Chapter Forty-Five
Let There Be Light
Apologies for a long wait. I would have had this up yesterday, but my edits were rudely interrupted by the invasion of two giant flies…that decided my writing nook was a nice vacation spot.
Continued content warning for discussions of sexual abuse of children. This chapter is the most candid, I think.
Meteor City has always had twelve elders. Every time an elder toasts with poison in his stale wine, is found stiff with his pants down in a brothel, or wheezes his way into the afterlife with half-dissolved lungs, another replaces him. He inherits worn, moth-eaten robes and an even deader face, and the right to feed his family and preside at a limestone table that resembles a drawing of Jesus at the Last Supper.
Though there should have been thirteen seats, not twelve, for the correct analogy. That always bothered Danchou, Phinks remembers.
The eight queens of Kakin, including Oito, stand before limestone table, accompanied by several of the princes. Phinks can't recall all their names, to be honest.
But then Oito turns her head to smile at him, as Woble squirms in her arms, and nothing else matters.
Phinks is amongst the rabble of onlookers, behind a barnacled railing that was perhaps dragged out of the ocean a hundred years ago.
Nobunaga, Franklin, Bonolenov, and the Hunters squeeze beside him.
At least two parties have returned now. Milluki and Palm's mafia mission, the Kakins, and now Franklin's 'Parental Patrol,' as Hisoka dubbed them.
Danchou and the brat are downstairs, rescuing the ants, and the kids should be here soon, too. As for Leorio and Cheadle, Phinks has no idea.
With the ants and the kids, there should be enough evidence without the Zodiacs.
"The Zoldyck parents will stay in the balconies for now," Nobunaga assures the rest of the Spiders.
"Good," says Gittanracker, stiff even for his disguise.
"We're sorry," says Knuckle, running a hand through his thick curls. "Bringing them here was the only way to cooperate without bloodshed."
"No. You did the right thing. We can't hurt Kalluto and Illumi's parents," Shizuku asserts, slipping her hand in Melody's.
Nobunaga eyes them, but his question is cut off by the chief elder.
"Ah yes, the man – or shall I say ant – of the hour has finally joined us."
Gyro pushes open the door to the back room. Clad in his oversized coat once again, with more golden-grey stubble on his chin. He crosses his arms even as he walks around the limestone table, positioning himself between the Kakin Queens and the Elders of Meteor City. "I've been summoned."
Hisoka – or Captain Baha – flushes at the sight of the man. Melody gulps as his heartbeat thunders, and Gittanracker steps closer to his husband.
"Yes, we've been negotiating a generous trade deal, you see," says the Chief Elder. In any other potion of the world, he would far too young to reasonably call himself an elder. But not in Meteor City.
"I see." Gyro smiles thinly.
"Part of the negotiations, apparently, consist of your trial," says the Elder, as if he has merely asked someone to pass the butter, please.
"For what?" Gyro bites the bottom of his lip, as if masking a smirk.
"For treason against your own city. We can't very well do trade with someone so corrupt they would destroy their own family," Queen Unma says. "You'll understand that's a bit of a sensitive issue for us."
The room laughs uneasily.
"What crimes?" Gyro raises his eyebrows. D2 is obvious, but has he not brought prosperity to the Elders with it? The Queens will never win a battle against drugs.
"The disappearances of the Chimera Ant Refugees, for starters," says Queen Swinko-Swinko.
The room stills.
Gyro, however, looks bored.
"I think we're focusing on the wrong person for that situation," says an exasperated voice across the room.
Ging Freecs hunches his shoulders as he's shoved to the front of the crowd, flanked by Cheadle and Leorio.
"Elaborate," says the Chief Elder.
"Gyro is smitten with his own evil."
"Yes, I suppose Ging Freecs would know a thing or two about misdirected self-love," Raissa Valdrada says sharply, from her position just to the side of the table. She stands among the mafia wives and concubines.
Ging turns beet red, and Hisoka can only watch these two with suspicion.
There's no way – why does everyone keep fucking?
"That's not it," Ging says, regaining his composure. "Gyro could care less about anyone else's nefarious schemes, even the Chimera Ants. You really ought to learn to see things beyond the surface."
"We can't all be as smart as Ging Freecs," Beyond Netero says coolly, to Hisoka's surprise. But Beyond is through tolerating these shitty parents.
Ging flicks his fingers in annoyance. "The culprit for the vanishings is not Gyro. The true culprit, in fact, most recently worked for the Kakin Empire, as their First Mate aboard the Black Whale expedition."
