Word Count: 1137

Notes: Looking back I realise how short each of their POV's are... =-='

"You'll send me a letter when you get there, right?"

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been entirely ready yet. People had always said he was too nice for his own good, but he couldn't very well let a ten year old enter possibly THE most violent game to have ever been invented, beside the original soccer (in which you were allowed to kill people to get the ball, which was made from pigs bladder, and games would take place between whole villages). He knew he should have had at least one extra year of training, but he was still better off than most people would be, at the very least.

Gon couldn't help that he didn't want to see people hurt. He had been forced to watch the games for many years now, and the only reason he hadn't volunteered previous years was because he didn't want to abandon Aunt Mito. Well, what was done was done. Even if his reasons were selfish in the end… He really needed to do this! He would beat this game, but he wouldn't take the life of anybody! Yes, he would accomplish the seemingly impossible!

"Gomen, Mito-san." Clinging tightly to her waist, he let his aunt cry and pat his head. Baa-chan was at home sick. This really was the worst time to leave his aunt behind. Wasn't like there'd ever be a good one. "I don't think they'll let me."

"Just… you won't kill anyone right?" Gon knew this game couldn't be won without killing, but heck if he wouldn't try. He nodded his head to her question.

"But you won't die either?" the brown haired boy pulled back, looking up at his guardian for 13 years with a genuine smile which lit up his whole face.

"I'm beating the system!" And they pinkie – swore.

"A-aniki!" Too afraid to breathe, all the boy could do was hug his legs together in fear of the man who had made his life a living hell. Out of the fryer and into the frying pan it seems. Or is it the other way around?

"I am our districts only hunter, you know?" His head cocked to the side, his grip loosening on the toothed blade so that it could fall from his grasp at a moment's notice. Unsteady and terrified, Killua stood up on two shaky legs, the world feeling like it was a spinning top in motion. Illumi took a step forward, only furthering the effect of the pulsating room. And it actually was shaking – they were on a train, after all.

"Allow me to offer you some advice, Killu." His menacing aura licked around him in tangible waves, forcing Killua into a state of oppression, similar yet so much worse than when he was in the presence of his father.

"This is not a game for making friends, Killu. They will burden you and eventually you will have to kill them, will want to kill them, just so you can be victor already and see sweet like Alluka-chan again." The way he said her name, with such obvious disdain, was sickening to Killua. It was clear he wanted her dead. Had wanted her dead for the longest of time. Was he really that jealous of Killua's affection towards her?

"K-keep away!" Killua hated the way his voice had stuttered, how uneven it had sounded. Why was this so much harder when it was him?

"Oh?" despite the inquiry, Illumi's face showed no clear emotion, nor did his voice hold any undertones to make it sound anything other than blunt. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I stay?"

Trying to calm his thumping heart, the young boy sucked in deep lungful's of sweet air, which he had earlier deprived himself of out of terror. When he was sure his voice wouldn't waver, he risked voicing his opinion to his older brother.

"No, I wouldn't." deep breath "Go away." The dark haired man's face remained blank and stoic, but Killua was sure his resolve had surprised him, so when Illumi left without another word, all Killua could do was collapse onto the bed he had been provided with in bewilderment.

His heart rate picked up again. It felt like it would jump right out of his chest, but the white haired boy was able to calm it out of sheer will power, intently listening to the giveaway signs of his brother standing outside the door. But there were none. He was really truly gone.

For now at least.

When he had volunteered as tribute, he had known what was at stake.

Blood. Cries. Screams. Yells. Death.

Massacre.

Looking around him in fear, all the little boy was capable of seeing through the red tinge of his own vision was the dozens of bloody corpses which littered the once lively village.

Red. Red. Red.

The world was covered in a red veil.

They were red. Their eyes were red. His hands were red. He was red.

Paralysed in terror, all the twelve year old was capable of doing was looking on in mortification as everyone he had ever known was slaughtered before his very eyes.

His eyes a vibrant scarlet hue, he watched as dozens of the same coloured eyes rolled around freely on the ground. One came to stop near his foot, the once white iris stained with sticky red liquid which contrasted with the bright pupil. Startled and horrified, the boy had little time to think before his foot came down, smashing the pulsating gouged eye of his clansmen. Thin translucent liquid seeped out from the crushed eye, oozing onto his shoe and bleeding into the fabric of his clothes. Jumping up with a startled cry, dizzy from the multiple wounds which had befallen him, he tripped over, causing him to tumble backwards into the wall, harshly hitting his head on the bricks which lay there.

Black spots dancing before his vision, blood rapidly seeping from a cut which ran down the length of his leg, the blond boy began to fade into a dizzy unconsciousness. But before his eyes were glued shut by the warm fluid, he caught a glimpse of the intruders – of the murderers – who had attacked his clan.

He only saw one, and only one, but at once he was easily distinguishable as their leader. He wore a long fur coat, with a strange cross on the back matching that of the one on his forehead. Hair slicked back and eyes the epitome of lifelessness, he signalled with a wave of his hand to the dark unidentifiable figures who had his back, and the blond boy finally lapsed into oblivion, his worries only consisting of the brown haired boy who had been sat by his side.

And just like that the Kurta's were no more.

A/N I probably could've posted this chapter a couple of days ago, but I kept fiddling with Gon's section because it didn't seem happy enough for his character. I ended up changing it to make it a little happier, but it still seems rather gloomy for his personality -_-' Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Reviews are appreciated! Thank-you!How old should I make Kurapika? I'm not sure if I should make him 13 and have him enter the HG right after his clans murder or keep him at 17... At the very least I'll make him 16 instead ^^ Already working on chapter 6!