A/N: This is the sequel to A Series of Politically Inappropriate Happenings. This story will be a little different from the previous two (which were quite different from the first installment of The Series). It was inspired by two things: first, a desire to try a slightly different genre other than Humour (a more serious one, one might say) and second, the criticism that Kuroro's relationship with Midoya is a little too perfect.
Warning: There is some mention of child abuse (sexual/drug) in this chapter.
Disclaimer:I do not own Hunter X Hunter and all the characters affiliated with the manga/anime. All OCs are mine, which is something. The views stated by the characters do not always reflect the views of the author either. All characters and settings in this story are fictional.
Insanity
A quiet whoosh. A soft hiss of air. The door opened and a rectangle of white, sterile light was carved into the darkness of the room.
The child lifted her head wearily and blinked at the sudden glare. This was out of the routine. Normally the door only opened once a day when her only meal was brought to her. Ever since she had learned to just keep quiet, to stop fighting, she had been taken off the drugs, and the doctors had started seeing her less regularly. Could they be putting her back on the drugs again? A shudder ran through her frame. That would be worse than being strapped down, worse than the straitjacket… even worse than death.
A young man… no, a boy, just a few years older older than she was, stepped into her room and glared at her furiously. "Bitch!" he screamed and kicked her in the stomach.
It had been so long since she had last felt anything but the chill of indoor air-conditioning or the feel of the padded walls against her skin that the pain, so sharp and intense, was almost welcomed. It jolted life back into her, reminded her there was something outside the numbness of frozen limbs or drug-induced hazes.
Strong, rough hands grabbed her hair roughly and tugged her to her knees. Hot, dry lips crashed against hers, splitting her lower lip, and she made a pained sound. What was going on? What was happening? The child desperately wanted to ask, but the last time she spoke…
The cold steel of the needle against her skin. The sudden inability to move. The ghosts coming out to meet her…
The lips tore away from hers and she was flung to the ground. "Bitch!" the boy screamed again. "You should have been mine! All of this should have been mine!"
Slowly, the child blinked. Like long-abandoned machinery clanking to life, her mind began to move. What he was saying implied a lot. Had something happened to Father? Had something happened to the will? Or…
Her hair was pulled violently and she was dragged back to her knees. "I will find it," the boy snarled, green eyes boring into hers. "I will find the Gem, and then everything you have will be mine. You will be mine. Do you understand me, bitch?"
So that's what had happened. Hope, long forgotten, flared in the depths of her soul. That changed things. That gave her an edge. That gave her time. For the first time in months, the child felt her lips tug at the corner. "I wish you luck," she whispered hoarsely and the boy flung her down with a grimace of disgust. She landed at an angle and her wrist started to throb. She welcomed the pain, embraced it as it spread up her arm, setting atrophied muscles and nerves on fire.
Then he grabbed the front of her hospital gown and the flimsy material ripped. Pain, deep in her lower abdominal, seared through her, and the child dazedly realised that something bad, something irreversibly bad had just happened. But she remained lying still, staring at the ceiling passively. Patterns, red and black, pulsed before her eyes. Half-formed ideas dreamt up during drug-induced trances came back to her, but much clearer this time. Chains and links clinked together, and suddenly before her, she saw the tangled webs of plots and schemes, complicated in their design, but only an infant form of the type of schemes she will dream up in later years.
Her eyes followed every twist and curve, every loop and route, until she reached the very end. A genuine smile curved her lips as she saw what that was. Now she knew what to do. It will take a long time, spinning the web thread by thread, crawling along it with stealthy steps, but soon her prey will be trapped and she will feast on their carcasses.
Hope flared in the depths of her soul. And along with it was rekindled the simmering, glowing embers of pure fury.
Feet pounding the stone floor, breaths coming in pained gasps, and mind straining to hold on to his Zetsu, Armando Basilio rounded another corner of the corridor, barely managing to keep his balance as fear turned his limbs into cold noodles.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, hands shaking with terror. For a moment, Armando Basilio clung to the stone wall with clammy hands as he struggled to catch his breath. "This can't be happening," he breathed desperately. "Fuck, it can't be happening."
Just a few hours ago, things were going perfectly. All his hopes and dreams had come to life. He had the Infinity Gem! He had Clemence on his side! Aunt Kito had promised to marry him. He was about to move into York Shin finally. Everything he had worked for all his life had come true! How had it gone so fucking wrong?
Trembling, he pulled out his cell phone and tried Decimal's number again. No answer. Shit, that useless little fuck was supposed to have been heading security detail today! But he had gone missing with five other men. Why hadn't he sensed something was wrong when he found out? What hadn't it occurred to him that they were missing for a reason! Because those little shits were always slacking off and… and… wasn't it Aunt Kito who had put that idea in his head? When he had told her about it, she had reassured him… had told him that they were so close to their goal now it didn't matter where those fucking mercenaries were. That fucking bitch! She had played them all, even the guy she had been with. After she tossed that bomb at him, Armando Basilio had no doubt that his pretty little guts were splattered all over the insides of the vault.