Hisoka grinds his teeth. Now it all makes sense – how the Zoldycks knew about he and Illumi, how the mafia knew about Kurapika,
"What?!" Phinks blusters.
Oito shoots him a firm look as the Elders begin to murmur. She holds up her hand and gestures towards her fellow Queen.
"Captain Mercyn?" Unma demands.
"Not Mercyn," Hisoka-as-Baha says, sucking in air.
"Baha!" Queen Sevanti claps a hand to her mouth.
He ignores them. "His name is Pariston Hill. A hunter, a former member of the Zodiacs."
"And Gyro works for him, abducting citizens of Meteor City for him, an outsider," Leorio says angrily. "I hardly think it's a difference. Pariston isn't here, after all, is he, Ging?"
"How would I know?" Ging shrugs. "He probably is. But maybe not."
"Fuck you."
"Leorio," Cheadle warns.
Gyro laughs mockingly. "You can't even agree together."
"To be fair, it's Ging Freecs," Morel says.
"Valid, but if I am a slave to this Pariston, why am I here instead of my master?" Gyro holds his hands up.
"Regardless, treason is certainly a concerning charge against you," says one of the Elders, under Raissa's timely glare.
At least one of the mafia members is on their side, Hisoka thinks. He grows sourer with every minute.
"Allow me to explain." Gyro rolls his eyes again. He flashes a smile, that powerful, inspirational smile any citizen of NGL, any child who fell into his trap, would recognize well. "I may have worked with Pariston Hill, but not for him. My intentions were to destroy him."
Gyro's nen creeps across the room. The nen of discernment. He's not…lying.
Can you take the girl? Chrollo had asked. And Feitan, Feitan who so desperately wanted to redeem himself as a family man, could not say no.
Chrollo is grateful for Hina's escape, but his unease grows as he and Kurapika follow his dowsing chain further and further underground. Stalactites of quarts and droplets of amber rain from the ceiling.
"There's a treasure trove under the city," Chrollo breathes. "And no one knows."
"Now we know where the Elder's money comes from," Kurapika says flatly.
Chrollo curls his fist. "Those bastards."
"They robbed you all, didn't they, even when you thought you had robbed them?" Kurapika blinks back disbelief.
"Apparently, we are greater fools than we knew," Chrollo says with melancholy.
"What is it?" Kurapika asks, throwing him a tender glance.
Even those brown eyes are lovely, Chrollo thinks.
"I … have so much to confess," Chrollo admits, focusing on the sparkling domed ceiling.
"I'm sure," Kurapika says sarcastically. "It's not like you have lived a life of crime or anything."
Chrollo smiles slightly. "Being back here is…"
"Nostalgic?"
"In ways good and bad." Chrollo laughs hollowly. "Do you know why? Do you suspect? I wouldn't be surprised if you did. Why I k – k – killed your tribe."
Kurapika stills. "Eyes…"
His voice trails off. Killing just for eyes, killing what Chrollo believed to be all the eyes, extincting them from ever existing again – it's impractical. And Chrollo is practical.
"A grudge? You're much like me, after all." Kurapika's fingers brush Chrollo's shoulder.
"A misplaced one. Yours, at least, was well-directed. I approached them to see the eyes I'd noticed with you, yes, but that was it. Their, hmm, hostility towards outsiders reminded me of the mafia here. And I…I decided to teach them a lesson." Chrollo ponders for a moment. "No, that's not it. I wanted to show them I had power. That they couldn't laugh at us garbage of Meteor City. I killed them … because I thought it proved my own worth. The eyes were merely a present."
He looks at his hands, the hands that just held his intendeds, the hands that once held an ancient knife to carve out the eyes of his intended's family. "I was a fool."
Kurapika swallows. "Well. I can't say we were always the nicest to outsiders."
"Given what happened, you oughtn't have been." Chrollo's lips tremble. Dammit, why is he an emotional man? "That's just the beginning of my confessions."
"We'll have a lot of time to confess to each other after this, won't we?" Kurapika presses his lips together and fights his tears. "And even more time to forgive."
It's fucked up, but he's relieved. He's relieved that he and Pairo didn't give Chrollo the idea. He's relieved Chrollo hadn't instantly planned on killing them.
Instant is a small word with no bearing on the actual results. But Kurapika finds comfort in it anyways.
"Here we go." Chrollo turns the corner to see two arching doors.
Kurapika grabs the towering handles and yanks.
