Chapter LVI
According to numerous lores, crows are the intermediary between the material and the spirit worlds, which makes them feared by the most superstitious of people, for associating them with death and decay. Standing at the precipice of the school, Valtiel looks up at the smoky skies, watching the birds caw at each other, their shiny black feathers shimmering like spilled oil under the warm afternoon light.
I need a heart.
The very foundation of her Nen ability.
The most important part of her individuality.
It only seemed yesterday when she first asked Chrollo to give her something with a heart to work with, and he had given her Pairo. Her constant use of aura back then slowly killed her little friend, forcing him to cough blood and scratch at his own eyes.
Now, almost a year later, she considers. It's always about death.
Gazing at the skies once more, she leaps up and snatches one of the crows. It squawks and thrashes in her grip, but she keeps it tucked in her arm like a purse, one hand gently wrapped around its head to keep its sharp beak from poking holes into her skin.
She crosses the length of the still-empty school, rounding the massive stone staircase and settling back to the foyer. The double doors are closed—she doesn't want anyone interrupting her Nen training, not when she already wounded Nobunaga.
Danchou's not pleased. She knows this as she sinks cross-legged to the cold marble floor.
The crow opens its wings and squawks again, trying to get free. She frowns as she keeps it trapped, putting more pressure on the poor thing.
With a deep breath, she lets her aura a bit loose in lazy waves. The crow senses the change in the atmosphere thrashes again, now kicking its legs and drawing long scratches on her thighs. She keeps it steady, now practically choking the bird, as it cranes its neck to look at her straight in the eyes.
In those shiny black orbs, even Valtiel could see her own fear reflected in them.
"I'm sorry," she whispers to the crow. As if accepting the inevitable, it calms down.
She summons a bit more aura, keeping track of her own abilities.
Gold, for slowing it down. Crimson, for stopping it.
Quietly, a golden aura surrounds herself and the crow. And as expected, the crow becomes sluggish, the rise and fall of its chest as it breathes considerably slow.
She nods to herself. Yes, slow it down. Now—
With another deep breath, she closes her eyes and concentrates. As always, the old man's voice rises up from its grave, that annoyingly insistent old man's voice.
That's right, Val. Use the Scarlet Eyes.
She opens her eyes as the aura brightens into a familiar crimson sphere. The crow's breathing completely stops. The blackness of its eyes turn into a garish gray after a few seconds. She feels her own heartbeat stop, and it takes so much of her composure not to topple from where she sits. She wants to cough, she wants to claw at her chest, but the old man stops her.
It's alright. The Scarlet Eyes will keep you alive.
She scowls as she dispels her aura, gasping at the sensation of her heartbeat once more.
Well done, Val.
I really need you to shut the hell up.
The crow moves feebly in her hands. It is already half-blind, with dark red spots clotting just beneath the eyelids. It tries looking around, kicking its legs, flapping its wings.
One for slowing down. Two for stopping it. And now, how to heal?
Danchou had once told her that time and healing could be incorporated together. Sure, it would take more than a few weeks of practice, possibly even months, but it is nothing impossible. Besides, a natural wound would indeed need time to heal. As long as she and her patient have a heart, it could be done.
Valtiel feels for the crow's wings. The bones are thin and brittle, a testament on how malnourished the poor animal already is. She presses her lips into a thin line as she gives an effortless chop with her hands, breaking the wing in half. The crow, awoken with sharp pain, reanimates and thrashes again, shrieking into the emptiness of the room.
Slow, and then stop. To heal— She takes a deep breath and summons a small sphere of her aura. To heal, let's reverse time.
She could feel her Nen ability take hold of the crow's heart, like a man grasping and choking his enemy. Her ability holds firm, spreading across the crow's body and engulfing it with her power. The aura manifests in a deep magenta hue, as if mingling her usual crimson aura with the animal's blood.
Beneath her hands, she feels the broken bones slowly moving under the influence of her ability. It makes a small cracking sound as the bones snap together. She sits up straighter, eyes wide and excited at the prospect of making this breakthrough, but then it goes wrong.
The crow's bones keep snapping into various different—wrong—places, contorting into a hideous, almost shapeless form. The black eyes bulge, the feathers thin out, and the beak opens with the crow's tongue hard and straight like a wooden stick.
