Youpi was on the stairs, and then hell rained down from sky.

Tiny golden lances, to be more precise. They rocketed through the ceiling to no end of collateral damage, the impact sending the floor up in huge, blocky slabs, met in midair by the hail of debris falling from the roof. Even if the team managed to dodge both the rubble and the lances themselves, Youpi was another matter altogether; teeth barred in a murderous grin, the Royal Guard stood firm throughout the bombardment, jolted but not at all shaken by either the pandemonium or the Hunters drawing near.

Most important—or at least it seemed that way, being the straw that broke the camel's back—was that the stairway collapsed. If not for the ground crumbling beneath their feet, it would've been more feasible (not by a lot, mind you, but they needed all the help they could get) for them to slip past Youpi in that moment of chaos. As things were, however, there was only a split-second window where that was possible—an opening that could only be reached if you literally didn't notice the anarchy around you and kept blindly charging forward.

Gon was the only one who got past Youpi in that split-second window.

Neferpitou hit the ground, and the ground shattered beneath its feet as it exploded past Mach 1 speed. There was no need to take more than a single stride; it had only one destination, so getting there was a straight shot. Nothing more than a matter of wind up and release.

The crack of the sonic boom could be heard two kilometers away. The shockwaves registered as a minor earthquake to seismographs twenty kilometers away. The concentrate aura ionized enough of the air to create a magnetic field, emitting a blue-green aurora for the next three minutes.

Despite all of its speed, however, Pitou was the third to enter the room.

What it saw, it could never hope to fully comprehend.

"I'm counting on you," were the words that were said.

And then, for the first time in its life thus far, Neferpitou began to cry.

Because as soon as it heard those words, it knew that this was what it had been born to do. While the King departed southward with the two old men, it did not waste time summoning Dr. Blythe and instigating life support. It was unthinking as it called down the scissor and scalpel arms, the oxygen mask and IV line. Nerves to nerves, muscles to muscles. A singular task, a singular motion. Save Komugi. Please save Komugi.

"And as for you, Pouf, don't follow me. Watch over Pitou and Komugi while I'm gone."

As soon as he heard those words, Shaiapouf accepted that he was a traitor. Well, accept might've been a bit strong of a term; he faced the knowledge head-on and found that his anguish didn't drive him completely mad. And that's all that mattered, really. That was all it took for him to act.

With the desperate vigil of a cornered animal, Pitou slowly turned to face him as his footsteps echoed to a stop. There was no need for subterfuge, no need to hide his approach. While Dr. Blythe was active, Pitou was entirely helpless, and they were both very aware of this fact.

"Don't, Pouf," Pitou breathed.

"Ah, but I must," he replied. "At the very least, you may take solace in knowing you did everything you could, though I know this means nothing in the face of failure."

The King wanted the girl to live but needed for her to die. Pouf's thought process was advanced enough to reconcile these concepts, but Pitou could not move beyond the thoughtless loyalty their biology demanded, to obey without question.

"Pouf!" it cried out, tensing up as he got close. "Y-you heard the King. He… He said… Pouf, you heard what He said…!"

"I know," Pouf stated. "After this is over, I'll kill myself."

Understanding that there was no way to reason with him, panic ripped through Pitou's entire being. It was a shame that it let such transient whims cloud its view of the bigger picture, that the girl posed a greater threat to the King than any of the mongrels scampering about the palace. In any case, there was no need for Pitou to die just yet, so Pouf would make this as precise a shot as possible. As he took another step, Pitou crouched defensively and thrust out its Nen-less arms, prepared to use its body as collateral—

They both paused as they sensed someone coming. For Pouf, this was someone he had met once before.

"Do you… remember me?"

Illumi was gone, Morel soon realized. Nowhere to be found among them as Youpi thrashed about the ruined staircase.

What the actual fuck.