Another shudder ran through him and he clutched his churning stomach. He didn't want to end up like that; he really didn't want to end up like that. The idea of it… of exploding all over the place like that, made him want to throw up. Why hadn't he listened when Cousin Bartemus had warned him not to mess with the Kito head? Because it was his right! He was the rightful heir to the Kito estate, not that fucking…
Now he drew a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm down. Alright, this was not the time to panic and throw the blame about. He needed to get out of here. That was the priority. As long as he remained alive, he could solve this. Yes, the Basilio estate would probably disown him just to avoid that bitch Kito's wrath, but no matter. He could always gain it back slowly. He was smart, he was dangerous; he could do this. That bitch was nobody. She was just a fucking mental case. She couldn't possibly out-smart him.
Not for the first time, he tried Clemence's number. Still no response. There were a number of ways he could take this: either Clemence was dead or she had switched sides. Knowing her, he had a pretty fucking good idea what had happened. Never mind. He would make her regret the day she turned on him. He will do things to her that would make her long-dead father scream in his grave.
Giving up on his phone, Armando Basilio continued running, heading for the roof where he knew the helicopter was. Very few people knew of its existence and he liked to keep it that way. It was a hyper-stealth helicopter, so unexpected because people generally expected helicopters to be as noisy as fuck. This baby wasn't though; it was as quiet as an owl and Armando liked it that way. He didn't even need a pilot; he was a bloody good one himself. Yes, once he got to his copter, he will be safe. He just needed to get there. It was so close… so bloody close…
The last three flights of stairs were the toughest, but he made it.
Gasping painfully, Armando Basilio burst into the chilly, night air of Agocchi. Immediately, his limbs started to shake, both from the cold as well as a debilitating sense of relief. He had to ignore that though. There was no time to get emotional. That bitch couldn't be far behind him. He had to get to the copter. So instead of collapsing on the ground like he wanted to, Armando Basilio dragged his frozen feet towards the dark shape of his helicopter.
Through sheer force of will, he gripped the tarp with numb fingers and dragged them off the helicopter. Even in the dark, his baby gleamed.
"Thank god," he mumbled, climbing into the copter. "Oh thank…" His expression of gratitude faded when he saw the control panel. Wires were torn out, panelling had been ripped open, and all the buttons had been torn off.
For a moment, Armando Basilio couldn't move. The alarm and the cold pressed on his chest like a heavy weight, stealing speech and breath from his lips, and he gasped frantically. No… not yet… not like this… not when he was so close…
A presence, a dreaded, familiar presence, pulsated softly in the night air like a diseased wound.
Shaking, Armando Basilio turned to the right to look out of the door. June Kito stood there, right at the edge of the landing pad, watching him with eerily glowing eyes. She didn't speak or move; she just stood there, watching him, her skin almost pure white under the moon and her dark, frizzy hair floating in the breeze like a shadow wraith.
Swallowing hard, Armando Basilio wiped the cold sweat from his brow and forced his trembling limbs to step out of the helicopter. The fear threatened to swallow him but he made himself walk towards her. Half-way there, he glanced at the exit to the halls, wondering in a numb panic if he could reach it before she reached him. But a man stood there, tall, pale and half-naked. He raised a hand and waved cheerfully at him, and Armando Basilio looked away to stare at the floor as he continued his shaky way towards June Kito.
Finally, her bare feet came into view, and he stopped, still staring at the floor.
"Armando," she said softly, and the madness that was her voice threatened to make his bowels loosen on him. "Armando," she repeated. "Look at me."
Somehow, he managed to force his head to lift, to look at her. He had always thought she was a short woman, kind of bland and uninspiring, and unworthy to be the head of the Kito family, but for some reason, she didn't look that short today or that bland. He could hardly tear his eyes away from her now that he was looking at her. Her eyes were twin black holes that pulled him into the horror and insanity that always surrounded her. "Aunt Kito," he breathed, licking his chapped lips.
"You are going to fight, aren't you?" she asked with idle curiosity, as if it didn't really matter to her. "You are a One Star Hunter, are you not? You will at least put up a struggle for your life?"
Fight? Struggle? For a moment, Armando Basilio thought he might just jump off the landing pad. Fight her? He had never known she was a Nen-user, had never known how powerful she was, but he had seen enough tonight to know that she was good, brutally, horrifyingly good. He had tried every trick in the book just to get rid of her in the halls, and he hadn't succeeded until someone else had come along and carted her off. He didn't have a chance to win. He didn't have a chance. He didn't have a fucking iota of a chance. "Yeah," he whispered, "I'll fucking kill you, bitch."
A smile spread over her face, filled with genuine pleasure. "Oh good," she replied. "I hope you're as good as your biography claims you are. I will be so disappointed if you aren't because you see, Armando, you have caused me a lot of… grief, and I dearly want to make you pay." Almost casually, she circled him and walked further away until she was well out of his range, and he of hers. "Now, come on," she said softly, her eyes glowing, "it is time for my revenge. Come and receive it."
"Okay," Armando Basilio said numbly and he groped for his throwing knives. He was going to die tonight; he already knew that. There was no way out. There was no way he was getting out of here alive. Even if he managed to win her, there was still the Ryodan and that man standing…
A flash of colour nestled against the background of black and white caught his eye. In the moonlight, the Infinity Gem blazed a beautiful mixture of red, purple and blue, sparkling like a bejewelled heart against her pale skin.
