Sequel to Same Eyes of Red and Blue
Of Assassin Origin
by Kura
(note: this happened a few days before Killua ran away from home, he is in the dense forests that surround their mansion.)
Lives -- I have ended so many of this, killed so many people, that death has almost been a constant thing around me when I was young. Playing as a child meant killing someone, simple assassinations were often assigned to me by my father as a means of my training. My family always took pride in me, believing I was to be the greatest among us, the best assassin there ever was. I spent my childhood learning all the skills of a killer, knowing how to endure great pains as they were inflicted upon me by my own siblings, getting used to seeing death, managing to feel nothing as I kill.
The life of an assassin isn't that bad. It's actually kind of fun. The smell of blood, the people screaming for help, the futile attempts to save loved ones . . . they amuse me. Interesting enough, all the person I have killed had the same look in their eyes before they died. All of their eyes reflected anger, sadness, confusion, and the wish to live. Oh, there were a few ones who fought back, underestimating me. Really, being a kid is the perfect camouflage. All of them died like the rest with same emotions in their eyes.
But I'm no longer contented. It has been so long that I last felt happiness. Killing gives you pleasure, yes, the great feeling of knowing you have power over others, but it can never give you joy.
What is this thing that I lack? I have been taught that the things that value most are money and the family honor. Doesn't my brother, Illumi, live for those very things? And he seems so undisturbed with his life. Why then do I feel this way? So incomplete and lost? What is this feeling I'm longing for?
Tired, I'm so tired, both in body and in mind. I'm tired from the frolicking I've done today and I'm tired of my life, the life of a killer. Everything remains the same. I'm bored, bored out of my mind, bored to death with all these things that just seems to repeat themselves over and over again. Yeah, maybe that's it. I think I 'lack' something because I'm no longer amused with what I have.
But why? I never got tired of it, only now.
Killua sighed and lay down on the patch of grass of the clearing he was in. Blue jays flew above him and the sun shone bright in its high position in the sky, half-hidden behind snow-colored clouds. He saw clearly their young guardian, Canary, from where he lay, and a frown appeared on his face as he thought of how the girl takes her job too seriously, as she stood there in the middle of the road leading from the gates with a stern look on her face.
He sat up, remembering the time he had tried to talk with her. She smiled at him politely as he approached, but wasted no time in informing him that he was not supposed to mingle with the 'servants of his house'. He have asked her what she meant, but the girl only replied that they were not meant to become friends in a sad note, and turned away.
Friends . . . when has been the last time I have felt that I had ones? Never. I don't think I have ever had a companion in my whole pitiful life. I never had such a need for it and my family has always taught me that friendship is a useless, meaningless thing.
You're wrong!
Birds that perched themselves upon the tree flew away hastily as Killua punched its trunk. He withdrew his fist and saw blood flowing out of small cuts in it. He looked up at the tree and saw the mark he had made.
Canary's cheery voice was heard from afar as she played with their 'pet'. It was full of mirth, but Killua can sense the slight sadness in it. Like him, his younger sister never had any friends. For a moment, he even wondered if any of them had had any friends. Sure, the family has connections with rich people all over the world, whom they had been hired by, but not one of them has ever established that relationship called 'friendship'. He knows every servant of their home by name, but never had he dared call out and converse with them, except that instance with Canary anyway.
But to wonder makes you forget of your surrounding, and turn you oblivious to everything else. One second lost in thoughts can be the death of you, a moment of carelessness. He was lucky he hasn't yet died as he thought about these things. He shook his head and sighed, standing up to take the trail back to their house.
Night.
Killua lay silently on his bed, staring up at the cold marble ceiling. Darkness surrounded him, but he can clearly see through it. And what he saw in his room is nothing of any difference from last night, making the darkness to normal people seemingly more desirable as to have something new. Ordinary kids would have been shivering in fright as they stay in it, imagining the most horrible but impossible things the black shroud may be hiding.
He never had such fantasies for he can see through the darkness, through every illusion or lie. While the kids of his age take on different adventures every night in their pitch-black rooms, he would be staring at the ceiling, which stayed dull to him, as it always has been.
He rolled to his side. There he goes again, thinking of things that meant nothing. He should focus on what there is to do tomorrow, accompanying his brother Illumi in an assassination their father had arranged for them both. A bit of moonlight entered his room as the curtains moved because of the wind, and he remembered his father's words . . .
. . . Killua, you should observe your brother carefully on this mission . . . You are sure to learn a great deal in his moves . . .
Killua groaned involuntarily at the memory. So dull, he's really bored with this kind of life. He should really get away from here after this mission . . .