Horrified, Valtiel gasps and releases her aura. The crow falls into a gruesome heap on the floor, legs twisted grotesquely and its neck broken. It is still half-alive, its wings twitching.
What… She is panting with confusion and fear, scrambling away from the mess. Sweat starts to bead across her cold forehead. What in god's name did I do?
Disturbed by the horror, she turns her back to the half-alive crow, waiting for it to die on its own.
Tonight is rather cold.
She gives a weary sigh and curls up on herself. She has a small lamp she found in one of the dumpsters, and its feeble flame gives her a tiny space of light in the otherwise massive foyer. The evening winds are howling outside the windows, rattling the glass and wooden panels.
It is so quiet that it is disturbing. She is surprised that Chrollo has not come once to check on her. She sighs again and embraces her knees to her chest, watching the play of the small fire. Across from her, the dead crow is starting to rot, the stench of decay steadily matching the natural scent of Meteor City.
I need more practice. She keeps her gaze locked on the dead animal, remembering how Pairo suffered from the aftereffects of her ability as well. Nothing would be accomplished with just one try. I need to try again.
More determined now, she nods to herself and climbs up the staircase, her small hand on the stone banister, cold beneath her fingertips. She pads across the empty hallways with nothing but the moonlight spilling on the floor and the quiet breeze stirring her hair.
Back on the rooftop, she could see a good view of Meteor City during the night. Mountains of garbage, yes. Suspicious individuals lurking in the shadows, of course. Not too far from the school, the church looms against the dark background. It is bright with candlelights coming from the windows. Even at this distance, she could imagine Chrollo seated by their own window, staring at the school.
She tears her eyes away from the church and looks up. Crows are not nocturnal creatures, but there are a few rebels soaring through the night skies now. The morning hunt for food must have been fruitless, and thus forcing them to even hunt at night. She snatches one out of the skies, holding it upside-down from its bony legs.
When she returns to the foyer, she sinks to the floor and wastes no time breaking the crow's legs. It screeches, the dreadful sound echoing across the hallways and bouncing back towards her. She shudders at it.
Reverse it, Valtiel. Her eyebrows knit in avid concentration. Her aura beats in time with her heart, thudding faster when she feels anxious. Do it slowly. Concentrate on the heart.
The crow opens its beak. It then goes frozen, the moment paused as though in a movie. The magenta aura swallows the bird and eats at the feathers first, then the skin, and to the flesh beneath. The combination of the blood's coppery scent and raw flesh overwhelms her nose—and it guns her aura into overdrive, twisting the bird, killing it.
It flops to the floor like a child's forgotten plaything. Limp, lifeless.
She glares at the dead thing, grinding her teeth in silent frustration. What am I doing wrong? I slowed and stopped time before. One out of practice and the other from sheer desperation. She watches the blood drip from the new dead crow. Heal it, Valtiel, not kill it.
Her frustration mounts to the point where it leeches into her aura. She sets her shoulders and takes a deep breath—no one wants a worried Danchou at a time like this. She should be careful with her outbursts. Moreover, she should be careful with her Scarlet Eyes.
She leaves the crow and grabs another one from the night skies. She returns to the foyer and summons less aura this time, but it disintegrates into a puff of black feathers and spurts of blood and flesh.
She goes on for the next few hours, until the sun is rising in the horizon and the crows are no longer soaring over the school.
Her own blood drips from her nose, and she wipes it away with her sleeve. Her hands are shaking from the intense aura usage, and her heartbeats are frantic and irregular. Whenever she closes her eyes to rest them for a few seconds, her head swims and her body wants to collapse. She keeps herself seated on the floor, one arm supporting her upper weight.
Gold to slow. Crimson to stop. Magenta to reverse.
And how difficult it is to reverse wounds.
She waits, unmoving in her spot, until a few hours later when she hears the return of the crows. Searching for food again, more like. Or searching for their dead friends.
This time, she takes two—breaking one's legs and the other's wings, but enough to let them live. This time, the magenta aura passes by the animals in a quick blur, but the results remain the same. Twisted neck, gnarled innards, blood clot in the eyes.
She knows she is doing something wrong, but what? What in god's name is she missing?
In the middle of her frustration, she still senses his approach.
Chrollo opens the double doors slightly, peeking between the cracks. When he finds her seated on the floor, he smiles and enters. Then his smile dies down as he notices the dead crows littering the floor. He stares at the corpses and then at her, trying to communicate his horror without having to say the words.