"That should have been mine," he heard himself saying, "The Gem, the Kito estate… you. All of that are mine."
Under the pale moonlight, June Kito cocked her head and looked at him. "Poor Armando," she said pityingly. "You should curse the day Father put that thought in your mind."
Then she was moving towards him, gliding over the rooftop like a phantom.
She was so fast.
So fast.
They were one storey below the roof when Midoya's Nen flared like a beacon in the open seas.
"What on earth…!" Kalluto exclaimed behind Kuroro, obviously startled by the strength and suddenness of her aura. "That is… is that Kito?" Now the child looked uneasy, though he tried to hide it.
"Yes, that is," Kuroro replied, smiling faintly.
"You were right, Dancho," Machi said calmly. "She was heading for the roof. From the feel of it though…"
"She's fighting," Kuroro agreed. He would recognise it anywhere; the way excitement and bloodlust shimmered through her aura, the way her aura flared and vanished as she moved adeptly between the various Nen techniques. It was as familiar a sensation to him as his own Nen.
"Armando Basilio is up there with her then." Phinx grinned and popped a knuckle. "Let's hurry, Dancho. I want a crack at that bastard too."
"Permission granted," Kuroro murmured, and they sped up, pounding through the corridor with supersonic speed now that they were sure of their destination.
Soon enough, the stairs to the roof were in sight. Kuroro thought he felt his heart skip a little at that. He was finally going to catch up with Midoya, finally going to catch up with that traitorous little minx… Picking up speed, the Ryodan sprinted for the stairs – then stopped when Hisoka stepped into view, smirking at them.
It was a credit to Hisoka's reputation that all six Ryodan members screeched to a stop before him, Nen flaring as they tensed for battle. Hisoka's eyes flickered among them, and lust pulsed through his aura.
"How cold," Hisoka purred with a mock-pout. "I was waiting here so patiently for all of you too, and this is how you treat me? What happened to all those nights we spent together celebrating death?"
"You pretty much blew it when you betrayed the Ryodan to the chain-user," Machi snapped, Nen threads twanging menacingly.
"Aw, Machi." Hisoka fake-pouted some more. "You think so lowly of me. You do know I've always loved you, right?"
Machi's Nen flared and she looked like she was about to retort, but Kuroro knew there wasn't time for that. "Hisoka," he interrupted. "Let us pass. You can't possibly take all six of us?"
"Very true," Hisoka admitted in an uncharacteristic show of humility, "but I have to nonetheless. I made a promise to a beautiful princess we are both acquainted with, and a gentleman always keeps his promises."
Kuroro closed his eyes. Abruptly, he remembered where he had smelled that rose scent before. On the hotel bed; the one he shared with Midoya… oh. The images. "What did Midoya promise you to get you to work for her?" he asked.
"A fabulous fight," Hisoka breathed, rolling his hips forward and spreading his arms. "A wonderful, fabulous fight, ending in sweet, hot death."
Midoya did know Hisoka well. "Ryodan," Kuroro ordered sharply. "Take Hisoka together. Stay close enough to assist…" Before he could complete his sentence, Hisoka was suddenly right in front of them, his face glowing with crazed pleasure as he ploughed straight into Phinx and Machi. Powerful arms wrapped around the two of them as Hisoka laughed hysterically.
"Dan…!" Phinx managed to say before Hisoka took the two of them out of the window.
Immediately, Franklin, Kuroro and Kalluto rushed to the window.
Several stories down, Kuroro saw Machi and Phinx detach themselves from Hisoka's death grip. The tiny figures then turned on Hisoka together. As far as he could tell, they didn't seem to be injured. "They are fine," Kuroro said.
"We are leaving them?" Kalluto asked.
"They can handle Hisoka," Kuroro said confidently. Hisoka might be strong and insane (never a good combination), but he was still facing off against two Ryodan members. They could take Hisoka on as long as they worked together. Well… if they worked together. If.
"If you say so," Kalluto said dubiously. He turned around and froze, his expression one of surprise.
A shadowy figure detached itself from the shadows and walked towards them, solidifying into the shape of Moonshine. Grinning, he gave them a casual salute, his eyes glowing like a wild dog's in the dark. "Hey," he said casually, even as his Nen swelled. "What's up, Kito's fuck-toy."
Kuroro felt his jaw set. Another lie Midoya had told. "Hisoka, I can understand," he said deliberately, "but you? I thought you hated Midoya. What did she offer you in return for your help?"
A stricken look spread over Moonshine's face. "I can't believe I am saying this, but… the same as Hisoka," he muttered, looking utterly humiliated.
"Shame on you," Kuroro said without any heat, but Moonshine's sallow complex flushed red anyway. "Midoya asked the two of you to separate the Ryodan, didn't she?"
Moonshine shrugged. "The Ryodan works best as a group," he said. "Makes sense to break it up."
"That's understandable," Kuroro said, looking around. "I don't suppose Pepeka is going to turn up next, is he?"
