After stepping into the room that housed Gon, a little girl, and two Royal Guards, Kite made a series of poor decisions.

The first was in letting Pouf talk in the first place. He should've attacked it the moment he realized Pitou wasn't a threat.

The second was in assuming that Pouf wanted the girl alive. He had no reason to believe otherwise (given that Pitou seemed intent on healing her), and this assumption had led to a misjudgment of Pouf's objective: to protect the surgery from any disturbance while Pitou was defenseless. Kite had thought Pouf would leap up to defend the girl when Gon approached her, so his focus had been on anticipating Pouf's next move instead of Gon's.

The third—and perhaps the most grievous—was in trying to manipulate Gon. Not for one second had Kite believed that Pouf knew anything about Killua; it was infinitely more probable that Pouf's every word was a lie—an attempt to get under their skins and compromise their initiative. So even though it was sensible (and most humane) to stand by and let Pitou heal the girl, they had no good reason to not fight Pouf instead. But Kite didn't want Gon to fight Pouf if it wasn't strictly necessary, because he knew (deep down with all the other painful insights he couldn't afford to repress) that Gon might throw everything away to get the win. So, in an attempt to belay their confrontation, he'd acted like Pouf might've actually known Killua's location, like waiting was the only way they would ever find him.

Needless to say, his plan did not work.

What Gon had thought in that moment, it was impossible to tell. Maybe he believed Pouf, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he did it because he hated the girl, maybe because she interfered with his goal. Maybe he did it as a stab at Pouf, who seemed to want the girl healed. Maybe he did it to incite Pouf against him, maybe because he just wanted to fight or maybe because he just wanted to die. Maybe he thought it was his only avenue of retaliation.

In any case, Kite had underestimated the boy's raw need to hurt someone. If he'd known how bad it was, he would've readily stepped forward for Gon to take it out on him. He was more than willing to bear the pain.

But Kite didn't think about any of this as he watched Gon become a murderer. He didn't think about the things he should've done as he pulled him away from the corpse.

Because when he saw Pitou lunge at Gon, Kite didn't have time to think. Time stopped. His body moved. He jumped in front of Gon and tackled Pitou through a window.

In the shafts of light coming down from the ceiling, a cloud of dust could be seen drifting about the room, turning invisible wherever it passed into shadow. The light's blue tinge made it look like a haze of rain—a piece of springtime air that, by rights, should've been damp and cool. But the cloud was not wet, nor was it cool, nor was it kind to his eyes or lungs. It clung to his wounds and made them ache, but the pain was dull, at this point. Barely noticeable. Both ever-present and non-existent, much like the cloud itself.

"Knuckle!" Shoot coughed as he fell against the rubble.

No answer.

A few more staggered limps.

"Kn… Knuckle…"

His good leg finally gave out, but he didn't let it discourage him. If he had to crawl, then he had to crawl. There was no shame in that.

"Shoot…!" he heard Knuckle wheeze to his left, so he dragged himself a bit further to lie beside his fallen comrade.

Strangely optimistic, the question passed through Shoot's addled mind, Did you finish the job? The more he thought about it, though, the more he didn't want to ask.

"That bastard looked at me like I was trash!" Knuckle bit through his tears. "Like I'm not even good enough to finish off…!"

After swatting Shoot a few hundred meters away, Youpi had taken Knuckle out of commission and run off in search of the King, leaving the man to die on his own. Now they lay together in a pool of their own blood; it was a humiliation that neither of them had come prepared to face.

"Damn it," Knuckle sobbed against the sticky tile. "I… I can't even move…!"

In that moment, a gust of wind came through the ravaged foyer, raising goosebumps on Shoot's sweaty skin. Teeth grit in a bloody grimace, he slowly clenched his only fist.

"… No."

"H-huh?"

"Let's go kill that bastard," he groaned as he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Come on!"

"You don't understand," Knuckle rasped. "I think… my spine got broke…"

Shoot was surprised at how much it hurt to learn that.

"… Is APR still active?"

"Y-yeah…?"

Letting out a ragged growl, he reached beneath Knuckle's broken back, slung him over his shoulder, and heaved them both upright, only able to stand on his left leg. "Track Youpi with APR. I'll carry you, and you can tell me where to go."

Shoot didn't know where he was getting this surge of strength, but it didn't seem to surprise Knuckle at all.

"Alright."

One step at a time, he struggled onward, a shaky hand reaching out to the next piece of rubble, and then the next, and then the next. His vision blurred, and he could hardly hear anything over his own desperate panting, but Knuckle's voice still cut through the fog: "Left."