She tries to stand up without showing her fatigue, but she wobbles in her legs.
"What are you doing here?" she asks throatily.
"You haven't drank anything for so long," he admonishes with a click of his tongue. He carries a paper bag with him, and he pulls out a bottle of water. "Here, drink."
"Danchou—" She starts, but he glares. Glaring back, she takes the bottle and drinks everything in one go, never breaking eye contact with him. Once done, she belches.
"Manners, Valtiel, please."
"You shouldn't be here," she says, making a grand show of crossing her arms and fighting the nausea that comes along with the slight movement. She sways a little in the knees. "It's dangerous for you to be here, Danchou. You should leave."
"Dangerous, you say?" he hums, dark eyes twinkling at the sight of dead crows. He turns back to her with an amused smile. "You've been killing animals this entire time, my love?"
"I need more practice. That's all." She would not rise to his teasing.
"Hm." Chrollo nods.
"Now—" She approaches to push him away, but then checks herself. She doesn't trust herself to touch him without hurting him. She swallows and walks backwards, tucking her hands to her chest.
As always, he notices the change in her body language. He is always so good at noticing things. He turns his heels and takes one step towards her, testing the waters, and she steps back like a wary prey. He sees the fear and desperation in her face. It leeches into her faint aura, how the anxiety swirls around them like a blanket about to suffocate them.
He smiles then, hoping it would reassure her. "Of course, darling," he says softly. He lifts the paper bag. "I brought food from the church. Would you eat some, please?"
She stays at her spot. "You can leave it on the floor. I can eat later."
He would have loved to snatch her up in his arms and kiss her fear and worries away, but he keeps his hands to himself, fists curled in his coat pockets. He forces a strained smile, only if it would help ease her paranoia. His beloved has been spiraling deeper into something Chrollo could not place, and it claws at his chest.
Instead, he puts his faith in her. Is this not what relationships are for? Trust and faith in each other? At least, that's what he picked up from movies and books.
"Let me know if there's anything you need," he tells her, inwardly hoping that she would drop the pretense and just reach out to him. As always, she is proud and stubborn.
"Thank you, Danchou." There goes her formal tone again. "I would keep that in mind."
She turns her back to him, her long hair a tangled mess behind her back.
Chrollo nods again, looking around the space for one final time. He lingers by the double doors, still waiting for her to say otherwise, but Valtiel starts walking away.
Once he is gone, she feasts on the stale bread and heated mushroom soup from a can. Her strength comes back, her fingertips no longer numb and her legs able to carry what meager weight she has. When she is all but refreshed, the work continues.
The next day, she is woken by the sound of trucks and horns. Still hazy from exhaustion, she trudges towards a nearby window and counts about five trucks, delivering tables, chairs, and even notebooks and pens for the school. Other trucks deliver a good amount of food and drinks, while one particular truck, overseen by Elder Ryence and Elder Koran, smuggles crates upon crates of something. Judging from Koran's appreciative nod, it could only mean one thing.
Besides, the citizens are lining up for their share. Some for the food and drinks, others for the weapons. Lord Viper is gracious enough to provide for his mercenaries.
Amidst of it all, Nobunaga stands in the crowd, arms folded, a permanent sneer in his face.
Valtiel grunts and turns away from the scene. School there may be, but there is no stopping the Mafia from doing what they do best. Her only hope now is that the children would choose a better future than just guns and knives.
She collects more crows, breaking their legs or wings while she makes her way back to the foyer. Again she would try a new tactic—less aura, more aura, a split of a second aura—but it all returns to the same outcome. Her plan to heal wounds by reversing time, reversing to the point where the wound is nonexistent, proves more fatal than good.
By the end of the third day, the foyer smells no better than the outside, stinking of rotting flesh and dried blood. Flies start buzzing over the corpses, and even Valtiel uses her ability on them. The flies always end up dying in spurts of their bodily liquids, adding a more disgusting stench to the already disgusting space.
Even she disgusts herself, covered in three days' worth of sweat.
Despite her warnings, Chrollo still returns, sensible enough to bring her a change of clothes and more sustenance. She feels like a dog—being fed like this and caged somewhere else.
