's me," Kalluto protests.

"No, you're the angry one," Killua teases.

"Illumi, what is it?" Gon, of all people, notices the older man's mouth opening.

Illumi briefly wonders if he'll someday accept Gon as a brother, of sorts.

"I feel…like I never knew my parents. But I had all the pieces. Why didn't I put them together?" Illumi tugs on his hair.

"Trauma," Palm says bluntly.

Illumi frowns.

"Al six of you kids are abused and traumatized, whether you want to admit it or not. Actually, seven – I'm counting Gon. But…" Palm grows a soft smile on her face. She twirls a strand of dark hair around her finger. "But you'll be okay. In the end. Because you have each other."

She turns her eyes towards Gon and Killua. "You helped show me that once. Now it's my turn."

"We're not so bad," Milluki protests, though Illumi, for once, is silent.

Illumi can't disagree, and it hurts – it hurts to admit he's been hurt. Hisoka's hand strokes his back, grounding him.

Palm points towards Milluki. "You have a Death Note themed notebook in your pocket."

"So what?" Milluki clutches the precious notebook to his chest.

"So if you have any reading comprehension, you know Light wasn't supposed to have it. The theme is that playing God with someone else's life – even if you think you're only killing sinners – is still, in the end, sin. Pride, I think." Palm tilts her head.

"How is a Death Note any different than an assassin?"

"I don't consider myself justice," Milluki says after a moment. In fact, he scoffs at the idea. He's never even tried. Or cared.

Because caring never got him anywhere.

"So a person holding a Death Note is nobler than an assassin." Palm leans forward, eyes sparkling. "In that case, maybe you're like Misa, killing just to get close to someone. In this case, your parents instead of Light. Was Misa stable? Are you?"

Milluki goggles at this crazy Ant woman. She's – she's beautiful, and she knows anime, and this deep discussion on literature is really all he's ever wanted, but – but not at the expense of – of facing –

He laughs to himself.

He doesn't want to face his family.

That's the surest sign of trauma, isn't it?

"You forget," Milluki says bitterly, "Misa never recovers."

"She didn't have friends. You do." Palm has obviously been expecting this reply. She leaps to her feet and crosses the room to take Milluki's hands. "Listen, Milluki – if I'm recovering, you can. Ask Gon and Killua how crazy I was."

"I had to stalk her date with Gon," Killua admits.

"So you were stalking us on purpose!" Palm whirls around to shake her fist at him.

"You were on a date with his crush!" Kalluto exclaims. "How could he not?"

Hisoka claps his hands against his cheeks and stomps his feet. "Oh my god, Kalluto, you just said it! You did! I'm so happy to witness this day!"

Illumi narrows his eyes at Gon.

"Huh?" Gon turns to Kalluto. "But I, like, don't have nen anymore."

Killua gulps. He's very, very aware of Ikalgo and Meleoron grinning, Beyond overjoyed, and the butlers fascinated. Kalluto is smirking, Nanika and Alluka are bound with rapture, Milluki is completely unfazed. Hisoka snickers, and Illumi is ten thousand percent dumbfounded.

"I don't care about that –" Killua chokes as Gon's hug forces all the air out of his lungs.

The one thing that could make this better is Illumi's voice saying, "I'm happy for you, Killua."

Chrollo's knees are beginning to ache from kneeling. He was snuck into the city late at night, in a trunk. And now he's in the city jail, chained to the wall, in an expansive, private cell that seems to mock his imprisonment.

For all his crimes, Chrollo has never been to Meteor City's jail before. It's cleaner than he expected, here in the lower levels. The upper levels they passed, the ones with the crowded cells of people to publically humiliate before their release, were smeared with rotting vomit, feces, and blood.

But the lower levels are for the damned. And their sandstone walls are, ironically, pristine.

"It's going to happen again. Life cycles, over and over and over. You can't keep your followers from killing themselves for you." Gyro licks his lips. He's beaming with malice. But, as always, Gyro's tone differs from everything he shows.

