Note:
Usual disclaimer: I don't own Hunter x Hunter or Asura's Wrath.
Chapter I
Zoldyck Estate
High atop Kukuroo Mountain, the Zoldyck mansion looms like a predator crouched in wait, its jagged silhouette cutting through the mist.
Within the sprawling estate, a private chamber sits tucked away from prying eyes, a sanctum reserved for the family's most guarded
conversations. The room is dimly lit, its walls adorned with trophies of past kills: a polished skull here, a notched blade there.
Seated across from one another are Zeno Zoldyck, the grizzled patriarch with eyes like storm clouds, and his eldest son, Silva, a towering figure whose calm demeanor belies the lethality coiled within him.
A single lantern flickers between them, casting long shadows as they discuss a mission that has set the underworld ablaze with fear and fury.
"The Mafia Community's latest contract," Zeno begins, his voice low and gravelly, like stones grinding together. He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "They want us to take down a young man holed up in Meteor City. A junkyard rat who's been carving through their ranks like a butcher through meat."
Silva tilts his head, his silver hair catching the light. "Meteor City," he muses, his tone as cold as the steel he wields. "That festering heap isolated from the world. Who is this target?"
Zeno's lips curl into a faint, humorless smirk. "They call him a 'the fatal swordsman'…. their words, not mine. No name, no history, just a trail of bodies. He's slaughtered dozens of Mafia soldiers, even a few capos. The families are desperate. They've thrown money at blocklist hunters, hired every cutthroat with a pulse, offered sums that could buy kingdoms." He pauses, letting the weight settle. "All of them failed. Dead or disappeared. The attempts might as well have been whispers on the wind."
Silva's eyes narrow, a spark of intrigue breaking his icy facade. "A junkyard stray outmatching professionals? That's no ordinary prey."
"Exactly," Zeno replies, tapping a finger against the armrest. "The Mafia's pride is bleeding out with every corpse he leaves behind. They're not just asking for a kill… they're begging for salvation. And they're willing to pay us a fortune to deliver it."
Silva leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What's the catch? A target this slippery doesn't survive by luck alone."
Zeno chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. "That's for us to find out. If he's a Nen user, he's a clever one. If he's not…" He shrugs. "Then he's something worse. Either way, we don't underestimate him. Not after the others' mistakes."
The air thickens with unspoken anticipation. In the Zoldyck family, a mission isn't just a job, it's a proving ground. And this target, this phantom of Meteor City, promises a hunt unlike any they've faced.
The rumors swirling around the target in Meteor City have reached even the fortified walls of the Zoldyck estate, carried by the few Nen-using survivors who stumbled back from the junkyard's chaos.
Their accounts are fragmented, spoken in hushed tones as if the words might summon the terror they fled. "It's not Nen," one witness had stammered, his hands trembling as he clutched a bandaged arm. "It's something else... something fiercer, untamed. Like a storm given flesh."
Others nodded in agreement, describing a vicious and wild force that roared through the air, shredding through Nen's defenses as though they were paper.
No one could name it, but all agreed: it was unlike any energy they'd ever encountered.
In the private chamber atop Kukuroo Mountain, Zeno Zoldyck listens to these reports with a gleam in his steely eyes. The flickering lantern casts his weathered face in sharp relief, accentuating the lines carved by decades of bloodshed.
Across from him, Silva sits in silence, his expression unreadable, though his fingers drum lightly against the table... a rare sign of curiosity.
"So, it's not Nen," Silva says, his voice smooth and measured at last. "And yet it's stronger. Wilder, they claim. Father, what do you make of it?"
Zeno leans back, a predatory grin tugging at his lips. "Hmph. Stories from scared fools who couldn't finish the job. I've seen every shade of power this world offers—Nen in all its forms, wielded by masters and monsters alike. I stood toe-to-toe with Isaac Netero, the old bastard, and walked away. This?" He waves a hand dismissively. "This is just another rumor begging to be crushed under my heel."
Silva tilts his head, studying his father. "You're intrigued, though. I can tell."
"Intrigued?" Zeno's grin widens, revealing a glint of teeth. "I'm itching to meet this junkyard phantom in person. If he's got some trick up his sleeve, some energy that's 'vicious and wild,' I'll rip it apart and show him what real power looks like. A Zoldyck doesn't bow to mysteries... we bury them."