"Thank you," she murmurs as she receives new clothes. She is embarrassed that the immaculate Chrollo with his perfect hair and pressed shirt sees her like this.
"Are you quite done with isolating yourself?" he asks, tipping his head to the side.
"Not yet." She is aware how he searches around the place, how he wrinkles his nose at the small heap of dead crows in one corner. Her eyelashes flutter at him. "You should go, Danchou."
He looks back at her with a tender smile. "Oh, my love, is it so dangerous?"
She rolls her shoulder. "I can't risk hurting you."
He steps forward and she flinches. He softens. "You won't ever hurt me," he whispers, fingers itching to touch her, kiss her, let her know everything would be alright. "Even if you do, I can bear it. I can bear any pain you'd subject me to."
Her shock is unmasked. She could not imagine herself hurting Danchou.
"No!" she hears herself gasp, and Chrollo smiles even more tenderly at her outburst. She clears her throat but keeps herself rooted at her place, her head bowed a little. "I would never hurt you like that, Danchou," she breathes, her cheeks growing warm. "I would never."
"I know, darling." He dares, like any man familiar with the underworld, to touch her cheek. His heart goes faster when she looks at him under her lashes. He says again, "I know," and leans forward for a chaste kiss.
It is brief yet sweet. By the end of it all, he is left craving for more.
Valtiel could see the longing in his eyes and laughs at him. "No more of that, Danchou," she scolds him. He checks at himself and laughs too. "Thank you for these. I'll see you after a while."
He gives a little bow. "As you wish, my lady."
She waits until he is gone, taking his aura with him. She changes into the new clothes and wraps the blanket over her shoulders.
Outside, the skies are heavy and overcast with gray skies. It is getting too cold as November approaches. She is even more curious how harsh winters could be in Meteor City.
She focuses on En this time, giving the crows some respite. She holds her golden sphere for thirty meters but for twelve seconds—adding two seconds to her usual limit. She groans as pain blooms beneath her eyes and in her chest, her vision spotting and swirling. Her hands are cold again, and her forehead feels warm yet clammy at the same time.
She shivers from the chill and tugs the blanket over her head. In the back of her mind, she hears the dead crows cawing in her face with the dead flies buzzing in her ears. Her vision spots—scarlet once, then back to normal.
She doesn't notice herself collapsing, but it seems she does so anyway. Her vision is sideways when four young men rush to her side, screaming her name.
It has been a week since their birthday celebrations.
With Chrollo's blessing, she returns to her training regimen in the school. After a few days of rest and actual good food, her strength has returned—and now she can deplete it just as easily.
Her En holds fast, passing a fifteen-second mark now. Nobunaga has shown his approval with a curt nod and a thumbs-up sign. She can maintain her Ren for hours at a time as well, only stopping for an hour to use Zetsu and recover from the extreme fatigue. And her new ability—
The crows are avoiding her altogether. It is difficult to catch one now, but once in a while she manages to catch a stray vulture or two. Her magenta aura consumes the animals like a hungry beast, leaving nothing in its wake but a few droplets of blood. Every time she uses it, her head swims and her chest hurts. After using it consecutively for hours, she coughs out blood.
Ah, damn it. She wipes the blood from her mouth with a sleeve. At this point, the once white foyer is dark and slick with blood and guts. I'm really bad at this Nen thing, aren't I?
She has just finished using Ren. Every inch of her body is sore. Her bones feel as if they are ready to shatter at the slightest movement. With a pained groan, she eases herself on the floor, where Phinks had left her a thin sheet to ward off the stone's coldness. She reaches out for the blanket and tucks it under her chin. At arm's length away, the lamp continues to burn.
She coughs again, staining the floor before her with more droplets. She swipes a hand over it, staining it a further red. Good job, Val.
Not long after, sleepiness kicks in. It is another cold night, and the gentle breeze from the windows lulls her to sleep. That, and the exhaustion racking her bones. She closes her eyes and curls up tighter to herself, blanket tucked all around her like a child afraid of the darkness. In the back of her mind, she senses attention on her, but whose—she could not place.
It is not until midnight when the presence bears down on her like a blizzard.
Her mind barely registers a group of men slipping from the school's back doors. She is in the middle of sitting up when two men forcefully hoist her up from her makeshift bed, their strong hands digging into the flesh of her arms. Their combined strength sweeps her off her feet, quite literally, as they find a nearby decorative table and slam her down to it.
