Chapter XXXII

I'm quite a shy person, Hisoka once said.

Well, here he is now: the entirety of the Phantom Troupe surrounds him. Entirety, meaning that the others he did not meet during his first raid are here. His amber eyes flit from one face to another, noting each individual with curiosity and interest. Three new faces assault his sight as he settles into one of the old couches inside this abandoned building of a base.

Aside from the new faces, there are old ones, too. Val's babysitters, if he remembers them correctly, though not by names. No. Only a few Spiders are worth his attention. He produces a deck of cards from his pocket and pretends to lapse into his own world, but his senses are on high alert, especially towards the Danchou.

Chrollo Lucilfer is wearing a dark blue coat to ward off the chill. He reads alone, by the candlelight, eyes boring through the pages. After a month, Hisoka notices that the dark bags under his eyes have gone darker, deeper, while his pale cheeks are sunken. Not one of the Troupe members bothers him as he reads, no doubt another unspoken rule that Hisoka needs to note.

One of the members focuses his irritated attention to the magician. Tall, blond-haired, wearing grey robes.

"You didn't bring Val with you?" Phinks demands, barking almost.

"No," Hisoka murmurs, lamenting that the others are looking at him now. "She has other interests that she didn't want to abandon." In this dark a place, he could have used her presence, to distract the Spiders and keep their nosy selves off his business. He sighs and grins up at the man, a Joker between his fingers. "I think she so dislikes being cooped up with you guys."

It strikes a nerve. Phinks snarls and draws himself higher, more menacing. "If she's hurt−"

"Of course she's hurt," Hisoka cuts him off.

The atmosphere in the room tenses. Everyone stops what they are doing and focus solely on him. Even the Danchou, seated at the head of the room, shifts ever so slightly. Hisoka smiles to himself. He has the Troupe where he wants them to be−agitated, uncomfortable.

"Valtiel is doing fine," Machi announces, much to his disappointment. She steps into the center so she could meet everyone's eyes. Blue eyes fall to their Danchou, looking up from his book now, blinking. "She's reached the 200th floor of Heaven's Arena. She has regular challengers and she seems to enjoy the thrill of it. Fighting, I mean."

"She's awesome!" Uvogin gushes, large fists curled. "You guys should have seen her last fight! With a countenance of a warrior! If someone dies in this raid, I'm suggesting Valtiel should replace them."

"That's very mean, Uvo," Shalnark scolds. "Don't wish ill to anyone!"

"I'm just saying."

"But why didn't she come here?" Bonolenov stretches across his couch, his hands behind his head. "She knows it's New Year, right? That we have New Year celebrations? She couldn't have wanted to miss it."

"She was a bit wounded during her last fight," Yuan answers, flicking his attention to the Danchou. Chrollo remains impassive, eyes back on his book, the shadow play of candles dancing in his face. Yuan sits between Feitan and Franklin, leans back on the cold wall. "I bet she wanted to rest."

"Too bad," sighs Shalnark. "I have gifts for her."

"That can wait after the mission," Kortopi says. He sits beside Pakunoda, sharing another couch with her.

Finally, the Danchou stands from his seat. His coat sways with the slight breeze.

The members straighten, attention to their leader. In his quiet corner, Hisoka commits the leader's face to memory, licking his lips in anticipation. He listens to the Danchou's orders, the details of their plan to raid some sort of mountain ranges and free the slaves. Hisoka listens to half of it, while half of his attention is back to Heaven's Arena. He wonders if he could get Valtiel to confess her crush on him, and see if it would incite the members into fury−how many and which ones.

That would be much more hilarious than raiding a mountain.

Valtiel wakes up from the horse's nose nuzzling against her face and hair. Fingers wound tight into the hay as she heaves herself up, still drained but alert.

The barn is dark and quiet, and so is the outside world with the occasional gusts of wind. It is still dark, and by the scent of firecrackers hanging in the breeze, she judges that it could be no more than one or two hours after midnight.

She heads for the barn's door, opened large enough so she could see. The feeling is faint, but any Nen user could pick up someone else's aura from a good distance. These mercenaries are not using Zetsu, not bothered enough to conceal any trace of their presence as they hunt for her.

I can't make it through the forest. Her lips press into a thin, hard line. Not in this weather.

Grabbing the nearest horse, she heaves herself up on its back and clutches his rough mane between tight fingers. She has to leave now. No need for goodbyes; Ector told her a while ago.