The room falls silent momentarily, the weight of Zeno's resolve settling like dust after a storm. Then Silva speaks again, his tone cautious but firm. "You're going yourself, then? Not sending me?"
Zeno's gaze sharpens, cutting through the dim light. "Don't get cocky, boy. This isn't about your skill... I know what you can do. But you're not ready for something this… unknown. Not yet." He pauses, his expression darkening. "And besides, you've got enough on your plate with that new wife of yours."
Zeno had never hidden his contempt for his daughter-in-law, the scrappy Meteor City girl his son had inexplicably chosen as a bride.
She was a stain on the Zoldyck legacy in his eyes... a worthless urchin with no wealth, lineage, or potential to elevate the family's name.
Silva, his only son and heir, deserved better: a match with a woman of status, someone whose dowry and abilities could strengthen their dynasty.
That was the Zoldyck was cold, calculated, and mercilessly pragmatic. But Silva had defied it all, driven by a passion Zeno couldn't comprehend.
And then came the news that shattered any hope of undoing the union; she was pregnant with Silva's child, the first grandchild of the Zoldyck line.
The revelation came months after whispers of Silva's reckless nights with her reached Zeno's ears.
Silva stiffens, just slightly, but enough for Zeno to notice. "Kikyo," Silva says, his voice flat, as if testing the waters.
"Yes, Kikyo," Zeno snaps, his tone dripping with disdain. "That insolent trash from Meteor City. I still can't believe you chose her... What were you thinking?"
Silva meets his father's glare without flinching. "She's stronger than you give her credit for. And she's loyal."
"Loyalty from a junkyard rat means nothing if she drags this family down," Zeno retorts. Then he asked him, his voice firm and edged with steel, "When will your wife give birth to this child? It's been eight months since her pregnancy began, right?"
The question struck Silva like a sudden blow. He blinked, caught off guard, his usually unshakable composure faltering for a fraction of a second.
His father's tone wasn't one of curiosity, it was a challenge, a reminder of the disgrace Zeno still saw in Kikyo.
Silva's jaw tightened as he met Zeno's stare, his pale eyes glinting with a mix of loyalty and rebellion.
He knew how deeply his father despised her, how Zeno viewed her as an intruder, a crack in the perfect assassin's mold they'd forged together.
And yet, Silva had nearly broken every family rule for her sake, risking his father's wrath and the Zoldyck code itself.
He loved her fiercely, irrationally, in a way that defied the cold logic of his upbringing.
"She's due soon," Silva replied, his voice steady but clipped. "Any day now, the healers say. The child will be strong... Kikyo's carried it well."
Zeno's lip curled, a flicker of disgust crossing his weathered face. "Carried it well? Hmph. That girl's lucky she's survived this long under our roof… and now she's bearing your blood? You've let your weakness blind you."
Silva's hands clenched into fists beneath the table, though his expression remained calm. "She's not weak, Father. She's proven herself…
And this child… it's ours. Your grandchild. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"It means you've tied our name to trash," Zeno shot back, his voice rising like a whipcrack. "I raised you to be flawless… a perfect killer, the next pillar of this family. Not to get into a rut with some insolent girl and call it love. You're twenty years old, Silva is barely a man, and she's sixteen, a child. What happens when she crumbles under the weight of our world?"
Silva leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "She won't crumble. And I won't abandon her or our son. You taught me strength, Father, but you also taught me to take what's mine. Kikyo is mine. This family we're building, it's mine too."
Zeno stared at him, the silence stretching taut between them. For a moment, it seemed he might strike... or at least unleash the full force of his Nen in reprimand.
But instead, he exhaled sharply, a sound laced with frustration and something more profound, unspoken.
He'd given birth to this boy and molded him into a weapon, yet here was a crack in that perfection, a crack Zeno hadn't foreseen.
"Fine," Zeno muttered, rising from his chair with a creak of old bones. "Raise your little family. But don't expect me to coddle that girl or her whelp. And when I return from Meteor City, we'll see if you've still got the spine to stand by this choice."
