Meruem's movements, he knows, still sound strong and heavy, at least to Komugi's ears. He does not tell her that he no longer has to be careful when touching her, that he no longer fears the snap of bones under skin when he pulls her in close.

Late, in the dark, he listens to her breathe, watches as it emerges in the air in the form of a heavy snore. She has little choice in the matter; her nose, a useless receptacle of oxygen at the best of times, remains cluttered with snot, a steady dribble trekking out whenever she shifts. At least this time it is not with pain anymore; it is this thought alone that comforts him.

Their child, he is glad to note, does not seem to have inherited this faulty breathing, or at least, none of the visible allergies that cause Komugi to live a life littered with heavy intakes of breath. The baby breathes, now a few months old, and growing rapidly, far faster than human standards should allow.

His ears fetch out that small heartbeat from the darkness, lying hidden among the blankets like a bird's egg in a nest and Meruem feels himself breathe out, more in relief than in necessity. At least his hearing has not failed, has not stuttered and been unable to seek out the things that should be clearer than any other.

But when the day comes, as it inevitably does, he looks out through the doorway into a world of muted colour. The greens of plant life, once so vibrant, now fade into a murky mess of hollow blues and greys. And the path that leads up to the door, through a swirl of shrubbery and rocks, appears duller than it should. The dust that passes through it, rolling with the wind, attaches itself to handfuls of dirt and Meruem has no doubt that they are as brown as ever; but to his eyes they now lack that spark of vitality, a certain rustic gleam of clay-red.

'So it has finally come for me then?'

'Death?' comes the reply.

Meruem does not move, not even to turn his head as the rustle in the bushes announces someone's presence.

'Oh yes, it comes, Ant-King, it comes.'

Meruem grimaces, his toes digging long furrows into the boards. Once they would have snapped, even without him having to exert such pressure.

'Three life forms. My, you've certainly been...busy.'

Meruem's head snaps round and the owner of the voice grins, his mouth stretched up into a sly, taunt line. He oozes such passivity in the face of Meruem's anger that it chafes.

'Not to worry. Killing the weak is not something I find particularly entertaining. I can, of course. But...there is a life form in there that has the potential to deliver something close to what you once were. And I'm always interested, you see, in potential.'

Meruem relaxes slightly.

'Ah,' he says gravely. 'You came for a challenge. '

'Hmm, yeeess. ' The other man's eyes rake over his form apprehensively, a rather bitter twist developing within his smile. A playing card snaps out from between his fingers, and the noise is like a form of auditory whiplash, at least in contrast to the thin cracks of noise that slither through the surrounding plants as the wind scraps against their sides.

'You look as though you're ready to leave this world without a fight.'

'It was not my intention to embark on one, no,' says Meruem drily. But still, his tail, despite the weakening coil of muscle within, starts to twitch, alert and erect. Some of his old pride still flows through his body, that old, hungry demand for a ruler who wants to be acknowledged above all else.

'Ooooh,' purrs the voice. 'How absolutely lovely. Yes, yeeess...I love it, that flare of spirit so early in the morning.'

'I am afraid that it is not something I am letting out on your behalf,' says the king. Even for this much, he can still, at least, be frightening.

'Ah, such a pity. I wish I had come here sooner.'

'Not here,' says Meruem choosing to ignore the almost lavish sounds of longing escaping out of his opponent's mouth. It strikes him then, how sloppy he has become, locked away with Komugi in their hideout. How his nen has weakened, almost failed him, when it matters most of all.

And buried deep down, almost wrecking his insides as a result, lies guilt. Guilt for the way Komugi has started to snuffle, these past few months, more loudly than before. How her fingers have trembled slightly around the pieces she loves to hold steady.

And his doubt, it grips him now, along with the curiosity of whether the poison has left its mark within the genes of his child. It should have done. When his child had first rushed out into the open air of this world, he had expected her to be distorted, weak somehow, mutated with extra limbs and gristly mutilations that the progressive nature of his species would never have allowed. But the bomb, whatever its mark, has chosen not to add any unnecessary tweaks to his child's skeleton. But on the inside, Meruem wonders guiltily, how many years has she been left with?

Not for the first time, he wishes Neferpitou had been at the palace when he left and that he could have asked for the servant's medical expertise. Sometimes, he wishes too, that he had not been so hasty with his love for Komugi, that he had prevented himself from touching her at all. It had been unfair, selfish even, to rush a child into this world, even if it had never been his initial intention.

Still. Regardless...

I have been happy, thinks Meruem. Happy. And at peace. That was something I could never have imagined before, back when I knew and understood nothing but animal impulse.

