Part 3

It seemed that they had reached a stalemate. Yet...he knew, and he knew, that it wasn't the case.

The battle had been decided long ago.

Still they fought, with the intensity of two battle-aged warriors, neither letting up, neither giving in the slightest.

Their fight had brought them into a low, concrete wreck of a valley. Solid pillars and foundational wiring stuck out at odd angles, contorting into weird abstract shapes, as though some destructive artist had chosen the area for his canvas.

Their fighting halted for a minute as the two eyed each other warily, panting ever so slightly, about fifty meters apart. Kuroro still had his book out, ready in an instant; Kurapika's chains were tensely moving back and forth like slender snakes, as if they were corporeal, living things rather than immaterial objects conjured by Nen and sheer will.

Kurapika hadn't even touched the massive number of ways he could use Nen, and Kuroro knew it. Kuroro was enjoying with ferocious pleasure the challenge of the battle, and Kurapika knew it.

The wind had accelerated, whipping hair and clothing of the two fighters. Neither were distracted, but both used the moment to call forth their weapons.

At the same moment that Kurapika used his transformation techniques to cause heavy hail to fall around Kuroro, using the force of the wind for added effect, Kuroro drew out several shuriken from his book and hurled them at him.

Dodging each other's attacks easily, both warily expected a trick of some sort.

Neither expected the other to use exactly the same trick on each other.

The hail pelted Kuroro with stinging blows, each drawing out a little Nen from his body as they swung back around, the sudden change of wind from Kurapika's manipulation casting them suddenly back toward his opponent. Kuroro felt the draining of energy from his body and gritted his teeth as he kept his body erect and strong.

Damn it...I can't keep this going for much longer if he continues this sort of attack.

Kurapika, meanwhile, having closed the distance between them instantly, did not expect the shuriken to boomarang back. Anticipating it with Gyou at the last minute, he dodged to the side. One buried itself in his left shoulder; another riped the sleeve cleanly from the same arm. His eyes widened as he clutched that arm, a little gasp of pain escaping his Spartan-like reactions.

Kuroro, sensing the shift of attention, sent lightning fast arrows at his opponent.

Too slowly, however fast his movements. The lack of Nen had hindered his speed, and Kurapika did a double backflip, the arrows passing harmlessly beneath him. He flung his Chain Jail toward Kuroro, who also retreated, and here they were, again, about fifty meters apart, both more injured than before.

Kurapika plucked the shuriken from his arm with gritted teeth, never once taking his eyes from his opponent, who also seemed to be recuperating. It was not a deep wound, albeit an extremely painful one, seeing as the weapons had been coated with a severe pain-inducing poison.

Kuroro regarded the bare arm with interest from where he stood. "That scar, where did it come from exactly?"

Kurapika narrowed his blood-red eyes at him. "You know."

He remembered the moment clearly. She drew the cord tighter, and it cut into his skin cleanly. He gasped in pain. Then she drew it taught; his left arm slipped from the bone and fell with a sickening, gushy thud to the ground.

He gritted his teeth, but could not help but fall to one knee. Blinking away the sweat that was running into his eyes, he willed himself to ignore the dizziness that was filling his mind from the loss of blood.

She regarded him with her cool, killer gaze. "Not yet, Chain User. You are not ready to meet Danchou yet. You will die in an instant, if you can't even touch me." She smiled with thin lips, lightly layered with lipstick.

Kurapika grimly stated, "You are already dead, Machi. You haven't noticed yet?"

Her eyes widened in horror as the chain, concealed with In just as he had with Ubo, materialized around her body. She stood shock-still as he pushed himself up, walked over to her, albeit somewhat unsteadily, and pointed his little finger at her. "No, not yet," she whispered. "Danchou..."

He gazed at her with hate-filled scarlet eyes. "Game over, Machi."

After it was finished, he felt himself falling to the ground. Groping around, he grabbed the fallen limb in his right hand and pressed it to the stump. With his thumb, he closed the wound...but the process was incomplete before the blackness filled his eyes.

Thus the scar. A brief, brief flicker of sadness invaded Kuroro's eyes. "What did she say to you, Chain User, before she died? Or do you not remember," he added, mockingly.

Kurapika grinned wanly. He wasn't going to be caught the same way twice. "She said your name," he told him. "Or rather, your title. Really, what kind of a man are you, that you have your own friends call you such a thing?"

"Friends?" Kuroro whispered. "Accomplices, yes. Body guards, yes. But surely you have noticed by now, Chain User, that friends only get in the way. Yours were almost killed; mine were."

Kurapika laughed hollowly. "And yet, even now, you're grieving for them, right?" He took out his cross chain, somewhat dismissively, and healed the wound Kuroro had given him. It was certainly not the most serious wound he had received thus far.