The entire room knows. They know that Gyro truly did wish to hurt Pariston. And because humans see in nothing but simplicity, they will only see a defender, not another traitor.
Hisoka feels like drowning. Gyro is going to escape again.
And he is once more powerless, alone.
And he's alone because of his own choices. Because he played the victim in a desperate attempt to – to what? To connect with Illumi? To tell a small part of the truth, only to shy away from the entirety?
Illumi would leave him if he knew how Hisoka failed.
How Hisoka was at fault.
"Don't believe him!" snaps a voice.
Hisoka turns to see Machi and a bruised, shirtless Feitan spilling out of the elder's back room. Between them stands a teenage girl and Ikalgo the Octopus.
"Who are you?!" demands another elder. He scrambles to his feet.
"People who know intentions don't always mean shit. Gyro was keeping this child as a slave," Machi says firmly, wrapping an arm around the girl.
"He hurt my mother." Feitan adds.
"Who among us can resist a woman?" Gyro laughs, and to Hisoka's nausea, most of the elders chuckle. "And by enrolling her in my service, I granted that child safety from Pariston."
"Didn't I, Hina?" He turns to her, and the girl shies away.
"Answer the question," Ging barks. She'll tell the truth. Gyro will go down. Right?
Hina's lips tremble, and her eyes are bright with tears.
"Didn't I?"
Hisoka wants to scream. Gittanracker looks at him with alarm.
"She's obviously scared," Oito declares. Duazal and Sevanti nod in agreement.
"So you're a psychic now?" an elder tosses back.
"No, a human," Oito says icily.
"And the child is not," points out the head elder.
"What does that have to do with it?" Phinks shouts, slamming the railing with his fist.
Hisoka swallows bile.
And just then – just then –
"No," he hears a voice interrupt the arguing. "No, you're not innocent, Gyro. Gyro, you accuse Pariston of corrupting many ants, but you yourself corrupted hundreds of children. Isn't that right?"
It takes him a moment to realize the voice is his own.
Chrollo and Kurapika stare at the acres of bodies sprawling in a cavern that stretches for hundreds of meters. Fluorescent liquids flow through tubes between one chimera's wolf head and a pig woman's stomach. Some ants have been sewn together. It appears that a small, shrunken victim of Pap has been attached to a horse-ant's body.
Chrollo's not one to shy from the dying, but this is something else. Nausea sweeps over him.
"Help," says a woman chained by her neck like a dog. A silver horn grows from her forehead. Her eyes shiver and seize upon the sight of people who are not his captors.
"I thought the Horned tribe was long extinct," Kurapika says dully.
She recognizes his clothing. "Kurta?"
Kurapika nods. Chrollo places a hand on his shoulder.
"Run!" She wails suddenly, as a shout rings out.
"And here you are, my little Scarlet-Eyed Devil, into my little lab by your own free will!" crows a voice.
A man clad in pink satin dances down the aisle. Sparks of nen shimmer around him.
Chrollo raises an eyebrow. He's finally met someone more flamboyant than Hisoka. Color him surprised.
"And Chrollo, back from the dead, too!" The man waves his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Together. In our true forms."
"True?" Kurapika asks slowly.
"Captain Mercyn," Chrollo says instantly, at the same time Kurapika hisses, "Pariston!"
"Not just me." Pariston pirouettes. At first, small sparks of nen tornado around him. They grow and glow, and glow, and grow, and suddenly they shoot through the entire room, filling everything with Light.
"And then there was Light," Pariston whispers.
Every ant they land on – including a luminescent Meleoron, Kurapika realizes – begins to rise. Their shackles slough off, dissolving like smoldering acid.
"Keep these two alive, but kill the elders, my little pets," Pariston commands.
"Gyro wasn't –" Kurapika bursts out.
Chrollo says nothing as the ants surge upon them, as Pariston laughs. "That's right, Chrollo: your worst enemy was merely my pawn."
He lowers his voice to a whisper once more. "And it was good."
Gyro turns his foul, foul eyes upon Captain Baha. "Now, don't hide yourself, dear. Your aura was always very recognizable."
Texture Surprise fades away to reveal a tall, muscular clown. His hair is as impeccably gelled as always, his eyes lined with black. A pink star adorns his left cheek, a teal teardrop his right.
"Hisoka!" The elders recoil.
"I see you're heard of me." He licks his lips, forcing a smirk.
"Still throwing yourself at me, after all these years?" Gyro laughs. "We all know you're too old for me now."