He laughs to himself softly. Oh yes, he thinks, amused, and how much of this final outcome has been driven by such impulses? Perhaps, even now, I have not managed to grow as much as I might have wished.

He treads his way out of his house, his shadow spilling free from the forms of his sleeping family within. He tries to bat down the protectiveness that grips him, which rises up with a howl from within.

After this is over...after he is over...there is no guarantee that this strange man with a strange hunger will not come back and put a stop to the two heartbeats behind him, the ones fading from his hearing with every step forward he takes.

'Rest assured,' says the other man, now falling into step beside him. 'I can exercise patience. You have to, when you suffer from such sweet agonies...there is nothing worse that eating fruit before it has began to ripen. And she'll grow better, with her mother there.'

To a human, perhaps, it would not have been a great reassurance. But to Meruem, who knew, from the onset, that his child's life would be anything but easy, it is as stalwart as a promise made in blind faith.

Their fight lasts six hours. He manages to rip off a leg and even, at some points, to rip apart the bungee gum Hisoka seems to be so fond of attaching to awkward spots. The other man likes to slot them into the dark junctions between branch and tree, into crevices that appear almost invisible to the king's eyesight – not quite failing, but nowhere near as sharp as it was in his fight against Netero.

But weak as he is, the king gets to work, devouring the other's nen, gum and all. His stomach, though it should be disintegrating, falling into inert juices that slither and slap against the poison that it has no way of combating, still, despite its decay, works thoroughly, breaking down the vital sparks of life that flare through the sticky, ink-like substance.

'Quite a carnivore, I see,' Hisoka eyes him, fascination dancing in those sharp depths that serve as eyes. 'Still, in some ways you are a child. So delightfully inexperienced. I wish we had more time together, I really do. '

He totters slightly, his leg letting out a squelch, despite how firmly it's strung to both the muscle and the bone in his torn-off shin. If Meruem concentrates enough, he can make out the flicker of pink that loops itself round and in between the gristle and gore, like a child's first attempt at messy embroidery.

Hisoka flicks a fingers and a branch, worn down by the weight that has been imposed upon it from their constant rebounding from trunk to trunk, snaps, flying forward with unnerving precision into Meruem's face. Then it bounces away, a thin line of pink sending it into the darkness beyond the groove – truly a vanishing act worthy of a magician.

It causes Meruem to barely hesitate. The next second he dodges the knife-like snap of playing cards that brush past his neck.

'You're dying and you still have better instincts than a man I fought like this once, when he was in the prime of health,' notes Hisoka, his voice echoing out of the gloom.

Meruem's eyes narrow. 'All motion, if it is from a living thing, holds a pattern,' he says slowly.

And then spins, crashing through the undergrowth, before his fist launches its way into Hisoka's face. Hisoka throws himself back, the line of his torso falling smoothly away from Meruem's bunched-up fingers, so elegantly that it almost curves. It is like watching a diver in slow motion, all grace and precision, though Meruem can't help but be pleased at seeing the slight crease in Hisoka's forehead as he falls away. The next second though, before he disappears back into the gloom, Hisoka's eyes flare, brightening visibly in glee. It, almost painfully, reminds him of Neferpitou and Meruem makes a sound, one that could have been a 'tch.'

'A few months ago, that would have killed me,' says Hisoka. 'But now your muscles tremble under the strain of using even a fraction of the force they used to expel. Still, I congratulate you. Not many have managed to strike my face.'

And then his face darkens as he moves back under the shadows, a very telling smirk rising to the forefront of his expression. It hangs there, delicate as the gossamer on a spider web. 'But you are oh, so fidgety...' He coos. 'So fidgety because not a few miles away there are some weak little things you looong to protect.'

Meruem tries, he really does. But he can't help but flinch in a very, very human reaction. It is that that undoes him. Because it is in that moment that Hisoka lunges.

Komugi wakes and at first, is not worried. There is nothing, nothing at all to alert her to the fact that Meruem is not out hunting for some food, or even to bring her back a new flower he'd found. She can still remember the feathery press of the first one he gave her, the edges of its heart-shaped petals flattened by the wind-swept miles of travelling he had done to get it back to her.

'I saw a man give a woman this as a gift,' he said by explanation. 'I assume it was a mating custom of sorts; you humans do like to make a dance out of gestures and words, after all.'

She had smiled as she took it, her fingers carefully combing over the bumps in its flesh-like stem.

'It's lovely. My father used to sometimes pull out a bundle for my mother, usually on her birthday. I was never allowed to touch, of course.'