Yet as she rides for the door, there is Ector himself, still holding his axe.

"Better get moving," he tells her in a harried voice. He takes the horse by its muzzle and leads them towards the back of the barn, where the pine forest stretches like a sea of dark green needles. "Follow the trail, then you will find a river. Cross that and continue northwards until you find train tracks. North leads to the mountains. South leads to the nearest city. Go, and quickly!"

"Thank you." Her breath smokes in her face.

"Just go." Ector hits the horse's rump, sending it into a gallop. Snow bursts from where its heavy hooves have been. He stands until the silhouette is gone, before turning back to close the barn.

One of his dogs is snarling ahead. Looking towards the horizon, he could see dark figures emerging from the other side of the forest. With narrowed eyes, he clutches his axe tighter.

Valtiel struggles to keep herself balanced on the horse. Her entire body still aches, the pounding in her skull resilient. Once or twice she almost slips from the horse from her exhaustion. She fights sleep, unconsciousness, and pain in a frustrating combination. Her dark grey kirtle flaps against her bare thighs, her borrowed cape and worn-out boots of little help against the shuddering cold. Beneath her sleeves, she has the hidden blade. The mourning locket bounces over her chest, the gold piece rolling in its chain.

The horse rears up, and she almost slips from its back if not for another tight hold on its mane. Even in the darkness and snowfall, the steady rush of current beneath thin ice is unmistakable.

She dismounts, sliding, and falls to her knees at the unaccounted weight of her upper body. The coldness seizes her, and she tucks her gloved hands under her arms as she studies the bridge.

It is an old thing. Broken. Decayed by time. One mere look at it and she knows. She cannot take the horse with her. She would hate to leave it out here in the cold. More than that, she is not exactly glowing at the idea of walking another few miles to find the train tracks. Her feet are already frozen inside the worn-out boots. Another surge of breeze whips up her hair.

As she turns for the horse, she stops in her tracks and feels for the wind.

Malice−unconcealed and threatening−seems to swirl with the very air. When the first shadow breaks through the line of trees, she bolts for the bridge. Be damned if she worries for another second.

The decaying wood rattles beneath her feet. Every step sends it into a shudder, splinters bursting from every plank. When she finally manages to cross, she rounds towards the bridge and kicks both sides. It gives away, crumbling, surrendering to many years and sinking into the icy waters.

She pants and idles long enough to see the pursuers jumping over the river itself.

Of course. She rolls her eyes and dashes into the woods. Why didn't I think of that?

The first mercenary lands somewhere on her right, just in her line of vision. Again, she twists towards him, aiming for a back kick with what little energy she has left from an entire night of running.

The man receives the brunt of her attack and merely pushes her off, boots sliding across the thick snow. Another one waits behind her, a woman with a red scarf, and pulls out a dagger from her sleeve.

Valtiel notices the blade's glint and forces herself into a stop. Instead, her back comes into contact with the trunk of a pine tree.

Someone from above pounces down on her, his own weapons displayed. A chain whip coils around her left wrist and tugs at her. She grunts and tugs backwards, forcing the man on the other end, her claws meeting his fist. Her hand pierces through where his shoulder meets neck, while his punch digs into her stomach. It sends her reeling across the white field again. Another mercenary is waiting to prey upon her.

It goes on for what feels like a lifetime. She counts ten−no, twenty−mercenaries pushing her back and forth. All of them Nen users, overwhelming her with a barrage of attacks from different categories. Enhancers and Transmuters are the most troublesome, their combined abilities a painful torture. She spits blood when she can, but most of the time, she chokes on blood and snow in her mouth. She defends with what little she could, Ren or Gyo, anything her mind could think of while her body slowly surrenders to the pain.

One of the Enhancers hits too hard, and there she goes, toppling over a cliff. Valtiel reaches for anything to make herself stop falling. Roots. Boulders. Soil underneath the hard snow. Yet she keeps rolling down the steep slope, smashing her head against several objects, which she could not pinpoint any longer. Snow clouds her vision, as well as the fast approach of unconsciousness.

Will I die tonight? Her shoulder slams onto an overgrown root. Knees scrape across frozen earth. Nails ripped from the desperate attempt to hold onto something.

Will they mourn me? She thinks of the Phantom Troupe, all together tonight, celebrating the New Year, watching the fireworks somewhere. Her body slips in between two boulders; her chin hits one protruding spike. More blood. More pain. Will they remember me?