Hisoka turns the whitest Phinks has ever seen him. For the first time, the troupe sees fear flicker across his face.
Machi sucks in her breath. "You son of a bitch."
"What?" Phinks demands. "I don't understand."
"Stop, Phinks," Nobunaga says quietly. His hand clenches his sword so tight his knuckles turn white.
And then Phinks sees the green on Oito's countenance, and he does understand.
Fuck.
Hisoka turns his head away. "It doesn't matter."
Gyro shrugs. "Any yet, I still loved you more than your mother. You were eating candy wrappers to fill your belly when I found you. You would have starved to death without me."
Hisoka remembers running to the fighting rings, remembers smiling up at the nice man who fed him and talked to him. Remembers telling him that one day he's going to make it all the way to Heaven's Arena and beat the top fighter there.
There are better options for a pretty child like you. The nice man's hand cupped his face, and Hisoka gulped, because he didn't want to offend anyone, especially not this nice man, but he really wanted to fight, not dance.
"He wanted it." Gyro looks at him. "Isn't that right, Hisoka? You cried when I said you were getting too old. You were, oh, fourteen, and you dragged me into your bedroom. You said you loved me and expected me to marry you."
Hisoka feels like melting through the floor. Illumi will hate him now. Hate him for calling it rape, when he wanted it. "I – I di – I didn't – know."
"Didn't know? You enjoyed it, until this world told you it was wrong."
Hisoka shakes his head. He – how can he – how can he explain – that with every woman and man he's fucked, sometimes multiple at once – it's always been to wash himself clean of Gyro?
That with every creature he beats and kills, he feels as if he's chipped away at the phantom that haunts him.
That he's never been able to separate fighting and fucking, because fighting is the one activity that makes him feel free of Gyro.
"Stop, stop, stop," Hisoka tries to command, but it comes out like begging. Despite himself, he begins to sweat. His face burns from embarrassment.
Gyro looks around the room. He's disappointed not to see the Freecs brat. "Haven't you been helping yourself to young boys?"
"I helped them fight." Hisoka manages to say in a small voice, as if he were much, much younger than his twenty-eight years.
Teaching kids to fight. The opposite of what Gyro had done to him. Hahaha – was that in his subconscious all this time?
But he'd become aroused fighting Gon. That much was true. Even if he hadn't wanted to fuck Gon.
Hisoka wants to die. He can't bear to look at anything but the ground.
"I bet they're pretty, if he's anything like his father," Gyro says, eying Ging.
"I think we have what we need –" Raissa counters, shaking with fury.
Hisoka claps his hands against his face, startled into speech again. "Get your disgusting eyes off him!"
"Disgusting? You didn't think so when you begged to please me." But for now, Gyro looks Hisoka up and down. "When you shaved your new hair just to keep me interested."
Hisoka is drowning in hatred. For himself. Why had he thought this was okay? Why had he done that? Was he always evil, twisted, nothing more than a clown?
They'll never pity him. He wanted it.
This is his fault.
He hangs his head. "But … I was a kid."
"I was a kid when I killed my father, too. That doesn't excuse you."
It's my fault. It's my fault. It's all my fault.
Hisoka thinks of slitting his own throat with his cards, cutting off the skin that's hot with shame, removing his tongue that once touched Gyro. Illumi deserves better than him.
"Hisoka, be a good boy. Tell everyone the truth," Gyro sings.
Be a good boy.
Tell me what I want to hear. Candy crinkled in his pocket, and seven-year-old Hisoka was so very scared and so very hungry.
He feels powerless again.
"I liked it," Hisoka recites, closing his eyes. His voice cracks. I hate it. I hate this. I hate you. I hate me.
"No!" A voice yells suddenly.
Hisoka's eyes pop open.
Gon Freecs marches forward, jabbing his finger at Gyro. Behind him, the younger Zoldycks host a horde of small children, bruised and sniffling and free.
"It's not Hisoka's fault. You were the adult. You manipulated him and you hurt him and he just tried to grab onto anything that felt good so he could survive!"
Hisoka's mouth hangs open.
"I suppose, by your rules, it wasn't your fault for Pakunoda either, because she was a prostitute? Even though she was a child," Machi spits.
"There's no excuse." Oito growls. "Never."
"You're trying to divide us again. To make him think we blame him. Well, it won't work," Franklin fumes. "We know better."
"This is one of the few cases in the known world where Hisoka is entirely innocent," Nobunaga adds. "You hurt our friend."
Hisoka stammers. No – they must misunderstand – why?