As Zeno turned to leave, Silva remained seated, his mind racing. He hadn't told his father everything, not about the quiet moments with Kikyo, how she laughed despite the shadows around them, or the fierce pride he felt knowing their child would bear his name.
He loved and respected his father beyond measure, but for Kikyo and their unborn son, he'd fight the world… even his father himself.
Silva had never spoken much of his mother to Zeno or anyone.
The scant truth he'd shared was a single, brittle fact: she had died giving birth to him, her life snuffed out as he began.
Zeno had never offered more, and Silva had never asked, leaving her memory a ghost that hovered silently between them.
Perhaps that was why Silva felt the pull of Kikyo so fiercely, her vitality, her defiance, her ability to charm his mind and conscience despite the odds stacked against her.
She was alive in a way his mother never had the chance to be, and in her, Silva saw a future he could claim.
Now, eight months into her pregnancy, Kikyo's body bore the strain of carrying their child. At sixteen, she was still a girl in the eyes of the world, her frame slight and untested, the process of pregnancy carving lines of exhaustion into her youthful face.
The healers had warned them both her youth and inexperience made this dangerous, a risk to her health, perhaps even her life.
Yet Silva, at twenty, was no wiser in the grip of his desires, youth burned in his veins, a reckless fire that drowned out caution.
He couldn't resist her, not her sharp laughter, not the way her eyes gleamed with a mix of fear and ferocity, not the pull of their shared nights.
Even now, with her belly swollen and her strength waning, he found himself drawn to her, their passion a defiance of the danger they both faced.
In the private chamber, the echoes of Zeno's earlier words still lingered in his disapproval, a weight on Silva's shoulders.
Zeno had stormed out, bound for Meteor City to hunt the mysterious target, leaving Silva alone with his thoughts.
He rose from his chair and crossed to the window, staring at the jagged peaks of Kukuroo Mountain. His mind drifted to Kikyo, resting in their quarters below, and the child she carried… his son, their future.
A soft knock interrupted his reverie. The door creaked open, and Kikyo stepped inside, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Her posture was defiant despite the visible strain.
She wore a loose robe, her pregnancy evident, but her eyes burned with the same fire that had first ensnared him.
"You're brooding again," she said, teasing yet sharp. "What did the old man say this time?"
Silva turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "He asked about you. About the baby. He's still furious."
Kikyo snorted, crossing her arms. "Let him be. He'll come around when he sees what we've made… someone stronger than all of us." She stepped closer, her hand resting on her stomach. "Though I'll admit, this little monster's wearing me out."
He moved to her side, his hand brushing hers, his touch gentle but possessive. "You should rest more. The healers—"
"The healers can shove it," she cut in, grinning. "I'm not some fragile doll. Besides…" Her voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. "You're here. That's enough."
Silva's breath caught. He knew the risks, knew that every moment with her, every reckless night, pushed her closer to a breaking point.
At twenty, he was still learning the boundaries of his strength and heart. And Kikyo, at sixteen, was a wildfire he couldn't tame. He pulled her close, her warmth against him a reminder of why he'd defied his father and risked everything.
"I couldn't stop myself," he murmured, almost to himself. "Even knowing what it might do to you."
Kikyo tilted her head, her grin returning. "Don't you dare feel guilty? We're in this together, you idiot. And I'm not going anywhere… not yet."
Their youth, reckless, unyielding, teetering on the edge of ruin, bound them as much as their love did.
Meteor City
Zeno Zoldyck descended into the junkyard sprawl of Meteor City; his senses honed to a razor's edge.
The air stank of rust and decay, a fitting shroud for the mission that had drawn him here: to hunt the so-called "fatal swordsman" who'd butchered the Mafia's best.
The rumors of power beyond Nen had piqued his curiosity, but Zeno, the pragmatist, had dismissed them as the exaggerations of broken men.
The streets were a labyrinth of twisted metal and shattered concrete, silent save for the crunch of his boots.
Then, he felt… a heavy presence pressed against his En like a stormfront.
Zeno halted, his hands slipping behind his back, his posture deceptively casual.
Ahead, a towering and broad figure emerged from the shadows, built like a tank carved from flesh and iron.