There was nowhere else for him to be. He and Morel were heading for the exact same place. This remained the best way to get there, even with Youpi in the way. And yet he was gone—and he'd thought it was strange when Illumi had slowed down to fall behind them, but there'd been no time to reflect on it, and Illumi had apparently taken the opportunity to just… turn around and leave. Weren't the Zoldycks supposed to be reliable if the price was right? The old man wouldn't have gone to them if they weren't, so what was this bullshit about?

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Did he think they wouldn't notice? Did he get scared? One fucking hitch in the plan, and he's out? They had a contract with him, for fuck's sake—he wasn't getting his money if he doesn't do this shit, and the Zoldyck reputation would be dragged through the mud—unless he was a mole? A fucking mole? A fucking—goddamn—and Kite had even been suspicious—

Morel narrowly dodged one of Youpi's whip-like arms and decided to put his rage on hold. No use in swearing vengeance if you're too dead to pursue it.

With his head back in the game, he didn't miss his chance to squeeze past Youpi while it focused on his smoke clones. The opening was at the cost of losing his pipe, however—having given it to a clone as a decoy—so he was stuck watching Youpi from the second floor until he could get it back.

And then, Shoot.

Shoot was a fucking champion, charging at Youpi in spite of a broken leg, riding around on one of his fists—a brilliant maneuver that Morel knew for a fact had been made up on the spot. The assault created another brief opening in Youpi's defenses, and then Kite was skidding past Morel up on the second floor. They gave each other a short nod as he took off toward the throne room; now Palm was the only one who still had to get through, but Kite could probably handle himself in the meantime.

And then, Shoot.

As Knuckle managed to land APR with a ferocious roar, Shoot spared one his hands to grab Morel's pipe and fly it over to him.

Morel had never loved the two of them as much as he did in that moment.

"My name is Gon Freecss."

Kite's En was large enough that he didn't need to enter the throne room to know that it was empty—which meant that he had no idea where Neferpitou would be. Its aura was nowhere to be found, either, so he also had no way to track it down. This left only one course of action: for him to sweep through the palace grounds and pray that he happens to bump into it.

So Kite disembarked to run down empty hallways like a dumbass without a map, dashing in and out of empty rooms, jumping up and down the empty stairwells. The changing scenery flashed by faster than he bothered to register. Each second wasted was a new failure in and of itself.

If he didn't find Pitou in the next minute, he would have to assume it was already heading for the King. And if that were the case, the only thing left to do would be to rush over to Netero's battleground in the hope of keeping it busy while the Chairman and King fought.

It'd be a suicidal move. More so than the invasion already was, and more than all the other risky ventures of his life thus far. Kite wasn't feeling suicidal, though.

No, Kite wouldn't die. Not here. Not like this.

But just before he gave up on his search, in an insane stroke of luck, he found the thing that solved his dilemma. Yes, there was movement in the last room he checked—four creatures, one of them lying on the floor. As his En settled atop the silhouettes, the chill of anticipation settling atop his heart, he could deduce their identities well enough.

Pitou.

Pouf.

A little girl.

And…

"And I'm here to drag you back to hell."

Shaiapouf almost grinned.

"Oh, really?"

Because he saw the possibility. The opportunity. A new plan. A better plan. One that dealt with Pitou, the girl, and the invaders all in one fell swoop.

Because what had presented itself was more than he could've ever hoped for. How could this have come to be, to have the perfect solution thrust upon him out of the blue? For the heavens to smile on him so after such a spell of hardship? Simply put, it was an insane stroke of luck, and Pouf was nothing if not opportunistic.

"Because if you do that," he continued to say, "you'll never get to see your friend again."

The human's thoughts all screeched to a halt.

Everything changed in that moment. Like a runaway train at the end of its tracks—the meeting of stoppable force with immovable object—his momentum hurled him into the ground, a crash spoken by his silence and the way his pupils dilated to a wide, gaping black.

The boy had come here with the intention to die.