Her descent comes to an end. For the final time, her body jerks and flies across the riverbank, and then slides across the wide extent of a frozen river.

Palms flat on the freezing surface, she tries to stand, blood dotting over the white-blue of the icy sheet. Every muscle in her body screams in pain and she could do no more than to cough and wheeze as she tries her desperate to get her bearings.

Somewhere above the cliff, her pursuers must be enjoying the show. It makes her wonder if the prince ordered them to do this, in exchange for what happened the last time between them.

Will I die tonight? Valtiel grits her teeth and glares at her uneven reflection on the ice. Her face contorts, hideous and with patches of purple bruises. She laughs in her face, a throaty sound. Pathetic. Then she takes one look at her eyes and the laughter dies down from her lips.

She blinks. Once, twice. Scarlet Eyes.

But how?

Her first breakthrough with the eyes feels like a lifetime ago, when it is only just over a month. When Chrollo left her alone. When she spent many nights curled up and regretting every decision she made. When she looked at Pairo and cried herself to sleep.

This cannot be right, she tells herself now. No, this isn't real. This cannot be the Scarlet Eyes. The sight of it is confusing, but she feels better somehow. Invigorated. As if she is not suffering many wounds at the moment.

A snarl from above stops her thoughts.

The mercenaries are sliding down the cliff with calculated descent. One by one. They evade the sharp rocks and roots that Valtiel failed to dodge. Some others are already sneering, bodies glowing with their aura. It assaults her senses, to be subjected by this much malicious aura. Her heart pounds harder, her mind racking with panic and resolve.

I won't die tonight. She forces herself to stand on unsteady legs. She wobbles, her arms limp and bruised at her side. Her kirtle is torn from hem to waist from the fall. One of her boots has its sole ripped.

I won't die tonight. Her aura first comes out as a white steam, steady like a river's flow. It grows and wraps around her like a heating pad. The feel of it is comforting.

Her eyes could only see bright red. Even as the mercenaries reach the riverbank and stalk towards her, her vision darkens into a deeper scarlet. It is harder to breathe with it, but it also gives her a different kind of strength to fight back.

The mercenaries sense her boost in aura and become wary. One of the Manipulators steps forward, no doubt intending to finish the confrontation with one strike. He puts one foot on the ice, testing if it would hold.

It does.

He produces a set of cuffs and chain, also glowing blue with his aura.

Valtiel snarls back like a trapped animal and glares at the chains with disgust. Her aura pulses with her heartbeat, a thick veil of crimson surrounding her. The mercenary blinks and hesitates again.

"This is taking forever," one of the Transmuters mutters. With a snap of his fingers, the whole group joins the Manipulator and crosses the river.

The ice holds firm beneath their combined weights. The more they push onwards, the more Valtiel is tempted to run back, to the other side of the river, try to escape them. As if that has not been done before. She is outnumbered, and the more she runs, the more she ends up bruised. Her legs could barely keep her up, her arms useless. If she could bite her way out of this one, she might have already, lunging teeth first and caring little for everything else.

The group continues its approach, with the Manipulator at the center. It seems his group trusts him the way the Troupe trusts Pakunoda.

I will fight even if my heart stops beating.

An Enhancer pounces first, followed by the others behind him.

She steels herself above the ice. I won't die tonight.

A powerful fist threatens to grasp her by the neck.

I. Will. Not.

Valtiel unleashes her aura−bright and crimson−towards the leaping enemies. The surge engulfs them like a tidal wave, and the sphere holds firm, stretching for a few meters but engulfing all mercenaries present.

Sharp pain seizes through her heart. Valtiel coughs and digs her fingers into the skin of her chest, above her heart, where the organ is not beating as it should be. She claws at her chest, another futile attempt to reach for her heart. Her vision spots and it sends her mind into a delirium. What is this, what is happening, this isn't me, this isn't my Nen, why is this happening, somebody help me, why, Danchou, tell me, why−

She raises her eyes to the group.

They are still suspended in the air. Some are on the ground still.

This cannot be right, her mind screams as her body grows accustomed to the un-beating heart. This is not my ability. She takes heavy pants, white smoke fanning before her face. Then she catches it−the absence of the same smoke from the mercenaries.

She approaches the lead Enhancer and puts a hand before his nose. No breathing.