"Gaah…!" Shoot choked as he forced his bloated ankle to turn flat on his foot; the sole of his sandal skidded precariously across the gravel.

They made it down the hallway.

"Left."

Shoot made another left.

"Right."

He went right.

"… Shoot?"

"Wh… what?"

"This doesn't look good, does it?"

"Who cares… how it looks?" he gasped out. "There's us… and there's the enemy… and as long as it goes like that… then our job's not over."

That was the sort of fight they had come to.

"… I'm kinda glad."

"Huh…?"

"That I got to see ya man up about this shit!" Knuckle exclaimed. "A week ago, you'd have been quivering in yer boots, but now you look ready to fight through Hell and punch Satan in the face!"

"Heh… heh-heh… yeah…"

"But I'm also glad that… that it's you, who I'm with."

"Me… too…"

"You're a cool guy, Shoot. 'M glad to've known you."

A hiccup gurgling at the back of his throat, Shoot found himself beaming with a watery smile, tears leaving muddy tracks down his dust-coated cheeks. They'd both come a long, long way. Seen a lot of sunsets. Pet a lot of dogs. Lived a lot of life.

"I'm… glad… too…!"

And he really, really was.

"Now let's go!" Knuckle roared. "Youpi's right over there!"

Shoot reached over to firmly clasp Knuckle's unresponsive hand. Though the man was paralyzed from the neck down, he felt Knuckle return the grip all the same—felt it in the wideness of his grin and the brightness of his eyes—their blood running together between their fingers and their palms.

"Yeah."

Thus, Knuckle and Shoot died hand in hand.

In the midst of his running, Morel paused for a moment.

Then he suppressed a curse and dashed back through entrance archway; he had no idea where to look for Pouf if it wasn't in the throne room—which it wasn't. Its clones were dispersed all throughout the palace, as well, making its real body impossible to find through aura alone. 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 Morel 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. Endless frustration at every turn.

Fuck. It had been about three minutes since the dragon attack had ended, which was more than enough time for the Royal Guards to get their shit together. If Morel couldn't find Pouf in the next few seconds, then he'd have to assume it was already on its way to the King, and if that were the case, his next move should be to rush over to Netero's battlefield and try to keep it occupied. Fuck, but Smokey Jail was really the only way to keep Pouf contained, and that needed the element of surprise to work—something he'd never have if he came barreling at Pouf from across the wasteland—so he'd have to come up with a new plan on the way there.

But just before he abandoned his search, something came to him. An aura.

Gon's aura, actually. Erupting in a violent frenzy, it was powerful enough for Morel to easily pinpoint all the way on the other side of palace. Holy shit, that kid was a maniac. Morel had given up on teaming with him after they'd been separated (he simply didn't have time to look for both the boy and the Royal Guard), but with an aura like that… he was probably facing Pouf.

So Morel took off for Gon's—and, presumably, Pouf's—location. All he could do was pray that Gon hadn't picked a clone to unleash his rage against.

And then he saw Youpi blocking the path before him, Knuckle and Shoot nowhere to be found.

And then Neferpitou's En returned.

In a maneuver of catlike grace, Neferpitou flipped midair to land on its feet and immediately went for the jugular, with Kite barely dodging the arc of the swipe. The survival of Pitou's following assault required the short-circuiting of all but the barest of reactionary thought, and for a few glorious moments of animal instinct, there was no Gon or love or fear—only this dance with death, the spirograph of coming and going.

He didn't notice the singing of his clothes from the sheer heat of Pitou's aura, nor did he feel the scorching of his throat for each new breath he drew; first degree burns rose unseen on his hands as he reached out to deflect a blow, still disregarded as they mottled to the second degree, and then the third; he fought through the shimmering waves of the air's convection, through the popping of his ears, through the smoke that rose from the footprints seared by Pitou's every step.

Kite managed to keep this up for a full twenty seconds.

And as the pain started to hit him, he lost the ability to follow Pitou's movements and was instantly overwhelmed by its speed. The oncoming blur surging for his head, he tripped himself to fall backwards; the blue-orange streak flew past him overhead and slammed into the palace wall on all-fours, legs tensing in preparation to pounce back at him. This was the most distance put between them thus far, and as Pitou's leap took it airborne once more, he had just enough time to grab #6, point it in front of him, and pull the stupid trigger.

"FUCKING FINALLY!"