The man stood well over seven feet, his muscles rippling beneath a tattered cloak, his face a mask of brutal scars.
In his grip was an ancient sword, its blade pitted with age yet gleaming with an unnatural sheen as if it drank the dim light around it.
This was no junkyard scavenger. This was something else.
"You're the Zoldyck," the stranger rumbled, his voice a low growl that seemed to shake the ground. "They said you'd come."
Zeno tilted his head, sizing him up. "And you're the one they're scared of. Got a name, big man?"
"Augus," the giant replied, hefting the sword with a single hand. "That's all you need to know before I bury you."
A flicker of amusement crossed Zeno's face. "Bold words. Let's see if you've got anything to back them up."
Without warning, Zeno unleashed Dragon Head, his aura surging into the form of a serpentine beast that roared toward Augus with devastating force.
The attack had felled countless foes, its Transmuted power a testament to decades of mastery.
But Augus didn't flinch. He raised his sword, and a wave of energy erupted from the blade… not Nen, not anything Zeno recognized.
It was raw, primal, a crimson torrent that pulsed like a living thing. The dragon collided with it and shattered, its aura dissolving into sparks that fizzled in the air.
Zeno's eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening. "Well, now. That's new."
Augus charged, his massive frame moving with impossible speed. Zeno leaped back, summoning Dragon Lance and firing a concentrated aura beam.
The blast struck Augus square in the chest, but the brute didn't stagger. Instead, that same crimson energy flared around him, absorbing the attack like a sponge.
He swung the sword in a wide arc, and a shockwave tore through the ground, forcing Zeno to vault skyward to avoid being shredded.
The old assassin landed lightly, his mind racing. This wasn't Nen. It was stronger, wilder, an energy he'd never encountered in all his years.
And for the first time in decades, a thrill of uncertainty coiled in his gut.
"What are you?" Zeno muttered, circling his opponent. "That's no trick of aura. No technique I've seen."
Augus grinned, a feral slash of teeth. "This is older than your Nen forged in blood and time. You think your tricks can match a god's wrath?"
"God, huh?" Zeno chuckled, though his tone was edged with steel. "I've killed bigger boasts than that. Let's test it."
He unleashed Dragon Dive, the sky erupting as his aura fragmented into a rain of draconic shards, each a lethal missile.
The barrage descended on Augus, a storm meant to overwhelm even the most formidable foes.
But Augus roared, thrusting his sword upward, and that crimson energy exploded outward in a dome, obliterating the shards mid-flight.
The force knocked Zeno back, his heels skidding through the dirt. He steadied himself, breathing harder now, his sharp mind grappling with the impossible.
This stranger… Augus… wasn't just powerful. He was a wall Zeno couldn't crack.
Augus advanced, his sword humming with that alien force. "You're good, Zoldyck. Better than the rest. But you're not enough."
Zeno dodged a swing that cleaved a nearby scrap pile in two. The cut was so clean that it seemed the metal had parted willingly.
He countered with a palm strike, aura blazing, but Augus caught his wrist with a grip like iron, twisting until Zeno felt his bones groan.
Zeno broke free with agility, landing a few paces back, his arm throbbing. He could feel it… Augus wasn't tiring.
That energy, whatever it was, flowed endlessly, a wellspring Zeno couldn't match.
He stood amidst the wreckage of their clash, his breath steadying as the dust settled around him.
The junkyard of Meteor City stretched out in chaotic silence, its twisted metal bearing the scars of their battle, craters from his Nen and gashes from Augus's blade.
Yet the towering brute before him stood unscathed, his ancient sword resting casually against his shoulder, that crimson energy still pulsing faintly around him like a heartbeat.
For the first time in years, Zeno felt something unfamiliar: not fear, but awe.
This man, Augus, was a force beyond comprehension. Zeno's mind raced through comparisons, measuring him against the titans of his lineage.
His father, Zigg Zoldyck, a legend in his own right, might have faltered here. His grandfather, Maha, whose name still sent shivers through the underworld, could have met his match.
Even Isaac Netero, the Chairman of the Hunter Association, whose strength Maha had tested in Netero, might stand on equal footing with this stranger or perhaps even surpass him.
But Augus? Augus was a storm-given form; his power was not just greater than Zeno's but fundamentally different!
