Disclaimer: I do not own HunterxHunter, nor do I profit commercially from these writings.
Lucian's Story Part 3
PAIN
How long has he been staying there, tied up and much abused? He doesn't know. In the windowless underground, it's hard to tell time. With his consciousness slipping in and out, it's hard to keep track of time. Not that it's relevant at this point.
"He's not talking."
Knives, swords, needles, ice-picks, whips, thumbscrews, iron maiden, cat o' nine-tails. A huge arsenal of torture tools, complete with their own torture dungeon, in this modern era? These people are sick.
"You slit his throat, fool. Of course he can't talk."
Have they not had enough of spilling his blood? How much more are they going to carve out his flesh with their weapons? How much more are they going to scorch his skin and blood with their crucifixes; the blessed item eating away his cells slowly yet steadily, like having maggots eating away his insides? How much more are they going to pour Holy Water into his veins, the substance making his blood boil upon contact and bubbling underneath his skin like mercury?
"So fine-looking. Too bad he's consorted with the devil."
These Crusaders have a twisted sense for humour, tying him up in crucifix style. Or maybe they are just plain ignorant and stupid. Do they not realise that they are sullying the image of their saviour? Superimposing his tainted cursed existence with the revered image of the ultimate sacrifice of their God?
"He's got what he deserves."
He hangs there, long wicked barbed nails driven through his wrists and feet into the solid wood behind him. His head hangs downward, his chin resting on his collar. His drenched hair curtaining the evidence of their abuse on his face. He doesn't even know if his face is still recognisable or not.
"He's already lost so much blood and yet he still lives."
His shirt is in shreds as they tore at his torso with relish. With all the barbed whips flaying his skin, tearing flesh and muscle from his bones. Brand his mutilated skin with their crucifixes. Spray him with their Holy Water, watching in wicked satisfaction as his skin burn and vaporise upon contact with the blessed water, enjoying his screams of agony. The stench of rotting flesh and boiling blood doesn't revolt them. In fact, they even seem to soak it up.
"Disgusting monster."
Who is the monster here?
"Why are we keeping him here? Why not just kill him?"
Yes. Why not just end this nonsense. What more do they want from him?
"He's a bait."
Fool.
"For who? The kids?"
Don't touch them. Stay away from them. Don't you dare.
"He was protecting them, and they seem to show some concern over his well-being. They must be part of his covenant."
They are family.
"You think they would've run to the adults?"
They are safe with Lucifer and Kurapika.
"Yes. A rescue party would definitely be coming to get him back."
Lucifer will. He is a true tovarăş.
"You sure?"
Fools. All of them. He suffers now, but they will die terrible death. Lucifer will make sure of it.
"I have vanquished many of these monsters. I know how their covenants work."
How many of his kin have they murdered?
"What about the kids?"
They are back with Lucifer and Kurapika. They are safe. They have to be. He sacrificed himself for their escape.
"Do we capture them or…?"
A huge bird, with three children sitting on its back. Meta. Good boy, Meta. Good boy. Escape with your siblings. Go back to Lucifer. Be safe.
"The younger ones are probably redeemable. But the older girl…"
Crackles of electricity. Bia? She' s jumped down from Meta's back and running back to him, her dagger out. Why is she back? No. Prințesă, no. Go back. Go home. Leave.
"She's probably unsalvageable."
She takes one of the men down; brutally incinerating him from inside out, but another is coming after her from behind. Blade up, ready to cut her down. No. No no no no. Too far. Too slow. He can't reach her on time.
"How old is she?"
With every ounce of superhuman speed he has, he managed to push her down to the ground. Under him. Shielded by his body.
"Looks like about 18 or 19?"
Pain. Pain pain pain. Blood everywhere. He looks down and sees his blood pouring from his torn jugular vein. The blade has slit his throat when he pushed her down. His blood keeps pouring down to the shell-shocked Bia, bathing her in his blood. Purplish red on white. Beautiful.
"Probably his Bride too."
"Radu, le ia înapoi la Lucifer! (Radu, take them back safely to Lucifer!)" His voice is gurgling as he choked on his own blood, but his familiar understands him. Sprays of black feathers carry her to the sky to join Meta and his siblings in their escape.
"Maybe she just looks young. You know they stay young once they become Brides. For all we know, she could be a few-hundred-years old if she is his Bride."