And Pitou dodged the shot, of course, but it hadn't been Pitou to which he drew aim; the explosive tip of the spearhead pulverized the buttresses of the rampart behind them and buried itself in the wall. The Royal Guard paid no mind to the rope now strung taut between Kite and the building—readying itself to jump at him again—which was good, because that only furthered along the surprise when Kite dug his heels into the ground, gave a tremendous heave, and pulled the wall down on top of it.

"ACK—!"

And while Pitou was distracted by the hail of brickwork, Kite turned tail and ran like hell. There was no way he could fight that thing hand-to-hand; no, he had a much better chance of success if he engaged it at range, and even if he couldn't keep the distance, he would at least draw it away from the others. So Kite ran, one foot ahead of the other, and—

The first thing he registered was the loss of balance.

And then he saw his right arm land on the ground in front of him.

"WOAH, DID YOU JUST LOSE YOUR GODDAMN ARM?"

It had been a mistake to take his eyes off Pitou. Especially since his En had been dropped in favor of keeping Ryu.

"YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEAD, BRO."

There was no time to reflect on that, however, since Pitou was already hurtling back at him like a falcon in freefall as it dove for the fish—unshakably intent on the kill. Kite tried to redirect its momentum by spinning the impact, but the brunt of it was too much to absorb, and he fell off his stance, and his arm was gone, and this was it, el fin, goodbye—

Something flew in Pitou's direction and triggered its reflexes to release Kite and dodge.

A… serrated kitchen knife.

Palm, you crazy, bitchy godsend.

So Palm took the scene by storm. She was decked out in a full-on bandolier of knives, black hair swishing in a ponytail behind her like a clump of seaweed in full bloom. Kite watched awestruck as she went slashing at Pitou with all her usual vigor, and then he watched in mounting horror as the burns began to show—a redness that spread down her arms, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose. Jolted from his daze, he came at Pitou's unguarded front in an attempt to overwhelm it, but the Royal Guard simply outstripped them both with a sixty-meter vertical leap.

… Wait.

"G-get—get behind me!"

Since it had a straight jump up, it would have to have a straight fall back down (assuming minimal wind shift)—which meant its trajectory was predictable. Summoning another shot to the chamber, Kite turned #6 toward the sky and, as soon as Palm was out of the way, fired at where Pitou had no choice but to descend.

The explosion lit the night sky as briefly and brightly as a finger of lightning, the clap as loud as thunder overhead. Along with the rain of tiny meteors thrown out of the smoke, a larger body dropped like a rock from the cloud's center: Pitou, who… tanked that shit point-blank without a scratch to show for it, clutching the shaft of the spear in its mouth and then snapping it in two with a single chomp.

Goddammit.

"Here," Palm said as she shoved her knife-sash to Kite's chest and rushed for where Pitou was bound to land. Telling Kite to fall back and provide support, like she was better than him; how much weaker did she think he was with one arm—

So, with #6 strapped over his shoulder once again, Kite watched Palm's flank while she jumped to meet Pitou midair. But when Palm momentarily crossed paths with Pitou and whipped her knife against its leg, Pitou unexpectedly just… let knife bounce off of it.

Which was almost the worst thing that could've happened, and what Kite had been fearing ever since he saw Pitou dodge the first knife Palm threw.

Because it meant that Pitou had finally realized that their attacks could do no damage and thus didn't merit dodging. Before, it was limited by the animal instinct to avoid oncoming projectiles, and Kite had been exploiting that to survive; now, it would just tear through anything in its way. And Palm, Palm had so much less aura than Kite did, had nowhere near the fighting genius it took to survive such an uphill battle—couldn't even pretend to compete with Pitou the way Kite could momentarily pretend. The implications dawned on his racing mind—

As Palm and Pitou landed back on the ground in slow motion—she's going to die. As Pitou's legs bent forward—she's going to die. A knife from Kite could knock away its arm, but there was no stopping those monstrously powerful legs. Not even #6 would push it back, and he didn't have to time to roll a new number—didn't even know if he'd land a weapon he could operate with only one hand. Palm had no idea what was to come; all Kite knew was the pumping of his legs—

And he managed to push her out of range of the slice, but his remaining thumb was hacked off for the effort.

There goes his capacity to use Crazy Slots at all.

"OKAY, NOW YOU'RE SUPER DEAD."