"That's what always happens. Tale as old as time. Children spend their lives seeking vengeance for their childhood. They never escape. And there are only two outcomes: they'll die for their parents, or their parents will die for them."

"Actually, my mother's murder had nothing to do with me." Chrollo tries to forget Pakunoda, who died for him, her Boss. Shalnark and Kortopi, who did the same. They don't exist. He's better if he pretends they don't exist.

But is he?

Gyro's finger presses into the cross between Chrollo's eyes. He winces at the resulting agony. He can feel his nen draining again, continually.

"Oh, but doesn't it? Now, whoever raped and left her bowels draped across her heart for you to see probably didn't think of you. But your mother has everything to do with who you've become, doesn't it?"
Gyro runs his hand through Chrollo's thick hair, as if he were his son or something. Chrollo grinds his teeth.

"The way I see it, you were one of the unlucky ones. With a loving mother, who gave you contagious love you gave to your spiders."

Chrollo tries not to show his fury. He will never regret his mother. She loved him, and he needed her, and he mourns her death. She meant so much he even told Kurapika about her.

"I'm grateful I was spared the curse of being loved. And of loving. Despite yourself, you find yourself wanting both. To give love to your spiders. To receive the love of your Kurta boy."

Chrollo's heart thuds. He knows about Kurapika's eyes?

Is he the one who took out the hit on Kurapika in the first place?

How did he know he loves him?

Chrollo winces. He told Gyro himself, didn't he? By accepting Illumi's offer, by trading in his freedom for Kurapika's life.

There's no hiding that, is there?

Gyro studies the cracked ceiling. "People die all the time, because they're slaves to love. I will set them free."

"You don't care about their freedom." Chrollo regards him evenly.

"You're right. I don't. I care about my own motives. Because I too want to destroy the place my father came from. Like a hypocrite."

Gyro lights a cigarette. Embers glow on the tip, and he flicks them into Chrollo's face. "Do you see now? Humanity is hopeless. The world would be better without us."

"Is that your plan? To start genocide?" Chrollo mocks lightly. "A word of advice: it's easiest if you kill the children first. From experience."

"Ah yes, and yet you love your Kurta."

"I've never been wise."

"Nonsense. You pride yourself on your plans, your knowledge, your wisdom. You'd be Meteor City's first intellectual if you could." Gyro pauses. "So why risk it all with the very child whose parents you stole?"

Chrollo hesitates. First of all, Kurapika is not a child, but then, he's heard Gyro likes children. Paku said as much.

"Were you just lonely?"

Chrollo closes his eyes.

I'm so lonely, Kurapika cried one night. And Chrollo held him, and told him, and told him, I am here.

Because of course he was lonely, too. Empty. Always reaching for fulfillment he will never receive.

Because Gyro is correct. He's posturing. His fancy coats, his massive collection of books, his greed – they are all symptoms.

He's a lonely child.

That's why he needs his friends. That's why he loves them so much.

That's why he steals. To connect to people through objects.

That's why he kills. From the mafia, for abusing Meteor City, for leaving him and his friends lonely.

From the Kurtas, who treated an outsider like him – outsiders like the spiders – like trash.

They rejected him. All he'd wanted was to learn from them, and see their eyes.

And then, humiliated by their coldness, he crafted a plan to kill them.

We reject no one, so take nothing from us.

Gyro is correct.

Ultimately, Chrollo's still a child, a child lashing out, the same as Illumi and Hisoka – okay, Illumi lashes inward. The same as Kurapika, Kurapika with those beautiful, molten red eyes.

Oh.

Red eyes.

Chrollo sees now, he sees exactly what Gyro is doing.

Chrollo swallows and lowers his head. I'm an idiot.

"Are you ready for your trial?" Gyro emphasizes the word, knowing that Chrollo knows, that of course the head of the Spiders is intelligent enough to see through his plan. He's given him just enough information.

Chrollo smiles, as expected of such a talented actor. He won't surrender, even if he sees the truth.

"If what you say is true, you should know I've been ready all my life."