"Nah, that kid's too soft," Moonshine said dismissively. "I doubt Kito even told him we're here."
"Oh, good because I don't like bullying children." Kuroro regarded Moonshine blandly. "Franklin, Kalluto, kill him. I'm going up to find Midoya."
"On it," Franklin said, and the tips of his fingers separated. "Come on, kid, let's get this motherfucker."
Kalluto blinked. "I thought you were the polite guy," he said idly, just as Franklin threw back his head and laughed manically as he started firing at Moonshine.
"Go, Dancho!" Franklin shouted, as Moonshine dodged the Nen bullets. "Go find Kito!"
With a nod, Kuroro sprinted forward blindly, trusting Franklin not to hit him. He flipped over once, twice, and he was at the base of the stairs. For a brief instant, he felt Moonshine's Nen right behind him, reaching out to grab him, but Kalluto's Nen flared briefly and he heard Moonshine curse as he was yanked away violently. Kuroro ignored them all, trusting his Ryodan to deal with the threat.
Grimly, he pounded up the stairs, drawing on his Nen as he did. He knew how strong Midoya was, knew the kind of power she could call upon if she truly wanted him dead. He had one chance, and one chance only, and that was to take her down before she got serious. He had to do it, had to kill her before she realised the fight was on.
Readying his Nen, Kuroro burst onto the roof – and walked into the most beautiful nightmare he had ever seen.
Later, when asked what he remembered about the fight, Kuroro started with the moon. It was a full moon, large and low in the sky, shining through the clear skies like a giant orb of pure madness.
The next thing he recalled was Midoya, drenched in blood and smiling up at the moon.
"Fuck you, Hisoka!"
Phinx dropped to a crouch, barely low enough to avoid a roundabout kick by Hisoka then lashed out as fast as he could. But even though he knew he was physically stronger than Hisoka, he was evidently not as fast, because the slime ball wriggled away like a snake.
"Missed," Hisoka giggled. "Ah, I should have aimed for Kuroro just now, but I figured I've already tasted Kuroro once before so I should try something new."
"That is sick," Phinx grounded through gritted teeth. Hisoka had dragged Machi and him down to a parapet several floors down, and the landing had been difficult. The fall itself hadn't hurt them, not as much as the blows Hisoka had managed to land on them.
"It's not sick," Hisoka protested, eyes widening in mock sadness. "Haven't you ever thought of fighting your precious Dancho? Of pitting your strength against him? Do you know that when you fight a person, you can taste them in their Nen? Aren't you curious what Kuroro tastes like? It's delicious, I assure you." Hisoka's eyes narrowed and his tongue sneaked out to lick his lips. "Absolutely… delicious."
"Fuck you, Hisoka!" Machi appeared abruptly behind Hisoka, Nen threads vibrating in the air around her as she slashed out at him.
Hisoka laughed out loud, body twisting into unnatural angles as he dodged the threads. "Impatient, impatient," he leered. "Don't worry, Machi darling, I can't wait to taste you too."
"You're dead meat," Machi said coldly, eyes blazing with fury, as she drew back her fist and socked him in the face.
Hisoka's head snapped back with a loud crack, but his laughter only got louder and more hysterical. "Oh, I like you, Machi," he tittered. "I like you so much I think I want to hurt you." His own fist lashed out, and Machi dodged it nimbly, dropping below his fist and swiping at his feet in a roundabout kick. Hisoka leapt over it and kicked her in the side.
The force of the blow sent her tumbling head over heels into the wall of the parapet, and she hit it hard enough that it started to crack open. Barely pausing to recover, she climbed back to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth as she glared hatefully at Hisoka.
"Machi," Phinx said, coming up next to her. "I hate to say this but…"
"Together," Machi finished, and they charged as one.
"Uh uh," Hisoka scolded, waving a disapproving finger at them. "Play fair children."
"Fuck you," Phinx muttered and they were on him.
Phinx dropped low, striking at Hisoka's knees with sharp kicks while Machi launched a flurry of punches at Hisoka, forcing him to backpedal to avoid their combined attacks. His smile faltered for a second, and he leapt backwards, trying to put some distance between them. However, Machi did not let up; she continued to pursue him, alternately lashing out with fists and thread. Phinx came close behind, powerful hands meeting Hisoka's flesh with heavy thumps, and it was Hisoka's turn to fly into the wall of the parapet.
Giggling, he flowed back to his feet, licking blood off his lips. "Oh yes, this is much better," he breathed, eyes glowing madly in the night, "much, much better. But no… not supposed to do this. Not supposed to lose control. Not supposed to want to… end this…"
Machi stared. "What?" she demanded. "What do you mean by that?"
Hisoka's smile widened. "You are so beautiful, Machi," he purred and pointed a finger at her. "So beautiful."
Abruptly, Machi was dragged off her feet and thrown into Phinx – hard.
"Fuck!" Phinx swore as he tumbled into the parapet wall. "What the fuck, Machi?" He looked up and saw Machi staring in pure fury at her side where a sticky strand of Nen clung to her.
"Bungee Gum," Hisoka purred. "It has both the qualities of rubber and gum. I can stick it to you and keep you close to me forever or…" Machi gasped as she was pulled off her feet again "I can throw you as far as I want when I get sick of you."