Already regaining her balance, Palm darted past him off-screen as his momentum carried him a few more meters away. All he could do in that critical, airborne moment was bite his lip and curl around the gouge running well into his wrist. Radial artery cut deep in two places, blood soaking fast through his shirt. The wound of his arm socket had been semi-cauterized by Pitou's aura while he'd fought it, but the heat varied directly with proximity to Pitou itself, and getting the same treatment for his hand would mean approaching it closer than he could survive.

Kite's feet finally found purchase on the ground once more.

He spun himself around, fully expecting to see Pitou with its claws through Palm's throat.

But he didn't.

Because it was busy looking up at the sky.

And in the sky, there were a million glistening currents of Pouf's clones. As they came together, the masses all conglomerated into larger versions of themselves and flew southward at top speed. They disappeared into the distance without a glance to the battle below them, and Pitou watched their departure for a moment's passing before taking off in the same direction, bowling Kite and Palm over from the air displacement produced by its leap.

Kite rose to his feet, took a few steps, and fell back down.

"We… we've got to… go after them," he gasped, getting up once again. "Palm. We've got to go."

Palm stared at him as she stood up herself, silent but for the brittle grass crunching beneath her feet. Pitou's aura had petrified the courtyard's now skeletal expanse of greenery; the pasture had died so quickly that it hadn't even yellowed, the roots turned to channels of ash and insect life decimated before a Rapture-like apocalypse.

"Palm, listen. We've got to…" And Kite lost his balance again as he stumbled toward her, but she held out an arm to catch him this time, keeping him upright.

"You've lost a lot of blood," she observed.

"No, Palm, focus," he breathlessly insisted. "We're wasting… we're wasting time…"

"The Chairman sent a message just before I got here," she revealed. "He detonated the bomb before he and the King arrived at the appointed site."

"Wha…?"

She pushed him off of her, apparently tired of him bleeding all over her purple jumpsuit. "There's no need to go after the Royal Guards, anymore. We've completed the task we were hired to do."

Kite tried to wrap his head around the idea.

"It's… over…?"

"Yes. I can now resume my tutelage under Knov-Sensei, and you can go back to being a despicable liar under your own filthy master."

He blinked a few times as he swayed on his heels. "Th-then—then…" he stammered. "Then we have to get over to Gon. I-I left him with Pouf, and… we've got to help him."

"All of Pouf's clones just left."

"But Gon still… still needs help."

"So do you. It would be prudent of me to bring you to a hospital."

"No, Palm," he coughed out, falling forward once more, but then Palm caught him by his waist and let him lean against her shoulder. "Go find Gon."

"… You lost your thumb to save me," she stated. "Why?"

"Like I fucking know!" Kite exclaimed. There were a lot of reasons why it'd been a good idea to save her—she was his comrade; she'd saved him; if she died, he was sure to immediately follow—but he hadn't had any of that in mind when he'd done it, and Palm could somehow sense this.

"WOW, NO NEED TO GET—"

"Fuck off!" he snapped, dismissing Crazy Slots with a wave of his disfigured hand. "I just… save stuff when I can, okay? I don't like it when sh-shit dies for no good reason. It's the right thing to do. Of course I would save you."

The concept seemed to be new to Palm, as she pondered it without comment.

"G-go find Gon," he repeated. "I'm… gonna pass out, soon… so it has to be you."

"You need medical attention. You're in shock."

Yes, he was in shock and little bit delirious, but that didn't make him any less correct. Kite knew he could survive a bit longer, but who knew if Gon would do the same? "Later, please," he found himself begging. "Please, while there's still time, Gon—go help Gon. Only you… can do that, now. No… no one else…"

The blood kept dripping down his wrist.

"I… can't help him…"

Dark spots bloomed all over his vision.

"I can't… do anything…!"

Somewhere in the world, Gon stood alone with a shoe drenched in blood.

"I… I can't…!"

A few new footsteps approached them from the left, and Kite whipped his head around to find who else but Knov walking toward them. "It's over, now," he whispered. His face was unnaturally gaunt, hairline all but disappeared. "I have paramedics waiting in the wing."

Kite shook his head again, trying to explain. "No, you've got to… Palm, you have to… Palm… Palm… Palm…"

And so Palm handed Kite off to Knov, who promptly took him inside his Nen space for him to be swarmed by doctors. The hospital lamps shining directly in his eyes—consciousness slipping away—he heard her say one last thing before the portal closed: "I'll look after Gon."

With that understood, Kite let his eyelids fall shut.

Author's Note:

Next chapter will be the craziest so far. Get ready! ! !