Prințesă, Prințesă. Don't give me that look. Be safe.
"No matter. She'll get what she deserves. And we'll dispose of her."
He looks on as his familiar carries her and guides the children towards home. Towards safety. To Lucifer. He looks on even as the men disarm and tie him up, bandaging his throat to keep him barely alive so they can torture him more in their dungeon.
"Hey. Somebody keep him alive."
His only regret if he is to die here is that the children would remember him in his worst state; disfigured and weak, defeated and pitiful.
Prințesă, Prințesă. Don't give me that look.
That they would remember him with memories tainted with guilt.
Bia sat in the dim cockpit of Aranha with the grace of a staged corpse. She lay lifeless against the cushioned seat, arms limp on her sides as her blank eyes gazed to nothingness. Aranha's sad thrum was lost on her. She might look calm, but her body was racked with pain. Her eyes were glazed over with fever, her skin and lips two shades paler than usual. There was prickling sensation everywhere in her body, on her skin and under. Her blood was hot and cold in her veins, throbbing with dull pain. Her lungs burned, and her chest made a rattling sound whenever she drew breath. She had to draw breath carefully in order to avoid unwanted attention from her family.
Let her suffer. Let her stay in pain. This was right. She should suffer, after what she had caused. Vaguely and faintly, she could still taste his blood in her mouth. Acidic and bitter.
Meta had refused to talk to her, and she understood that. She willingly and even gratefully bore the weight of his resentful glares that he sent her way, not even bothering to be discreet about it. Meta was right to resent her. Despise her.
"Bia, don't go! Come back!"
She had ignored his words, erroneously and oh so arrogantly thinking that she knew better than him. Stupid. Amateurish. Idiot.
Purplish red blood everywhere. From top to bottom. From the tip of her head to the hem of her dress to the sole of her shoes. On her skin, on her hair, in her mouth, over her eyes.
And she sat frozen on the ground like an invalid.
"LUCIAN!"
And her idiocy had cost Lucian his capture. Probably his life too.
"Nngh..." she whimpered, the pathetic sound escaping her abused throat against her will.
She didn't know how she managed to regain her voice, but she despised it. Hate her own voice.
"I wonder…" He would say while grooming her hair. He so liked grooming her downy hair. "How can I make you talk for real? I want to hear what your voice would be like."
She had clawed at her throat with her blunt human nails, leaving nasty scratch marks on her throat. Heen had to threaten to lock her out of Aranha and out of the mission if she continued abusing her own throat, so she stopped. But still she wanted to rip out her vocal chords as an offering to apologise for the suffering she caused him. She didn't need this voice. She didn't want it if she got it because she had to see Lucian suffer so.
So as she waited for Aranha to finish making the three-dimensional hologram of the blueprint of the Order that Shalnark had managed to acquire through careful hacking, her mind drifted. In her eyes, she kept seeing the scene of Lucian's capture.
At least two dozens men in religious garbs of the Order sprung on them out of the blue, catching them off-guard. They were trained soldiers, some were Nen-users. All more experienced than four children. Heathens, they had called her and her siblings. But they had aimed for Bast first.
Lucian then came into the battlefield, eyes red with rage and bloodlust, fangs and claws out, inky black cape billowing like an angry cobra. In a few seconds, he had disposed of the few soldiers that were too close to the children to his liking.
"Fugi! (Run!)" He had barked at them.
Meta was the first to obey, hauling the twins over his shoulders and dashing towards the bushes. She had been the last to obey; Bast had to pull her along into the bushes.
Meta transformed into a Roc bird with the aid of his daemons. The twins were on his back, held down by the giant-sized Bast so their light bodies wouldn't topple off Meta. Bia had climbed onto Meta's back and had held on as he soared to the sky, ready to fly back home and get their parents to help Lucian. She looked down and saw Lucian being swarmed by the men of the Order.
And so she jumped off.
"Bia, don't go!"
She just wanted to help him.
"Come back!"
She landed on the ground with a thud, cushioned by her Nen. She lashed out at the nearest soldier, 'short-circuiting' his nerves with her Nen, frying him inside out.
"Prințesă!"
She whirled around, and barely saw the blade descending on her before a blur of white and black tackled her to the ground.