This time, Phinx managed to dodge before Machi hit him. He rolled back to his feet, spitting curses. "I'm gonna get you, Hisoka," he snarled, trying to keep an eye on both Machi and Hisoka at the same time.
"Oh you," Hisoka giggled, and swung his arm again. A surprised look formed on his face when Machi didn't immediately lift off her feet.
"Got you," Machi growled, her hands glowing with Nen as they wrapped around the Bungee Gum attached to her. Her muscles bulged as she strained against Hisoka's strength. "Get him, Phinx!" she shouted. "I've got this!"
"Fuck yeah!" Phinx hissed and charged at Hisoka, drawing back his sleeve as he did. "I'm gonna turn you to mush, you fucking bastard!"
The surprised look on Hisoka's face turned to one of pleasure. "I would like that," he purred, and swung his other fist at Phinx.
This time, Phinx was prepared, and he saw the Nen wrapped around Hisoka's fist. Swiftly, he dodged the blow, avoiding the Bungee Gum, and swung his fist as hard as he could at Hisoka. Laughing hysterically, Hisoka avoided the blow and pulled harder on the Nen attached to Machi. Machi made a strained sound as she started to slide forward.
"Phinx!" she shouted.
"Just a while more…" Phinx growled.
"'isoka!"
All three fighters froze in place at the unexpected sound. At the same moment, Nobunaga erupted from the corridor behind them, looking like he had been through Hell and back. His nose was obviously broken and there was bloody foam around his mouth, but he ran forward anyway, drawing his sword as he did.
"'isoka!" he screamed, his voice horrendously nasal.
"Whoa!" Phinx gasped, as Nobunaga barrelled past him. "What the fuck, man! I was fighting him… Holy shit, what happened to you?"
"Fought 'i'ita 'imbal," Nobunaga breathed. It was painful to hear him speak.
"And what, you lost?"
"Vorse."
"Worse?"
"She's maweed!" Nobunaga wailed.
Even Hisoka paused to stare in bemusement at the obviously stricken Nobunaga. Then the moment broke and the battle was on.
The entire corridor was close to collapsing which was not good. Franklin had a brief moment to wish that Hisoka had taken him instead of Phinx or Machi, since he did so much better in wide, open spaces than narrow, enclosed places like this. But, things had not happened that way, so here he was now, tearing up the corridor with his Nen bullets as the Hunter in front of them weaved and wove and dodged all their attacks by the barest margins.
"Come on," Moonshine drawled insolently, "this all you guys got? Some A-class criminals you Ryodan are." He grinned fiercely at them, hands curled into dangerous-looking claws.
"How rude," Kalluto commented primly, fan pressed to his lips.
"Rude indeed," Franklin said gravely. "We shall need to teach him a lesson, a hard and painful lesson."
"Of course," Kalluto said, sounding pleased with that idea. "Cover me please, Franklin."
With dainty, delicate steps, Kalluto sprinted forward, sleeves flowing elegantly as he whipped his fan in Moonshine's direction. Tiny pieces of paper fluttered in the air, and Moonshine back-paddled immediately, a look of intense suspicion on his face.
Smirking, Kalluto flung more paper bits at him, and Moonshine drew back even more. "Are you scared of getting a paper cut?" Kalluto asked innocently. "Some great Hunter you are."
"Heard they are the most painful wounds ever," Moonshine replied, Nen pulsating in the dark. "Wouldn't want to have to go through that."
Kalluto's smirk widen. "I think it's too late to worry about that. There," he murmured, pointing at Moonshine's arm. Moonshine over at the tiny piece of paper caught in the fabric of his sweater.
His eyes went back to Kalluto. "Ah fuck," he said then screamed when a mass of paper tunnelled into his arm, severing it until it hung together only by the thinnest strip of skin. "Fuck!" he gasped, gripping the bloody stump. "Fuck, fuck!"
Kalluto smiled as Franklin gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Nice one," Franklin said, coming over and raising his hand to point a glowing finger at Moonshine. "We're lucky we got the weak one here. Let's kill him and get to Dancho."
A wide smile, filled with agony and anger spread over Moonshine's face. "Not so easy, kids," he snarled, breathing hard as he lowered himself into a fighter's crouch. "I've still got some fight left in me, kiddos."
"Ah." Kalluto cleared his throat delicately and pointed to Moonshine's other arm, where another piece of paper lay.
Moonshine's eyes widened. "Oh shit," he snarled just as Kalluto raised his paper fan. Quickly, he ripped the sleeve off, taking the paper with it, so when Kalluto brought his fan down, all he destroyed was a piece of wool.
Kalluto pursed his lips in disapproval as Franklin rumbled, "Smart," and fired a hail of Nen bullets at the bleeding figure before them.
Cursing, Moonshine leapt upwards, pressing himself against the ceiling where Franklin couldn't shoot him without risking the entire corridor collapsing on them. With the claws on his one remaining hand dug into the concrete, Moonshine paused briefly before springing forward, intending to take out the younger Ryodan member first.
"You underestimate me," Kalluto said, eyes narrowing as he raised his fan.