Confused, she blinks, one hand clutched still at her chest, the other reaching for his wrist. No pulse.

Her head sways with fear. Her hand reaches for his own chest. No heartbeat.

What is this? This isn't my ability. This isn't−

It's the Scarlet Eyes.

Valtiel flinches at the voice in the back of her head. A grim voice, from an old man, from a distant time and place. She whirls around the crimson sphere of her creation, glowing iridescently beneath the silver moon. Snow dances on the other side of the sphere, entering the chasm, still moving. Of course, it moves, she reminds herself. It doesn't have a heart.

Her eyebrows furrow. It should have been more than ten seconds. Her ability is restricted for only ten seconds. Slow down movements.

This is a different kind, she observes. Like a scholar discovering an ancient text, she studies the unfamiliar makings of her own Nen.

It's the Scarlet Eyes. This time, it is her voice in her head. But why? How?

The ice starts creaking underneath her. Upon that realization, she dashes wildly for the other side, exiting the crimson sphere when her ability is supposed to keep her inside.

She reaches the stony riverbank, skidding to a halt, and then glares at the sphere and the people she left behind. It must have been at least thirty seconds since the ability activated. She closes her eyes and breathes out. When she opens them again, the sphere dissolves into the evening air. The mercenaries all gasp and gag, clawing at her necks and chest, before falling into the freezing abyss.

None resurfaces. Valtiel collapses where she stands. Her eyes flutter shut.

At least her heart is beating again now.

When she wakes again, two gruff voices startle her.

One of them takes her under the arm, hoisting her up like a sack of rice.

At once, she turns to face him, not bothering to look at his eyes or study his features, and drives her hidden blade from his neck to back.

A gun clicks and presses behind her head. She closes her eyes, sighs, and falls to her knees. She holds up both hands in surrender as the gun prods over her hair.

"You are a trouble, Valtiel." Gerald scowls behind her, the lines in his face becoming deeper. He presses the gun against her head, her neck, and then her temple, rounding towards the front so he could get one good look at her. "You are bleeding from so many wounds, but I doubt the prince would even mind. He likes you, and what he likes, he always gets."

"I don't care about your prince," she seethes. "I just want to go home."

It tugs another familiar pain in her heart. She wants to go home, to Hisoka and even the Phantom Troupe. To curl under the blankets and rest, knowing that everyone will watch out for her. But they are faraway, and she is here, a rabbit for the hounds.

"You simply don't understand," he returns, voice gentle now. "When you return to Kakin, you will be showered with every respect you deserve. As the prince's mistress. He might even raise your status and make you his wife. You have every possibilities to be queen. Why settle for something less than that?"

"We talk of marriage and queens now?" Her laugh is harsh, a guttural sound deep within the throat.

"We talk of a future no one else could even imagine."

"Might as well forget about that future." She spits blood at his feet and scowls. With the amount of scowls and curses she already spared for one evening, Feitan should be proud. "I won't go anywhere but home."

"Then I will take you there myself." The gun points between her eyes, pressed over the pale skin there.

"Then you will take a corpse with you."

Valtiel activates her ability and surrounds herself with the familiar golden aura. It is smaller compared to her usual range, but enough to surround her and Gerald. She feels the gun on her forehead slacken, still pressed there but barely a threat. Gerald's eyes, a beautiful shade of purple, do not flicker with any semblance of life.

She stands from her kneeling position and takes his gun. The weight of it feels foreign and deadly, the kind she would not take anywhere with her. Her scarlet vision is on his face. For a moment, she feels she could not kill him. Not him, he is only following orders. But so do the others, yet they are already drowning in the icy waters, somewhere downriver. She takes Gerald by the collar of his purple robe and pushes him into the cold.

His body exits the golden sphere. His eyes flicker back with life, but he could not resist the weight of his body plunging into the waters. Valtiel stands at the bank, watching his robe underneath the strong current. She tosses in his gun, plopping behind her.

Her aura dissipates once more, herself exhausted to the bone.

She cannot rest now, not when her enemies are gone and she has miles and miles to go. She gathers to her the sad remains of her kirtle and cape. The ripped sole in her right boot opens wider, the snow dusting over her bare toes. She shivers, she stumbles, she goes back up.

I have to go home.

The mission is a success, if Hisoka has to say so himself−because he has to say so himself.

