This is my first ever written fanfic which took me close to half a year to get down on paper. Yes, I am a perfectionist. Critics and comments welcome.

Oh, and I don't own HunterxHunter or any of its characters or concepts. All of these belong to the great Yoshihiro Togashi

Nightmare:

A HunterxHunter Fanfic

It was dark. Not black, just dark. From what I could tell, I was standing in some sort of corridor. No, an alleyway. Gray shapes and shadows seemed to dance along the walls; some of them looked… familiar. I didn't want to waste my time trying to guess what these nameless forms were, so I continued on to the entrance of the alley. Odd, I had no idea where I was, but it felt like I needed to do something; like I had a job to complete.

Wait. I stopped and listened. Footsteps. Someone was coming. I silently scaled the building to my right. Once at the top, I could slightly make out where I was.

The entire area seemed to replicate a small city. The structures that stood everywhere wouldn't be called skyscrapers, but they wouldn't be called shacks either. There were streets as well. They had no roads, no sidewalks, but they were still streets, and it was the one in front of me where I saw them.

Three figures, impossible to see completely, like everything else in this place, who walked unknowingly past my lookout. I knew then that they were my targets. It didn't matter what reason, I had to kill them. Nothing else mattered.

It was about as simple as any of my other missions; shadow my target until the correct moment, then strike swiftly and mercilessly. Still, I thought, I shouldn't try taking all three at once, I don't know how strong they might be.

Hiding myself in shadows between the buildings, I easily caught up. To the point where, in a normal situation, I would've been able to clearly see my victims. However, this incomparable world continued to hide their identities, as well as keep me wary of them.

I began to grow tired of waiting; they showed no sign of slowing or changing direction. It was all too time-consuming. Not daring to breath, I tapped my index finger twice on the cement wall behind me. The noise echoed to a much louder proportion then I expected, but it had its effect.

One of the shadowy forms, the tallest one, after making a silent agreement with the other two, slid away and headed towards where I was concealed. As he rounded the corner, I struck. I could feel the warmth of the blood falling from his neck as I slid under. He was human, at least.

A sharp intake of breath made me whirl around to see the second of them only a meter or so away. How had he come so fast? No matter. I slit his throat as easily as the first and watched him fall, lifelessly.

Only one left now. I turned towards the last of my targets, which hadn't moved from where they'd stopped. Perhaps he was frozen with fear. It wouldn't be surprising. He was the smallest of the group, no taller than me, in fact. Intrigued by this, I decided to wait and see his reaction to the sudden death of his comrades. A strange thing to do, actually. Now that I think about it, that almost sounds like an excuse not to kill him right there, but that would be ludicrous.

He began making his way over to me, slowly but with a reason, and only stopped when we were face to face. An eternity seemed to pass. Neither of us moved or spoke, only observed each other. Or at least I looked at him. Even this close, I couldn't make anything out but basic form.

Why was he doing this? Why did he stand, motionless, in front of his friend's killer? Was it bravery? No. It could only be a moronic act of false courage, just to remind oneself that they're in control. I swung my knife-like hand at his head, meaning to decapitate him, but stopped an inch from the surface. Something in the back of my mind didn't want to kill him, and I couldn't understand why. It wasn't as if he was much different from the other two. There was just some sort of feeling about him that I seemed to like. But I still had to. Despite what my emotions told me, he was my target and I had to kill him. That's just the way I live.

Furious with myself, I retracted my hand and thrust it into, and through, his stomach instead. Coughing up blood, my small adversary exhaled one word, a name, it sounded. I knew that I had heard it countless times in my life, but I just couldn't match it with anything.

It was as if dawn had come at that moment. All of the dark fog that had covered the area swirled away into nothing. My assumptions had been at least partially correct; I was in a sort of back-city district.

Looking around, I glanced back at my first two assassinations. The body of the one I'd lured away was still lying next to the alley. I could now see that he was a tall, dark-haired man dressed in some sort of dark blue suit. A small pair of glasses lay at his side, broken.

Something's wrong.

The second was younger and wore foreign clothing. His loose blonde hair hung over his face and enclosed dangling amethyst earrings. Through the strands, bright crimson eyes stared lifelessly into nothing.

Stop it!

With a strong sense of dread, I finally looked down at my most recent kill. His body sill hung from my arm. Stiff black hair, skin slightly darker than my own, simple, light green clothing; he was no different then when I last saw him. Only now, he was dead. I suddenly remembered the name he had last breathed. "Killua…"

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"I told you this would happen, didn't I?"

That voice. That sick, horrible voice.

"I told you that you could never have any friends, because this would happen someday."

Damn it. Damn you, you're wrong!

"Am I? Just look around you. There's enough proof without my intervention."

Shut up! You're wrong, you have to be wrong!

"Just give it up, little brother. You were born to be an assassin; you can never change that."

SHUT UP!

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Killua shouted the last words aloud, jolting awake. His platinum-tinted hair stuck to his forehead, drenched in sweat. The ceiling was bathed in soft moonlight from an open window. He was defiantly back in reality. Wishing that his heart would stop beating so fast, he glanced down at his hands, lying above the ruffled sheets. They weren't normal, certainly.

The nails had grown to twice their length and were sharper than any knife, and the veins had expanded to immense proportions, appearing on his skin. Killua exhaled, slowly, and his hands reverted back to looking human. They're clean, he thought, nothing happened, they're clean. This reassured him. He rolled over to face the wall and closed his eyes, attempting to go back to sleep.

"Killua, you awake?" asked a small voice from across the room.

Had he been any less trained Killua would've flinched at the tone of concern it resonated. But he did not move or say a word.

"Was it a nightmare?"

Still no response. "Forget about it," thought Killua, "Just go back to sleep and forget about it, Gon." However, creaking from the other bed and then soft, light footsteps on the floorboards showed his friend had no such intentions. Killua continued to speak angrily in his mind. "Look, the last thing I need right now is sympathy from-". His mental conversation was interrupted by a white object shoved over his face.

He yelled complaints through the thick cotton and flailed his limbs around, finally kicking his perpetrator across the room. Killua tore the pillow away from his face and sat up, glaring at Gon. The dark-haired boy had been thrown back onto his own mattress and was laughing.

"What the heck were you trying to do, suffocate me!" growled Killua.

Recomposing himself, Gon sat, cross-legged, on the edge of his bed. "Well that's a relief. I would've been even more worried if you didn't get angry", he said, smiling.

That stupid, all-forgiving smile of his, thought Killua. "Oh, what do you know, anyways?" he stated out loud, in an attempt to end the conversation, and rolled over to stare at the wall.

His friend laughed again and got back under the covers with a, "Well, goodnight then."

"Night", said Killua.

"…Hey, Killua?"

"What now?"

"Can I have my pillow back?"