'Oh.' He does not shuffle, not quite. But he does reach down and curl her fingers more firmly over the stem, before gently urging them up to where it thickens, sprouting out into the part that unfurls the most beauty. There she touched the damage that even Meruem could not protect it from.

'You may touch now,' he had said gravely.

'I am truly grateful.'

Komugi is stirred out of her memory by a casual thump. And then an object rolls across the floor, with all the slow rolling gravity of something too misshapen to be used as a ball.

'Meruem?'

'Ah,' says a foreign voice, one that makes her gasp, 'so that was his name? He never told me. Though he did tell me yours...'

There's a pause, and she's not sure why, but Komugi has the distinct feeling that he's there, in the doorway, casually leaning a shoulder against the sides that Meruem had spent several afternoons carefully sanding down with rough paper, all so she would not catch a splinter one day when her clumsy fingers fumbled for the edges. She bristles.

'Excuse me,' she says firmly, 'but who are you?'

He chuckles. 'At least you aren't foolish enough to be rude to me. But, mmmm, there is no real reason for me to give my name to you.' He hesitates. 'You're blind,' he states and there is no real surprise in his voice, but there's a flicker of...something there. Apprehension?

No, thinks Komugi, he sounds a little too like Meruem, when he's discovered something new, something that makes him change his mind.

She straightens her spine. 'Ah...begging your pardon,' she says, trying not to sound too timid, 'but I am a fool who knows nothing about social customs other than bowing or scraping to those who are superior. And that's practically everyone I meet. The only place I am someone's equal is when I sit across from them, with a gungi board between us.'

'Hmm,' he says, 'but I do not know the rules.' Then he sniggers. 'To think, that you are challenging me!'

'I have nothing else to challenge you with,' says Komugi quietly.

There is a pause then. Komugi strains and hears the crisp rustle of paper being shuffled together, their edges ruffled by firm fingers. No, not paper, she decides, too sturdy. Card, maybe?

The man sighs. 'I suppose it's useless to ask you to a game of cards?'

'I-I'm so-sorry, but I would not even know if they were upside down if you placed them before me.'

'Ah. Well, I do have time...'

The man settles before her, pulling the gungi board between them so fast that Komugi has to dig her fingers into her dress to prevent herself from yelling. She grits her teeth at the clatter of pieces as they slide off the edges, jarring against the cold ground below. But she utters not a word of protest.

'Which colour would you like?' she asks instead.

'White,' decides her new student, 'it looks so good on me, after all. Or next to me, in this case.'

'I'm...sure it does.'

The man chuckles. 'Who said I was referring to the pieces? Your hair reminds me of an old friend, that's all.'

Komugi blinks, her hand absently coming up to trail through a loose lock. She had never even thought...

The man chuckles again. 'Not used to flirting, are we?'

'I am sorry, but I have only ever had one person do so with me. And even then, I am not so sure that he knew what he was doing.'

Komugi's voice becomes quiet, hushed as she coaches Hisoka through the moves, through all the do's and don't's that dictate the way the pieces travel across the board. She shows him how to arrange towers out of captured pieces, how to stack different positions on top of each other and how the 2D predications become 3D as the game evolves.

'Bear with me,' she says. 'I am not used to moving slowly with gungi. And we are almost done. Soon, we will play for real.'

And they do. It is nothing like playing against Meruem. Hisoka, though he stumbles with his moves at first, trying to re-align himself with a game he is unsure how to play, favours the tricky and the sly. He play indirectly, never letting his strategies become too straightforward. And while Meruem understood the principle behind such a thing, he has never spent a whole game in subterfuge. Never once, has he been afraid to let his moves move out into plain view.

Komugi sighs. 'You do not possess the same crippling caution that Meruem used to,' she lectures softly. 'But you trip yourself up with your methods. You are easy to read when you lie in wait all the time. Even the surprise you try to spring on me loses it's vigour.'

'The motion of every living thing, leaves behind a pattern, huh?'

She isn't sure, but something about the trailing lilt at the end of his sentence, makes Komugi think he is smiling.

'Or perhaps, ant-king, it is the mind, that is the true source of the problem. I see where you learnt your philosophy from.' He pauses, shifting one of his pawns to a free square and narrowly avoiding capture by her lieutenant-general. 'Ah, I feel forced to resign, Komugi. I have the feeling I could play against you for years and never come close to victory.'