What fun it had been to see thousands of slaves underneath the mountain, huddled together despite the rage of the snow not reaching them. Imagine their surprise when they realized what was happening!

Hisoka watched behind it all, leaned against the wall while someone−tall, silver hair, blue eyes−went forward to greet his people. And then there was another one−big, burly, lip piercings−who directed everyone out of the other end of the mountain, while Hisoka, Eyebrow Man, and another member−bandages, bandages everywhere−were tasked to guard the front and keep the fighting there.

The point is: Hisoka barely remembered anyone's name but he still managed to enjoy himself. They were mean to him, yes, though that could have been avoided if only Valtiel came with him. He even thought he could tease a reaction from the Danchou if he would see how comfortable Val has grown to him.

So when the mission was over and everyone was done celebrating, Hisoka went straight home.

Now he heaves a deep sigh and puts the large sack down on the couch. He has been carrying that throughout the flight, a collection of gifts that the Spiders thoughtfully amassed for their missing doll.

The new room is cold and dark, as if inhabited for weeks when it has only been four days since he left. He blinks and looks around the room. He senses nothing from Valtiel.

Odd.

He checks the bathroom, kitchen, and feels for the bed. Unslept for at least a few days.

His brows furrow in worry. It is rare for him to worry, especially for other people, but if the Spiders find out, someone−probably big guy, bearskin clothes and his best friend mustache galore−would rip his throat out for losing the Danchou's lapdog. Though that attempt would certainly be entertaining, his mind has no room for fun and games.

Where is Val?

As if on cue, the door opens. He has no concept of locked doors. Anyone willing to challenge him could walk right through that door and be done with it.

So when Valtiel stands on the other side, Hisoka has to blink and look closer.

Her platinum-blonde hair is wild and frozen, from head to the very tips. She wears a ridiculous old-looking dress−more like a kitchen rag, really−and boots worn-out as the term worn-out could get.

But before he starts teasing her about her appearance, he does a double take on everything else: purple bruises, yellowed after a time, scratches all over her arms, shoulder, and legs, dried blood in her hands, a splatter of drier blood circling her jaw and collarbone. The wounds there are deep, old, with the skin almost black around the edges. Whatever happened to her, she must have been through hell.

Despite her gruesome appearance, her voice is soft and weak. Like a child. "Hisoka-san?"

He blinks the surprise away and says, cheerfully, "Nope, I'm Santa Claus."

"No, you're Hisoka-san," she retorts, stubborn yet still weak. "And it's New Year, not Christmas."

"Did you come to ask for a gift? Ho, ho, ho." He feigns a deep tone, copying an old man from children's storybooks, and gestures at his outfit. Red-and-black, lined with white fur at the edges. Definitely Santa Claus. "If you had been a good girl, I'll give you your presents."

"No…" She repeats, weaker still. She takes a step into the room and collapses.

"Oh, my…" The Santa Claus sighs. "Someone is too excited for her presents."

Dropping the pretense, Hisoka crouches next to her body and removes the strands from her face. She is fast asleep, already out cold on the carpet. He clicks his tongue and gently carries her into the bathroom.

Gingerly, he removes her clothes, peeling away the cape and dress with forefinger and thumb, as if handling a dead mouse. The clothes are stiff and frozen, both from the snow and from her blood. He peels the rest and leaves them into a dirty pile on the floor, gauntlet and mourning locket included, and then carries her into the bathtub.

He lets her soak underneath the steaming water, as if unfreezing a fish for dinner. He sits beside her, arms resting on the rim of the porcelain tub, his head angled towards her tired face.

"What ever have you done now, Val? The Spiders will kill me," he murmurs, elated at the thought, as his long fingernails trace the big purple bruise from her jaw to her neck.

Bored from simply watching, Hisoka sheds himself of his own clothes and dips into the water. It swells and pours over the edge, his added weight unaccounted for. He lowers his head in the water and comes up with his bright red hair plastered on his face and neck. Across from him, the young woman barely moves.

"Val, are you still alive?" His amber eyes roam over the length of her body, the pale alabaster skin and the swell of her breasts peeking from the water. He has to check, right? He blinks again. "Valtiel?"

No unconscious person would answer. But is she unconscious or dead?

He has to check.

Right?

Hisoka swims toward her, though the bathtub could barely fit two persons at the same time, let alone someone of Hisoka's height and body build. He is rippling with muscles, all strong arms and legs, broad shoulders. He crosses to her side of the tub and puts an arm around her shoulders.