And at that instant, just before they clashed, a monstrous amount of energy swelled up above them, shaking the entire mansion to its foundation.
The unexpected vision before him took his breath away and froze him in his steps.
Kuroro had never thought of Midoya as a beautiful woman. Far from it, in fact; he was well aware that most people would consider Midoya a plain-looking woman, even ugly. Yes, he was attracted to her, but he would admit readily that his attraction to her had little to do with her physical body other than the fact that it provided him with pretty good sex. But at that moment, standing under the moonlight, her pale skin glowing white, her dark hair floating around her, her eyes gleaming dark silver and her entire body drenched in blood, Kuroro genuinely thought that she looked beautiful, surreal, like an angel of death walking among the corpses of men.
"Kuroro, my dear," she said softly, and Kuroro remembered to breathe again. "So you've found me. I was hoping you wouldn't and I was hoping you would. Well done."
"Thank you," he replied, stepping forward. As he did, the dismembered body of Armando Basilio, splattered all over the roof, came into sight. "I see you have completed the mission."
"Most successfully," she agreed, turning to face him. Her eyes were pure silver in the moonlight and the blades protruding from the palms of her hand gleamed. "Are you here to kill me?" she asked whimsically.
Kuroro watched her face carefully but saw nothing but genuine calm and sated bloodlust. "Yes," he told her. "I am here to kill you."
She smiled at him, a faint smile that held no regrets and no sadness. "That is my Kuroro," she said fondly. "You must be really angry with me now. Will it make you happier if I told you I have never loved you?"
Kuroro thought about that. "No," he told her honestly, and her smile widened. "It's so easy to love and be loved. I would like to believe I meant more than that to you," he finished and she laughed.
"You do, Kuroro, even now you still do. That is why this was all worth it," she said, stepping towards him. "Come, my not-beloved. Let us draw blood."
"Let's," Kuroro agreed – and teleported her over the side of the roof.
He had only half-expected that to work, so he wasn't really surprised when a white mist surged back over the edge and swirled around him. The remains of the shirt on his back sizzled as the poisonous, acidic mist that was Midoya embraced him. Immediately, Kuroro rolled to the ground as if he were on fire and trying to put it out. Tumbling, he rolled over the ice-cold roof before standing up, only to find the white mist floating above him, waiting like a hungry predator.
Now, even his hair was starting to fry as he tried to roll out of the white mist encasing him. However, no matter what he did, the mist clung to him like condensation on glass. Tme to change tactics.
Nimbly, his fingers found the correct page, and he whipped out the Fun Fun cloth, swivelling it around until the white mist dissipated and reformed a distance away. He prepared to capture her in the Cloth if she rushed at him, but she didn't. Instead, Midoya reappeared, silver blades flashing in the moonlight as she danced towards him in her partial Yang-form.
Despite the number of times he had seen her fight, Kuroro had only fought her once before, when he had lost his temper during the hunt for the Jyonen-user. At that time, he had thought she had fought him seriously, but now he knew he was wrong. She hadn't been serious in any way whatsoever. She hadn't been as strong as she was now, as agile and as fast.
Dropping into a fighting stance, Kuroro pulled out his Benz knife and charged forward, dodging under the agile swing of her blade. With a quick move, he darted forward, trying to nick her with the blade, but she danced back, twirling elegantly like a ballerina on a dance floor. Kuroro tried again, this time jumping up so he could swing downwards at her, but she flicked the knife out of his hand so it flew to some distant corner. Then she raised the blade in her right hand and thrust straight at him.
Whipping out his poisonous katana, Kuroro met her blade straight on, absorbing the blow the best he could with only one hand. Her face was inches from his now, and she was smiling widely. Kuroro felt himself smile back despite the throbbing in his aching muscles. Then Midoya swung her other blade down and Kuroro jumped back, avoiding being sliced in half by mere inches. Immediately, she swung her first blade up in a graceful arc, and Kuroro was forced to parry with his katana.
Midoya grinned and sped up her attacks. For a while, they danced together in a quick thrust and parry, dodging, attacking, blocking with stunning elegance as they glided across the roof together, blades turning into near invisible flashes of light. But that went nowhere, so Kuroro changed tactics, dropping as low as he could to the ground, and sweeping the katana in a wide, horizontal slash. Without missing a beat, Midoya flipped backwards, jumping over his swing and swinging her blades together towards him in a pincer attack.
Kuroro bent backwards, as far as his back would go, and the blades swept over him like twin crescent moons in the dark. When the blades crossed, he dropped to his knees again and thrust straight at Midoya's stomach. She dodged it by dancing nimbly to the side, and she turned her blades on him again. This time, Kuroro didn't wait for the blades to descend. Instead, he kicked out with his foot, aiming for her ankles. Taken by surprise, Midoya was knocked off balance, but before he could attack her, she had rolled away until she reached the edge of the roof.
And even though she had been forced to retreat, even though she had almost died, Midoya laughed, a clear, delighted laugh of pure elation that rang like a bell in the quiet, cold night.