"It's my fault. It's my – he's right," Hisoka finally chokes out. And for once, the room sees the Hisoka he's always hidden behind double entendres and brutal fights.
He's scared, He's still the kid hiding under his bed so Gyro would leave him alone, because he didn't understand what was happening, only that it made him feel ashamed. He's the child screaming for attention so that he could at least pretend people cared about him. Who cannot lose, because weakness means being trapped in the back room, and who cannot let himself care, because when he cares, he is betrayed.
"You're wrong, Hisoka."
Black en explodes behind Gyro. The room goes silent.
"How dare you."
Killua has never seen Illumi's full bloodlust, but he sees it now, and it's fucking petrifying. Illumi's hair swirls around a greenish face. His eyes burn black fire. He walks through the rail, not around or over.
"You hurt Feitan's mother. You hurt this little girl. You hurt my husband. You hurt hundreds of others." Illumi steps closer. "And you humiliated Hisoka again, just now, as if abasing his childhood wasn't enough."
"You're one to lecture about children, after trying to kill your own sister. And Machi, how many Kurta babies did you slaughter? You think the one in your belly makes up for it?" Gyro laughs.
"Did he tell you? Did Feitan tell you he is my son? A product of the very crime you're crying about?" Gyro shakes his head.
Illumi shakes his head back. "Don't try to pin this back on us. You've shown no remorse, no shame."
"If you kill a protected Ant, you won't be a hunter yourself anymore. If you kill a man for vengeance, you won't be an assassin. What will lonely little Illumi be without his assassinations?"
"I won't be lonely. I have six siblings and my husband." Illumi raises his needle. "And – and friends."
"Don't bother." A tall woman, with a face even more worn than her tunic and Hisoka's hair, suddenly leaps onto the floor. She plunges a knife straight into Gyro's throat.
"You told me to go there, where it hurt the most, right?" She laughs as the dying man gapes at her.
Gyro doubles over, gagging, as she sneers.
And then he shoves the knife straight back into the heart of Illuna Morow.
Illumi catches her as Gyro crashes to the floor.
Hisoka stands still. Frozen.
"What is your relationship to Hisoka?" Illumi hisses, as if he doesn't already know.
"Ha…you know already. You're just like Kikyo, trying to trap me." The woman hacks up blood.
Illumi glances towards Hisoka, who remains unable – or unwilling – to move.
And then Feitan crosses the room. He touches Gyro's paltry pulse and snorts with derision. Yet he must hesitate.
Ikalgo flings himself forward, wrapping a tentacle around his odious leader. The man who inspired his life, and yet the vilest of living creatures. "No one should die alone."
So he will sit here, hating Gyro, while grateful for what Gyro gave him, while hating everything he took from others.
And so Feitan keeps walking. He walks right up to Hisoka, wraps his hand around Hisoka's wrist, tugs him closer to Illumi and this woman.
"What is your name?" Illumi asks her.
"Illuna Morow," Hisoka says hollowly. Kikyo – she knew Kikyo – why is he even surprised? He and Illumi were alwys connected by more than mere luck.
Illumi blanches. So he was named for this woman, wasn't he? Named for his husband's mother.
"Ha, the shorty's here too," Illuna turns her eyes towards Feitan as her speech slurs. "I have so many secrets."
Feitan? Illumi and Machi's eyes meet. Both pale as they recognize the resemblance between Troupe Members 2, 4, and 11.
"This not about me," Feitan says, pushing Hisoka forward.
"Hisoka."
Hisoka is not even sure what to say. He easily hated Kikyo. But his own mother?
He doesn't want to hate her, nor love her. He doesn't want to feel anything really.
"I thought I was enough," she whispers. "Why wasn't I enough?"
"You…" Hisoka lifts his eyes to her. "Why wasn't I enough?!"
"Shorty." Illuna lifts her eyes to Feitan.
"Mother?" He looks confused.
"Close," she slurs. "Hisoka."
"Nanika?" Illumi turns to his sister, who is already racing forward.
"Hand –"
Illuna opens her mouth, just as a blinding light rocks the Hall of Elders. Everything – the limestone table, the encrusted rail, Gyro's corpse and Illuna's limp body, rises.
Everyone standing suddenly finds themselves sprawled across the floor. Pinned like magnets.
Illuna falls onto her child, and she whispers to him, like she used to when she read him stories, in the few memories before Gyro. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough to save you."
His mother collapses atop Hisoka as dozens of weaponized creatures storm the hall.