Of Assassin Origin
by Kura
(note: this happened a few days before Killua ran away from home, he is in the dense forests that surround their mansion.)
Lives -- I have ended so many of this, killed so many people, that death has almost been a constant thing around me when I was young. Playing as a child meant killing someone, simple assassinations were often assigned to me by my father as a means of my training. My family always took pride in me, believing I was to be the greatest among us, the best assassin there ever was. I spent my childhood learning all the skills of a killer, knowing how to endure great pains as they were inflicted upon me by my own siblings, getting used to seeing death, managing to feel nothing as I kill.
The life of an assassin isn't that bad. It's actually kind of fun. The smell of blood, the people screaming for help, the futile attempts to save loved ones . . . they amuse me. Interesting enough, all the person I have killed had the same look in their eyes before they died. All of their eyes reflected anger, sadness, confusion, and the wish to live. Oh, there were a few ones who fought back, underestimating me. Really, being a kid is the perfect camouflage. All of them died like the rest with same emotions in their eyes.
But I'm no longer contented. It has been so long that I last felt happiness. Killing gives you pleasure, yes, the great feeling of knowing you have power over others, but it can never give you joy.
What is this thing that I lack? I have been taught that the things that value most are money and the family honor. Doesn't my brother, Illumi, live for those very things? And he seems so undisturbed with his life. Why then do I feel this way? So incomplete and lost? What is this feeling I'm longing for?
Tired, I'm so tired, both in body and in mind. I'm tired from the frolicking I've done today and I'm tired of my life, the life of a killer. Everything remains the same. I'm bored, bored out of my mind, bored to death with all these things that just seems to repeat themselves over and over again. Yeah, maybe that's it. I think I 'lack' something because I'm no longer amused with what I have.
But why? I never got tired of it, only now.
Killua sighed and lay down on the patch of grass of the clearing he was in. Blue jays flew above him and the sun shone bright in its high position in the sky, half-hidden behind snow-colored clouds. He saw clearly their young guardian, Canary, from where he lay, and a frown appeared on his face as he thought of how the girl takes her job too seriously, as she stood there in the middle of the road leading from the gates with a stern look on her face.
He sat up, remembering the time he had tried to talk with her. She smiled at him politely as he approached, but wasted no time in informing him that he was not supposed to mingle with the 'servants of his house'. He have asked her what she meant, but the girl only replied that they were not meant to become friends in a sad note, and turned away.
Friends . . . when has been the last time I have felt that I had ones? Never. I don't think I have ever had a companion in my whole pitiful life. I never had such a need for it and my family has always taught me that friendship is a useless, meaningless thing.
You're wrong!
Birds that perched themselves upon the tree flew away hastily as Killua punched its trunk. He withdrew his fist and saw blood flowing out of small cuts in it. He looked up at the tree and saw the mark he had made.
Canary's cheery voice was heard from afar as she played with their 'pet'. It was full of mirth, but Killua can sense the slight sadness in it. Like him, his younger sister never had any friends. For a moment, he even wondered if any of them had had any friends. Sure, the family has connections with rich people all over the world, whom they had been hired by, but not one of them has ever established that relationship called 'friendship'. He knows every servant of their home by name, but never had he dared call out and converse with them, except that instance with Canary anyway.
But to wonder makes you forget of your surrounding, and turn you oblivious to everything else. One second lost in thoughts can be the death of you, a moment of carelessness. He was lucky he hasn't yet died as he thought about these things. He shook his head and sighed, standing up to take the trail back to their house.
Night.
Killua lay silently on his bed, staring up at the cold marble ceiling. Darkness surrounded him, but he can clearly see through it. And what he saw in his room is nothing of any difference from last night, making the darkness to normal people seemingly more desirable as to have something new. Ordinary kids would have been shivering in fright as they stay in it, imagining the most horrible but impossible things the black shroud may be hiding.
He never had such fantasies for he can see through the darkness, through every illusion or lie. While the kids of his age take on different adventures every night in their pitch-black rooms, he would be staring at the ceiling, which stayed dull to him, as it always has been.
He rolled to his side. There he goes again, thinking of things that meant nothing. He should focus on what there is to do tomorrow, accompanying his brother Illumi in an assassination their father had arranged for them both. A bit of moonlight entered his room as the curtains moved because of the wind, and he remembered his father's words . . .
. . . Killua, you should observe your brother carefully on this mission . . . You are sure to learn a great deal in his moves . . .
Killua groaned involuntarily at the memory. So dull, he's really bored with this kind of life. He should really get away from here after this mission . . .