A low, masculine chuckle filled the air, and Kuroro realised it had come from him. He was enjoying this fight, enjoying it as much as she was. He couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun. Midoya was a real challenge, a truly powerful fighter, and he had to use his all just to match her blow for blow. But… it was more. It was… the element of play in the way she fought, the way she took such child-like delight in every move that made her so appealing to fight with. She was playing with him, as he was with her, a dangerous, playful game of life and death.
Midoya leapt to her feet, Yang blades held in front of her, and she charged forward, laughing gleefully. Kuroro met her mid-way across the roof, laughing along with her. Grinning with delight, they circled each other, blades disappearing as they thrust at each other, parrying and attacking faster than the eye could see. Their eyes met and they held the stare, gazing deeply into each other's souls as they danced across the roof together, laughing breathlessly like children chasing each other in a playground.
Time slowed down, and Kuroro forgot entirely why he was here. Memories faded; the past disappearing with each attack. Plans and schemes vanished, passing from their minds into the cool night air, for the future had no place here. All that mattered was the now, the clash of metal against metal, the sound of their harsh breathing as they pushed themselves to their limits, the burning in his muscles as they leapt and twirled, dodged and rolled. All that mattered was that she remained here forever, whirling next to him in this deadly dance under the brilliant Agocchian moon.
It was better than sex, more intense than sex. Their souls were bared before each other, reaching out and merging like miasmas over a swamp. It was madness, it was insanity, and it was so addictive.
They lost themselves in the rhythm of the dance, lost their selves and lost their minds. They had entered a dream where reality didn't matter, where life didn't matter. It was the only excuse Kuroro could think of to explain what happened next.
Even as their Nen surged and clashed against each other like two tidal waves meeting in the open seas, Kuroro had been dimly aware, and he knew Midoya was too, that this battle would not be won that way. They were too evenly matched when it came to Nen. It didn't seem to matter though. Winning wasn't on the agenda; feeling their strength met with equal strength was, immersing themselves in the heat of the battle was. Hence, when Midoya suddenly drew a throwing knife, barely infused with any Nen, Kuroro had joined her, whipping out his spare blade. Before she could throw her blade, he struck first, burying the blade all the way to the hilt in her ribs.
Midoya had cried out as blood spilled from her mouth, and out of the corner of his eye, Kuroro saw her arm flex instinctively.
The first thing that gave away the fact that all was not right was the gentle thud against his chest. Even though the blow hadn't been very hard, it seemed to draw all the warmth out of his body and turn his limbs to ice. Then the pain came, a horrible, dull, aching pain.
Slowly, Kuroro looked down, and even though his enemy was still in front of him, even though the fight was still on, all he could stare at was the throwing knife buried into his heart.
The spell broke.
Kuroro gawked at the hilt of the blade protruding from his chest.
For a moment, he couldn't believe it. There was a knife in his heart. Shouldn't he be dropping dead right about now? Was his heart still pumping? He couldn't tell. There was some blood, but not the geyser of blood he would expect from a wound like this. There was just a trickle of blood, leaking out from below the hilt. Was that normal? How odd. He had done his fair share of stabbing people in the heart before, and none of their wounds had looked like that.
Still wearing an expression of pure surprise, Kuroro looked up and found Midoya staring with him with an identical expression on her face.
"Kuroro!" she cried, and Kuroro thought he had never heard her sound so dismayed. "Why on earth didn't you dodge?"
Kuroro stared. Was she blaming him because she stabbed him in the heart? That hardly seemed fair. "If you didn't intend it to hit me then why on earth did you throw it?" he shot back, and was startled by how raspy his voice sounded.
"I didn't mean to! I was aiming for your arm!" Midoya protested. "Besides, you had no problems avoiding my Yang attacks! Why couldn't you dodge a bloody throwing knife with no Nen in it?"
She actually had a point there, but Kuroro still felt there was something inherently unfair about this situation. "Don't push the blame onto me!" Kuroro thought his voice sounded inappropriately outraged now, but since he was dying, he could probably be forgiven for losing his temper. "You are the one who started this whole thing!"
"Oh, this is rubbish!" Midoya cried. She might have said more, but Kuroro couldn't hear her through the sudden rushing sound in his ears. It was like the ocean had migrated into the space between his brains and was sloshing against the insides of his skull. It made his head feel so heavy.
His eyes fluttered and for a moment his vision cleared. The night sky filled his mind, the moon shining brightly over him and framing Midoya's bloodied face hovering over his in a silver halo. He couldn't read her expression. It wasn't one he had ever seen on her face before. Then her face turned blurry, shadowed by the brilliant moonlight framing her and his goddamned failing vision.
"Kuroro," she murmured, her voice gentle and coaxing, "Kuroro dear, look at me."
"I am looking at you," Kuroro told her, confused.
"Look at me," she repeated with more force and Kuroro blinked until his vision cleared. It didn't seem nice to shout at a dying man but that woman could be a true tyrant when she wanted to be.
He could see her face clearly now. She looked calm, her mind far away as if she were scheming something deviously complex, but controlled anger shimmered in her aura. He couldn't really blame her. He was somewhat angry that he was dying in such a ridiculous fashion too. "Hello," he said weakly, and she looked back at him.