Her skin is hot from the steaming water, her skin flushed pink. Her head lolls against him, cheek pressed over his hard chest. Is she breathing? He has to know for sure, his gaze trailing over her chest, scrutinizing the rise and fall. It is faint, but it is there. Breathing.

Too bad. He grins to himself. If she stops breathing, he would have proceeded to CPR. That would make a good discussion during the next raid, to see which ones would flare up. Him and Valtiel, naked and sharing a bathtub, the skin-to-skin contact sensual and enticing.

Which ones would be furious, I wonder? Eyebrow Man? Dark Emo Kid? Or Danchou? He licks his lips, basking at the image of Chrollo Lucilfer's deadly aura. Will he fight me on the spot if I tell him?

After a good soak of ten minutes, Hisoka wraps Valtiel in her robes and carries her back to the bed. He tosses as many blankets and pillows as he could, practically building a pillow fort around her, while he sinks on his usual position by the floor. He rests his chin on the bed's edge, peering at her. Despite the many wounds and bruises, she sleeps quite peacefully, her face serene.

He yawns, growing sleepy from the silence and darkness.

Then she stirs in her sleep, moaning softly at the pain. Her eyelashes flutter, golden eyes opening to assess the smiling face inches from her own. "Hisoka-san?"

"Present." He smiles wider, brighter. He scoots closer to the bed and pokes her cheek. "Tired?"

"Exhausted," she agrees, sighing.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Does it require you leaving the room?"

"Why, yes. We have no food and the phone is broken. I'd have to request something from the lobby."

"Then I'm not hungry."

"Oh?" His eyebrow rises slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She moans again, tears slipping from closed eyes. It makes him alert. "Don't go."

"Is that an order?" He giggles. "You're so adorable even when you're hurt."

Valtiel's hand appears from her arsenal of pillows and holds it out for him. Out of curiosity, Hisoka takes her hand and lets her hold him like that, as if trying to make damned sure he is going nowhere. He chuckles again, perpetually amused, while the young woman just smiles and drifts back to sleep.

Hisoka hums a cheery tune. He reaches out for his phone on the bedside table and takes a picture of him holding Valtiel's hand, their fingers intertwined. He browses through his list of contacts, picks a certain group, and hits send.

23:41 Grim Reaper: Good night everyone! (Open attached file)

It only takes no more than a few seconds to receive responses.

23:41 Eyebrow Man: Oh what the fuck man?! Get your hands off her you sick pervert!

23:41 Bearskin: I'm gonna count to ten and if you still have your hands on her I'm blasting through the Heaven's Arena myself!

23:42 Machi Dear: I will kill you on our next mission. I can make it look like an accident. Believe me.

23:43 Hackerman: This is juicy! I'm gonna show Danchou! (b^_^)b

23:43 Eyebrow Man: I'm with Danchou and he looks pissed.

23:44 Samurai-Mustache Man: If Danchou kills you, the kid's gonna be our newest number 4.

23:45 Skull Kid: You just dug you own grave. Congratulations.

23:45 Hackerman: I showed Danchou already. Don't worry! He says he's not mad! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Hisoka giggles through it all, and then glances again at the sleeping young woman. She is nowhere near waking up, though he does not expect her to. She needs to rest if she hopes of recovering from her injuries. Even as she sleeps, a tear creeps and slips from her cheek. He wipes it away, lost at the sentimentality of it all, and shrugs. He discards his phone, letting it light up and buzz and buzz as the Spiders scold him.

He holds her even as he falls asleep.

Author's Notes: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope everyone's been having a fantastic start of the new year so far! I especially don't want to miss this special day dedicated to all forms of love on the world! So I bring you Valtiel struggling against some ten or so Nen mercenaries on this special day. Not to mention her very particular breakthrough with her Nen ability, in which I would leave all theories/conclusions/suggestions up to you guys. I'm just glad that Val made it through this nightmare and if safely back home to Hisoka.

That's all for now, folks! I hope you enjoyed this action-packed chapter and I do hope you keep supporting this story. Also, a Pandæmonium side story, Araneæ Diem, is out again for a very special Valentine's Day one-shot featuring everyone's favorite short, dark-haired thief. Let me know you think about the two chapters.

Cheers to the weekend! 🌹

P.S. I miss writing Chrollo and Valtiel together. T^T