*crackle*
She had scraped her elbows and palms, but the pain was soon forgotten when she felt warm wetness drenching her from above. She looked up, mouth agape and eyes wide as she saw Lucian crouching over her with a hand on his throat, trying to stop the torrent of blood gushing from his jugular. It spilled all over his fingers onto her face, flowing into her mouth, soaking her hair, drenching her dress.
*crackle crackle*
His eyes on hers, desperate and relieved.
You're safe, those eyes said.
He then summoned his familiar and instructed it to bring her back home safely. To leave him alone and defenceless in the battlefield with a slit throat. He had sent his familiar; his shield and aide, to secure her safety. For her. He ignored his safety. Hers came first.
His cape dissolved into a flurry of inky black feathers, and it carried her to the sky. Up, up, up and away from Lucian. Lucian, who was kneeling in the pool of his own blood. Lucian, whose mouth was also gushing out blood endlessly. Lucian, who was looking at her with earnest eyes that wished for the children's safety.
Be safe, those eyes said.
Her hand reached out to him, fingers shaking and her blood cold in her own veins.
Regret. Sorrow. Unspoken apology. She had just wanted to help.
*CRACKLE*
He smiled. He smiled at her, with blood still flowing from his mouth.
Don't give me that look, Prințesă, his eyes said.
Self-loathing. Despise. Resentment. She was a failure.
*CRACKLE* *HISSS*
She looked on as the men pounced on him, unmindful of his wounds. They manhandled him like an animal to slaughterhouse.
Hatred. Revenge. Rage. Fury. REVENGE-
"BIA!"
The harsh voice snapped her back to reality. Dazed, she looked around to realise that Aranha was covered in electric sparks, some of the panels emitting smoke. The machine was whining pitifully, as if pleading at her to stop.
The speaker crackled to life, and she heard a rather anxious voice calling at her.
"Bia, are you okay? What happened?"
"Let me take care of it, Kurapika. You focus on Danchou." Another voice, the one that had yelled at her, said to her with unusual authority.
"...okay..."
When Kurapika's voice had left the conversation, the monitor screen in the cockpit changed to broadcast Heen's image.
And he looked angry.
"Bia, do you have any idea of what you have done."
She shrunk in her seat. Heen had never been angry before.
"You've built up enough electric charge to power a nuclear power plant. A bit more and Aranha would have exploded with you in it. The communication devices connected from Aranha to your parents and siblings would have exploded too, and those devices are attached to their head."
Bia's heart sank at the implication. She had almost harmed her family too. Again.
"I know you still feel guilty about Lucian's capture but this is not the time. Save that for later. Focus on this mission. We can't afford to fail this mission. Lucian's life depends on this."
Shame filled her heart and twisted her stomach. It made her nauseous and sick. Disgusted.
She could only nod at the screen.
"Good. Keep your focus. If you can't keep yourself together for this mission, I will hack into Aranha and eject you out of her cockpit. Do you understand me?"
She nodded again, knowing that her brother's words rang true. Heen put Lucian on high esteem, respecting him as his superior because, truly, Lucian was the one who had preserved his life. And still did too. Heen depended on Lucian for his continued existence as a bio-organic cyborg. Heen didn't mind this dependency, but nevertheless appreciated Lucan's effort to find a way to make the cyborg more self-sufficient without needing regular maintenance from Lucian.
"Bia, look at me."
She did so reluctantly. She didn't want to risk further wrath from Heen.
"Lucian is still alive."
She perked up.
"He reconstructed my body and I depend on him for maintenance. As a foresight, he installed something inside me to alert me if anything happened to him so I can immediately search for alternative maintenance somehow. I know that he is still alive."
Tears stung her eyes.
"We'll get him back." She said, voice hoarse and throat stinging but with unwavering conviction.
A soft smile bloomed on Heen's face and he nodded.
"We will."
Author's Note: Luciaaaaan! I'm so sorryyyyyyyyy!
If you want to know how painful Holy Water is to Lucian, let's just say it's equivalent to pouring concentrated sulphuric acid on your skin, and then followed by sodium. Sodium on wounds caused by acid was like rubbing salts on wounds and then multiplied the pain by, say, bazillions times. It'll probably caused, what, third-degree burn? I dunno. Any chemist out there that can certify?
What do you think? Too much darkness and angsty-ness?