"Hello," she replied, smiling. Firmly, her hands gripped his and warmth flowed into his arms. His heart thumped suddenly, and pain coursed through his chest, making him gasp. Warmth spread over his chest too, and wet, hot liquid scalded his skin as it pumped out of the wound. "Kuroro dear, listen to me."
Hey, who gave her the right to keep giving him orders? Kuroro briefly considered passing out just to spite her, but it occurred to his greying mind that what she had to say might actually help him survive. "Yeah," he mumbled. It was the best he could manage. There was blood welling up at the back of his throat.
"I'm channelling my Nen into you to keep you alive," she told him. "But that's not going to last for long. Truthfully, I blew a lot of Nen fighting you and Armando. We need to get the wound in your chest patched up. The knife is plugging up the wound for now, but you're still bleeding out."
Hmm. That made sense to him. "Machi," he mumbled.
"She's here?"
Kuroro actually had to think about that. "Yeah."
Midoya's eyes went to the entrance, her eyes calm and calculating. "She's several floor down, I can carry you," she said, but she sounded doubtful. It was a long walk down, and he had a knife in his heart. Once she lifted him up, the knife would dig into the surrounding flesh, which would be the rest of his heart.
"Call?" Kuroro managed to choke out. He was going to start drowning in his own blood if she didn't do something quick.
"She's in the middle of a fight, and with Hisoka too, I think; she wouldn't stop to answer her phone."
Ah. Good point.
Midoya's hands let go of his to grip his shoulders. "I'm going to move you," she murmured in his ear. "It's going to hurt."
She moved him. It hurt.
Even as he felt Midoya fumble to lift him over her shoulders in a fireman's carry, Kuroro knew it was not going to work. With every move she made, however gentle she was, the knife jarred in his flesh, moving and expanding his wound. When she turned him around so he faced the floor, he could see how much blood he had lost. With that much blood loss, he was going to pass out and he was not going to wake up again.
Without even thinking about it, Kuroro felt Nen flood his fingers, forming the comforting weight of his book in his hand. In the distant background, he heard Midoya gasp at the sudden increase in Nen being drawn from her rapidly dwindling sources. His fingers found the page he was looking for and…
Zip. His world was turning grey. His own Nen was all but out, but he could still feel the warm, familiar source gripping his arms tightly. He knew that energy, had felt it so often it almost felt like his own. He knew its taste, every single nuance to it. He could use it. "We're halfway to the top of the stairs," he heard Midoya say through clenched teeth.
Right. Again.
Zip. He heard Midoya groan as they disappeared and reappeared again. "At the top of the stairs," Midoya gasped, and she sounded like she was in pain.
Zip.
"M… more. We're too high up."
Zip.
"T… two more floors… down."
This time Midoya screamed when he sucked her Nen out of her. The quality of the Nen flowing into him changed. It was… richer, denser, and much sweeter. It tasted like Midoya when she kissed him in the middle of sex, her mouth hot and hungry and passionate. It smelled like her after she had been in the sun for a while, of sunscreen, sweat and heat. It felt like her skin against his, warm, soft and comforting, as they nestled together in bed discussing something they had just read. It was her life essence, he realised. He had used up the excess Nen she had and was now drawing on her life source.
"Twenty feet…" he heard Midoya wheeze, "at two o'clock… one floor down."
One last try. They had one last try then she would be dry. Or dead. One or the other. Just like him.
The world disappeared in a swirl of white and when it reappeared again, the warmth in his arms faded away. A heavy weight thudded against his stomach, cold as ice and as empty as a vacuum. Around him, familiar voices shouted words he could not hear. Warm hands gripped him and pain, horrible, jarring pain shot through his chest.
He wanted to open his eyes, wanted to see what was happening, but his eyelids were so heavy. Distantly, he heard someone call him. His Ryodan was calling him. He should respond, but he was so tired. Let Shalnark deal with them. For now, he just wanted to rest. Sleep sounded so good…
With a soft sigh, Kuroro let his Nen book disappear as he fell into a deep, dark abyss of unconsciousness.
A/N: This particular story should end in the next chapter. I hope this chapter was good; I haven't had the chance to really edit it properly, so please forgive me for any stupid mistakes made. Many thanks to the readers who have expressed their well-wishes for me. I really appreciate the concern. Unfortunately, the problem in my life at the moment isn't going to go away anytime soon, but we take what life gives as it gives, and hopefully survive it.
Trivial: Prior the attack on the Basilio mansion, Kuroro had taken a walk around the hotel in an attempt to work out the kink in his back from rough sex with Midoya. While strolling through a park, he had been hailed by a fortune-teller, an old man with a heavy beard. Curiosity had led him to agree to a quick palm-reading.
The old man had peered at the lines on his hand, frowned deeply, muttered darkly to himself then reported, "You are very prone to problems of the heart. This will be the case especially in the near future."
Kuroro had smiled, paid up, and left, shaking his head at how clichéd and inaccurate that prophecy was. You can't have problems of the heart if you don't have affairs of the heart after all.
Much later, as he lay on the roof of the Basilio mansion bleeding into Midoya's arms, he couldn't help laughing at how true that prophecy turned out to be.