She hisses at the pain blooming in her lower back. "I'd rather that we don't do this tonight, gentlemen."
The two men pin her down by her arms and shoulders. Their legs twine with hers, forcing them wide apart as another man, their leader it would seem, steps in the space between her legs.
They brought torches, illuminating their faces. The leader is a young man with brown hair and tanned skin. His eyes are gold, just like hers, and heavy-lidded, as if he has just woken up from his sleep, like her.
Valtiel considers him for a moment, and then his little group. They are young, about her and Chrollo's age. Ten men built with muscles, surrounding the table where the two of them have pinned her like a grotesque version of the Vitruvian Man. The leader stands tall in front of her, golden eyes regarding her with interest.
"What are you doing?" Valtiel sneers, too weak to even fight back. She spent too much energy and aura in today's Ren that even an hour of Zetsu is not enough. Her head is still swirling from fatigue and nausea that she could barely observe the leader's expression.
"Who are you?" She tries for her claws, but even then, her muscles are too sore for more movements. Too numb. She groans as her head falls back against the table with a loud thud.
"You must be the infamous Valtiel," the leader says.
"Maybe—" She pants, catching her breath, her chest heaving a quick breath. "—Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter." He shakes his head, tousled brown hair swishing. He steps closer until he is hovering before her, bending so low his face is almost touching hers. "I heard you have a good relationship with the Phantom Troupe and the Mafia."
She channels her inner Feitan and bares her teeth at him. "Then you're a brave man," she snarls. "The Troupe would not take this offense lightly. I suggest you order your men to unhand me while they still have their hands."
Not too far from them, she senses another presence. Two of them, harmless and detectable. She keeps frowning at the young leader before her, who is now smirking like a fool. She thinks of Chrollo, who has never really mocked his victims like a child wanting to look cool. This one, she notes, just wants his men to worship him as their figurehead.
The bastard even chuckles at her. "I have a favor to ask," he continues. She tries her arms but the two men grip her tighter. "You see—we live at the very end of Meteor City. We don't receive as much food and weapons as you guys do around these parts—"
One of her legs twists upwards, hitting him square in the crotch. She watches in great pleasure as the leader doubles over, clutching his private parts.
"I don't care," she rasps—and the two men grab her hair and slam her against the table.
"Bitch!" The leader groans, his face dark in his anger. "I was going to ask for more supplies since you're such friends with the Mafia, but now, I'm gonna teach you a lesson first."
Fear rushes up her veins when she realizes what he intends to do. The two men pin her even harder to the table while their legs force hers even wider, wide enough for the leader to step in and fumble for his belt. One of the members from the sidelines produces a small knife and slashes at her leggings, from the thigh and all the way to the hip. Cold breeze touches the bare skin of her thighs, and she shivers from both wind and blade on her skin.
The leader opens his pants, followed by his zipper. All around them, the men are hooting.
Valtiel struggles, pain pounding in her skull. The blade switches from her thigh to her neck, the needlepoint tip threatening to puncture the hollow of her throat. She glares at the man with the knife.
When she feels his hands on her skin, scarlet swims in her vision. "I really wouldn't dare," she warns him.
In a fight or flight situation like this, her Nen begs to be unleashed. She forces it down, having killed enough in her own school, having spilled more than enough blood to clean.
Suddenly, the two hidden individuals make themselves known. She has been so wrapped up at the sensation of the leader's fingers grabbing at her inner thighs that she has forgotten about them.
Warren charges first, screaming his lungs out, two silver blades flashing against the moonlight. The black gauntlets fit him perfectly as he slashes at the nearest members around him. One blade to one man's stomach. The second blade to another man's ribs.
As the young boy turns around, the light of the torches catching his dark eyes, he looks mad enough to thirst for more blood.
The second person runs past Warren—catching the group unawares by her small stature and innocent eyes. Julia holds up a gun and fires at the man holding Valtiel's left arm and leg. The gun's recoil knocks her off her legs and she stumbles backwards.
Everyone is stunned, Valtiel most of all, as she falls to her knees on the ground.
The leader screams an incoherent word, and the remaining members all flash their guns and knives at the two children. Warren scowls and shields Julia with his body, his own blades at the ready. Behind him, despite her trembling hand, Julia points the gun's smoking barrel to anyone who dares to come near.