"Please allow me to introduce myself: my name is Shaiapouf, one of the King's Royal Guard, and I am the only one who knows where your friend is. The blue-eyed boy who accompanied you to the nest, if you can recall."

He had come here with the intention to die, so Pouf had attacked that resolve directly, toying with the source of the dangerous willpower that drove him forward. Humans carried a duplexity in that their strengths were often intertwined with their weaknesses; the sharper the mind, the more debilitating its moments of confusion, and the calmer the Zen, the deeper its potential for madness. Such a strong conviction, then, carried with it a profound instability. Prod in the right direction, and you'll see it all come tumbling down.

"Without my information, your friend will stay lost forever—or maybe suffer an even worse fate, in time."

The boy's heart began to pound harder against his ribcage, reminiscent of a countdown, like a timer on a bomb.

"What did you do to him?"

"Me? Nothing," he smoothly replied. "I just happen to be the key to his whereabouts."

Just then, a man stepped through the balcony entrance—the very same man he'd fought on the day of his birth, some kind of harpoon strapped over his shoulder, come to join this happy reunion.

Pouf extended his hand in a diplomatic gesture to the two of them. "Ah, but perhaps we could come to an agreement: in exchange for information, you'll hold off on fighting us until this girl is healed."

Mistrustful of his sudden change of heart, Pitou whipped its head back and forth between them, its whole body dripping with sweat. Now all Pouf had to do was make sure it didn't say anything to mess this up.

The boy twitched at the corner of his mouth. "… To… heal her?"

"Please!" Pitou yelped, unsure of what its plea would accomplish but desperate enough to try whatever it could; it wasn't willing to stand idly by while the girl was discussed. "Please, we'll… we'll do anything!"

The man took a step forward from the back of the room. "Anything?" he cautiously asked. "When you say anything—"

"Did I say you could talk, Kite?"

The man fell silent but kept analyzing undeterred, his internal dialogue unbroken by the noise. Pouf didn't even need his Hatsu to know what he was thinking.

"To wait?" the boy repeated, heart rate still picking up. "You… you want me to wait?"

"Yes," Pouf said with a pleasant nod. "Until then, my lips are sealed."

At this point, his microscopic clones had finished crawling their way through Pitou's nostrils to find a home in its windpipe, clogging its airway and thus silencing any further interference. And the sight of Pitou's subsequent fit—clawing violently at its throat, trying to express itself in any way it could—only made that little heart beat harder and harder.

"No," the boy whispered.

"No?"

His aura exploded, and Pitou began to cry as it choked on the floor.

"FIGHT ME," he screamed through the rising haze. "FIGHT ME SO I CAN BEAT THE ANSWER OUT OF YOU."

Pouf shook his head sadly. "Not until the girl's fate is decided."

"AND WHY CAN'T YOU JUST FIGHT ME NOW?"

As elegant as the butterflies sacrificed to create him, Pouf touched his fingertips to the center of his chest. "I am but a clone, significantly weaker than the me you faced back at the nest. If we fought, I'm not sure I would win, and then you and your companion would be free to attack my dear Pitou while defenseless," he explained with a rueful smile. "By delaying our fight until the healing is done, I guarantee the safety of my fellow Royal Guard. And it is essential to us that the girl is healed."

It was a small gamble, to assume that they already knew of his cloning ability, but the soldier ant that they won to their side would've surely kept them well-informed. And Pitou's lack of aura should've been enough to convince them of its current helplessness.

"AND—A-AND—AND I'M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE YOU? THAT YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS? THAT YOU LEFT HIM ALONE ONCE YOU FOUND HIM? THAT YOU'LL DO WHAT I SAY IF I LET THAT THING FINISH?!"

"I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me."

The emerald ring on the boy's finger shattered from the pressure of his aura.

"Gon!" the man frantically called. He was somewhat aware of what was happening to his little friend but made sure to keep his distance, afraid of how the boy would react if he approached. "That dragon attack from before… is probably what injured that girl. I think they're telling the truth about healing her."

"WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?"

"You should wait for them, then," he said as a bead of sweat rolled down his brow. "Our goal is to keep them away from the King, remember? And we have no way to know if this is Pouf's main body or if it really is just a clone. So if they want to spend their time cooped up in here, and they're not hurting anyone, then… then that's what we want."

Pouf watched his dark eyes narrow further with rage. "Don't talk to me about what I want, like you know anything about that," the boy hissed. "This bastard's talking about Killua, and you tell me to WAIT? TO STAND AROUND LIKE EVERYTHING'S OKAY?!" he roared, reeling around to turn his wrath on his companion. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

He didn't know how to answer that.

"WHAT'S SO SPECIAL ABOUT THAT GIRL, HUH?" the boy then demanded of Pouf. "HOW COME YOU CARE ABOUT HER AFTER YOU T-TOOK KILLUA AWAY FROM ME…?!"

"Gon, if you attack it now, it has no reason to tell you anything!" the man interjected, trying a new approach. "Waiting is the only chance we have to learn anything about Killua!"

And now the dark eyes lit up with a hate brighter than the sun.

"Don't act like you care about him," he said. "Like it means anything to you."

The man swallowed his pain quite well. Not that anyone here but Pouf could appreciate the effort.

And then the brightness of the hate collapsed again, and the boy was spinning in it, dizzy, overwhelmed. "Why is this happening?" he breathlessly whispered. "I don't get it, why you're all like this, why it's so hard to—" He snatched up a rock and hurled it through a window, glass going everywhere—and the image was vivid in his mind, rocks going through the skulls of ants and men. "I love him, and you're using him. I love him, so you're using him. You—" he breaks off. "You people—" Can't breathe. "And y-you bastard people just standing around like yOU WEREN'T THE ONES WHO DID THIS TO HIM—!"

Both Pouf and the man took a step back from the outburst, while Pitou's writhing took on a new vigor. "Calm down, Gon…!" the man exclaimed.

"C… CALM? C-C-CALM? YOU WANT ME TO BE—"

The kid started to hyperventilate, fingers twitching uncontrollably, aura coming out in uneven spurts—sinuses burning, sweat pouring down his face, tears building at the corners of his eyes—and the heart just kept speeding up, faster and faster and faster and faster…!

"You've got no other choice," the man did his very best to explain. "You have to wait."

"He's right, you know," Pouf agreed, suppressing a bark of laughter, because of course the kid had another choice, and now the man was unintentionally helping Pouf to goad him into it. Go ahead, little boy, he silently encouraged. Prove us wrong. Show us that the girl's not special. That you're not out of options. That your back isn't up against the wall. Make us understand that you are not to be trifled with.

"It will only take about another day to heal her, by the way," Pouf added.

Pitou kicked its feet even harder at his lie.

The man tensed in anticipation of the wrong attack.

The boy stepped past Pitou's flailing body, raised his foot, and stomped down on the Gungi Master's head with a swift crunch and splatter.

Faster and faster, racing toward the flatline.

"MMMMMM—!" Pitou tried to scream as it shoved him out of the way. Suffocation forgotten, it worked to scoop up the bits of brain with its own two hands, and Dr. Blythe immediately swerved all its instruments to the head; a few bloody shoeprints left in his wake, the boy stumbled backwards, and the man grabbed him from behind to drag him further back.

Thanks for doing my dirty work, Pouf gleefully thought when Dr. Blythe disappeared.

And then Pitou's aura fell over them like a tidal wave, raising blisters on the humans' weaker skin, so hot that the clones stuck in its throat instantly melted. Not that it mattered, anymore, since Pitou was no longer in the mood to talk.

Pouf estimated that the seven total intruders had about eight seconds left to live. Pitou lunged for the boy first, of course—

—and the man tackled it with enough force to throw them both through a window, falling onto the courtyard below with a mist of broken glass.

… Twenty-four seconds, then.