'If I am your equal in this one thing...' Komugi takes a breath. 'No, your superior...does that mean you can tell me your...' she trails off again, thinking better of her question. 'I'm sorry. I still want to know your name. But I want to know about Meruem more.' She lifts her finger, and though she tries, she cannot prevent the trembling that seizes hold of her entire arm. 'That...' she points at the 'ball' from earlier. 'That...'

'Is his head, yes.' It is spoken bluntly but with no real cruelty. In fact, had it been said anywhere else, one might have mistaken Hisoka for simply lifting a fact from memory and uttering it with the same neutral distain.

Komugi takes a breath. And another. And then one more. Soon they are exiting out of her mouth in rapid succession as her hand falls to the floor, pressing against the ground as though she has forgotten the curl of her legs beneath her.

Hisoka does not apologise. He simply brings his cards back into his fist, pressing them together to produce a soft, rippling crease of sound.

'Goodbye Komugi,' he says smoothly. 'It was more pleasurable than I thought, meeting you. Not at all boring. Had you been born with a different, better body, you might even...no. Then you probably would not even have caught the king's eye in the first place.'

Komugi does not even hear him leave. Her arm crumples, her knees roll and her face flattens itself against the floor. But despite everything, she continues to breathe.

Komugi does not move. She stays silent for a long, long time. Within her mind it feels like centuries pass, a casual blankness to the time that rolls around her, time that she once would have filled with endless strategies, piling new life into old, tired moves that would have had scholars writing textbooks about them for decades.

All that is gone now.

And then, jagged, like the stroke of a knife, comes her baby's cry.

It is as though lightening strikes her and Komugi crawls forwards between desperate, half-choked breaths, half-crumbling to the ground as she reaches out for her infant's wails.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she thinks. I thought – stupidly- that we had more time.

'There, there,' she murmurs, forcing the words out as she draws her baby close. Her lip trembles as her fingers fumble at the soft down of feathered hair that pokes up against her palms. 'I'm right here.'

A soft tread of footsteps stir the dist before the steps that Meruem used to tread, so soft that Komugi's all too human hearing should not be able to pick it up at all. But Komugi whirls round fiercely, some deep instinct screaming out to her and causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. She hunches over her baby defensively. 'E-excuse me, b-but who's there?'

The stranger pauses, and the next step they take is almost explosive, at least in contrast to the previous silence. Their pretence at being nothing is over.

Komugi cringes, furrowing her brow as the steps come closer, into the house that she can no longer protect. They sound light, almost free in the way they lift weight from the floor, as though they carry the poised grace of a practised dancer. It is that, more than anything, which makes Komugi's brow lift with recognition.

'You...I'm sorry, but you've come too late. I'm so sorry.'

'You would always have been powerless, no matter the situation.'

Komugi shivers at the coldness in his voice, reminded dimly of the moment Meruem stood in the doorway between his rage and her, in what seems like a lifetime ago.

'I'm sorry,' she says again, almost helplessly. What else can she say?

'Is that his child?'

Strangely enough the question wakes something in her, a doused flame of pride that she has only ever let shine in gungi matches. She draws herself up, proud and tall, feeling strangely as though she is back in time at the palace, Meruem's fury and tail pointed straight at her throat again. 'Our baby,' she whispers fiercely. 'Our. That is something no one can take away.'

The next second there is a blinding pain. It tears through her throat and Komugi barely has time to whimper, to shiver and crawl away before she slumps over. But never once, does she lose her grip on her baby.

Within a flash, Pouf is there, his hands supporting the infant's head more than Komugi's body, which he, rather brusquely, pries away from the treasure she still holds.

'You are right,' he says in a carefully modulated tone; it wouldn't do to distress the king's progeny more than necessary after all. 'Your copulation is a fact. But, like all facts, it can be hidden.'

Very gently, he brushes the blood-matted hair of the baby away from its forehead and smiles.

Note: I'm sorry. But it's not over yet...and honestly I could not see a way to give a traditionally happy ending to this pairing. I think, no matter what, there would have always been a tragic end to their tale. Meruem would have been hunted down for the rest of his life by people with differing motives, and the events that happened canonically seem to suggest that that some tweak of human inventiveness would have been his undoing. In the Hunter x Hunter world, after all, it only takes one wrong move, one wasted second to die or doom oneself.

I know some people might be upset with this decision and turn away. And that's alright. But like I said, it's not over yet. And both characters have left their mark on the world in more ways than one. In this world, at least. And there's still a little more here, I'd like to explore.

And if you dislike the turn this tale has wrought, feel free to pretend this story has ended and re-read the first five chapters. You'll always have that.

But either way, I still have more to tell.