No, please, don't— Valtiel scrambles to her legs, wincing at the pain. Not them—
Her aura is ready to dispel. Gold to slow? Crimson to stop? Or magenta to reverse?
The double doors at the front slam open. Uvogin's unmistakable build crouches under the door frame, as those sharp hazel eyes silently take the sight in front of him. Nobunaga and Phinks enter next, scowling at every member, one brandishing his sword and the other cracking his knuckles.
The Phantom Troupe leader enters gracefully, his black coat swaying with the evening breeze.
Everyone is frozen in place, the two groups just staring at each other in the dimness. Valtiel is holding her breath, as if her Nen ability is already influencing the men.
Chrollo moves first, breaking the enchantment. He finds Valtiel on the other side of the room, on her knees, leggings ripped slashed up to show her skin and thin blouse askew over her shoulders. Then he glances at the other leader's undone pants and zipper. He puts two and two at once.
"Your orders." Uvogin is trembling with fury. "Danchou?"
"I got dibs on the right side," Nobunaga says, preparing his blade.
"So you touched her." Phinks points a finger at the young man. "You're fucking dead, punk."
Valtiel feels the weight of Chrollo's dark gaze on her. She knows that look in his face. It's the same look he had when Yuan died, when the Danchou could not keep his bloodthirst hidden. It is here now, in the very wind, the scent of anger and malice hanging over their heads. She gulps and runs for Warren and Julia, just as the Danchou gives the order.
"Kill them all," Chrollo murmurs quietly. "Except for the leader."
She tucks both children's heads to her chest. They could hear the screams and the bones shattering, but they do not have to see the massacre happening around them. She wraps both arms around them, Julia wincing against her while Warren grinds his teeth. She dares to look up, where the Danchou is approaching the leader.
Valtiel shudders as Chrollo breaks the man's legs. He then tilts his head to the side, as if considering what to do. In a blink of an eye, he has the young man by his brown hair. He drags him out of the foyer, drawing a long crimson trail of fresh blood. The three Spiders follow after his heels like curious pups.
The two children flinch in her arms, as the man screams into the night.
"Why?" she whispers to them, her voice trembling like theirs. "Why did you do it?"
"I—" Warren starts, then corrects himself. "We saw them approach. We saw how they grabbed you and forced you down. We know Chrollo wouldn't allow it. I know I won't."
"We wanted to save you, Val," Julia answers, her green eyes glassy with unshed tears. She killed a man today. Her first kill. Only eight years old and already killed a man. "He was gonna hurt you. We had to do something, you know?"
"You could have asked for help," Valtiel says as more screams echo from the outside. Whatever he is doing, Chrollo is very thorough with his punishment.
"By then it would have been too late," Warren scoffs, drawing back with an annoyed expression.
"We're sorry, Val." Julia's lower lip wobbles, holding back her tears. Her blonde hair is a mess and her dirty dress even more ragged. "We're really sorry. Please don't be mad."
Her tears fall first before she could answer. She embraces them both again. All she wants for them is to escape the endless cycle of death. Yet now, she has been an instrument for their first kills. The first human blood shed on the school she wants for the children was made possible by the same children.
Valtiel draws back and smiles through her tears. "I'm not mad," she promises. "Not at all. I want to thank you both for coming to my rescue." Her breath hitches. "And I'm—I'm sorry that you had no other choice but to do what you had to do."
Warren, now almost seventeen, understands her meaning. "We're all family here," he murmurs with a little nod. "We protect each other."
The Spiders return inside, led by Chrollo. Like an exquisite actor, his cold expression immediately turns into a gentle one, smiling down on the children.
"It's been a long night," he starts, inclining his head to his Spiders. "Nobunaga, would you see that Warren and Julia are back safe in the church? Healer Atara must be worried."
"Aw, I don't want to go to bed yet," Julia whines, pouting at Chrollo.
"But you must go to sleep," he says, tone kind as always. He pats her on the head, fussing over her messy blonde hair. "You must sleep in order to grow as strong and beautiful as Valtiel here."
"I'm not sleepy yet," she argues with a big yawn.
"Come on now, kid," Nobunaga says wearily, fighting a yawn himself. "We're all tired, can't you see? Let's all go back and sleep." He takes Julia by the hand and takes her away.
Warren, sparing one last glance at the Spiders, follows behind the samurai.
Uvogin clicks his tongue at the mess they made. "So much for a warmup, eh?"
Phinks snorts, kicking one of the dead misshapen crows. "Bunch of punks," he grumbles and turns to Valtiel, where she is dusting off her knees. "You okay, kiddo?"
She nods, the fatigue catching up to her again. "I'm swell."
"What did they want?" Uvo asks.
"Something about asking a favor to the Mafia. Who are they? I thought Meteor City residents are close knit?" She could frown at her lack of information, but since when is she ever a professor about Meteor City information anyway?
"Most of them are," Chrollo answers. "There will always be the rouges, those who prefer to do some things their own way, those who have different opinions than most."
"They aren't usually this hostile towards the main community," Uvo adds with a lazy yawn, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. "They must be really desperate to come all the way here."
"Couldn't we have discussed their needs with them?" she asks again, as Chrollo steps in to cover her with his black overcoat. "Sit them down with the Council and hear their problems?"
"Oh, aye." Phinks grins. "Of course we could have had a civilized discussion."
"But?" she prompts, one eyebrow arched.
"But they decided to touch you, instead of approaching the Elders." Uvogin cackles, sharp canines bared. "Disrespecting Val is a big no-no to the Phantom Troupe."
She turns to the Danchou for his input. Instead of being helpful, he just shrugs.
"It's getting late," he says again. "We can talk more about this tomorrow. As for this mess—" He glances at the combination of dead humans and crows, their scents mingling. "We can clean this up before we arrange the Mafia's donations tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" She pads after him, nuzzling deeper into his warm coat.
"Why, yes." He takes her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. "I believe we have all the necessary equipment we need to arrange the classrooms. It is such a massive building, Val, so we would need weeks before the official classes start."
They step outside, going down the short flight of stairs.
At the very bottom, the... thing... that was once a human is propped up on two crossed sticks. It is upside-down, the parted legs tied up at the top while the arms are tied down low, the head bobbing with the gust of the wind. Something wet drips from the length of its legs to the head, pooling a dark puddle on the ground. As Valtiel passes by it, the skies clearing and the moonlight shining down on it, she couldn't keep the horrified gasp.
The young man was flayed—every inch of his skin peeled off with such perfection. Valtiel even has to look around for Feitan. Only Feitan could have done such intricate work. The muscles are still taut and bleeding, running down his legs and some gathering into the man's open mouth. Even his scalp was skinned, the bloody cranium glistening for them to see.
Her mouth is dry. When she looks around the vicinity, she hears a massive group of crows gathering overhead. She furrows her brows. These animals are not nocturnal.
But then, she understands.
The young man's flayed skin has been thrown to the side, now picked and torn apart by the hungry birds. She watches as those sharp beaks easily tear at the flesh, how they swarm over him like ants. Others have found their way to the crossed stake, picking at the legs first, and then tearing at the stomach, pulling his guts out.
Chrollo touches her hand. She flinches.
"The ancient Aramayan kings punished rebel leaders thus," he explains, as if this is nothing but another conversation in the bedroom. "Leaders were flayed and their skins hung on city walls, bodies hung on stakes like these. Their followers were beheaded, and the children were burned."
She opens her mouth, but she is too horrified to speak.
He smiles politely. "Anyone who harms you can die for all I care."
Author's Notes: I am alive! Been very busy with real life stuff. Whoever invented the concept of "adulting" needs to come and see me outside right now 😭 Also, I've been secretly writing a new heavy-themed fic. (Who is a Tokyo Revengers fan here? 👀)
Been reading the new HXH chapters, too. I'm so glad we're getting so much Phantom Troupe content for this volume. I missed these guys very much! There's a lot to unpack, emotionally and mentally, on their backstories. I love them all so much. (Please don't kill them, Togashi-sensei. I beg.) Also, has anyone seen the new and depressed Hisoka? He looks so cool with his hair down. I can't wait to see what he's up to.
As for this chapter, we're back to Spiders doing Spider things 😄 I pray for Valtiel's sanity handling the guys. Also! Since I've been gone for too long, I'm posting the next chapter right after this. I hope you guys enjoy the two chapters! Once again, I really am grateful for everyone who has stayed throughout this entire time—very grateful for all the reviewers/commenters/even the lurkers. Love you all! Have a great week!