The mission the Mafia's desperate plea to eliminate this "fatal swordsman"… suddenly felt trivial, a fool's errand not worth the blood it demanded.
Zeno adjusted his stance, hands slipping behind his back, his sharp eyes locked on Augus.
The giant's scarred face split into a grin as if he'd sensed the shift in Zeno's thoughts.
He sheathed his sword with a deliberate clank, the sound echoing through the desolate sprawl, and then, to Zeno's surprise, he gestured toward a rusted crate nearby.
"Enough of this," Augus rumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly drawl. "You're still standing, old man. That's more than most can say. How about a drink?"
Zeno's brow arched, suspicion flickering in his gaze. He didn't move, his instincts honed by decades of betrayal warning him to stay on guard.
"A drink? After you nearly took my arm off? You'll forgive me if I'm not in a trusting mood."
Augus threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that shook the air. "Hahaha! If I wanted you dead, Zoldyck, you'd be a smear on this junk heap already. I'm offering you something better than a fight." He leaned forward, his grin widening, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"You want to know about this energy of mine, don't you? What is it, and where does it come from? Sit. Drink. I'll talk."
Zeno hesitated, his mind weighing the offer.
Every fiber of his being screamed caution… this man was a walking enigma, a threat that had humbled him in combat.
And yet, that same enigma gnawed at him, a puzzle begging to be solved.
The power Augus wielded wasn't Nen! It was older, fiercer, a force Zeno couldn't categorize or counter.
To walk away now would be to leave a mystery unanswered, and a Zoldyck never shied from understanding their prey.
Besides, he reasoned, if Augus wanted him dead, he'd had his chance.
"Fine," Zeno said, at last, his tone clipped but curious. He stepped forward, lowering himself onto a slab of broken concrete across from the crate Augus had claimed as a table. "But if this is a trick, you'll regret it."
Augus chuckled, pulling a battered flask from his cloak and slamming it between them. "Regret's for the weak. Drink up, older man. You've earned it."
He poured a dark, pungent liquid into two dented cups scavenged from the debris, shoving one toward Zeno.
The assassin took it, sniffing the contents warily, a crude, fiery brew that smelled like it could strip paint.
He raised it to his lips, his eyes never leaving Augus, and took a measured sip. It burned going down, sharp and bitter, but he didn't flinch.
"Talk," Zeno said, setting the cup down. "This power of yours… what is it?"
Augus leaned back, taking a long swig from his cup before wiping his mouth with his hand.
"You want to know what fuels me, Zoldyck?" Augus began, his voice a low rumble, like thunder rolling over distant peaks. "It's not your Nen, not some trick of aura you can master. It's mantra… power from an age when gods walked and mortals trembled. A force born of the soul's rawest pieces: wrath, greed, pride. Eight shades of it, each one a fire that never dies."
Zeno's cup paused halfway to his lips, his sharp eyes narrowing. He'd heard tales of mantras before, whispered legends from ancient texts, stories hunters swapped over campfires, dismissed as myth by anyone with sense.
A power tied to divine beings, to a cycle of destruction and rebirth that spanned eons. He'd always chalked it up to the ramblings of old fools chasing ghosts.
Yet here was Augus, his crimson energy still lingering in the air, a living testament to something Zeno couldn't deny.
The assassin took a slow sip, masking his unease with a scoff.
"Mantra, huh?" Zeno said, his tone dry. "Sounds like a bedtime story for children. You expect me to believe that's real… that it's what I just ran into?"
Augus laughed, a deep, booming sound that rattled the debris around them. "Believe what you want, old man. I don't need your faith… just your ears. That energy you felt? It's greed, my piece of the mantra. Pure, unyielding want, forged into me before your world had a name."
He tapped the hilt of his ancient sword, its blade humming faintly as if alive. "This was mine then, too. Wielded it through battles you couldn't imagine."
Zeno leaned back, studying Augus with renewed scrutiny. The man's presence, his overwhelming strength, lent weight to the tale, but Zeno's mind resisted. "Greed, you say. And this 'mantra'… Is it what makes you stronger than Nen? Stronger than me?"
"Stronger than most," Augus replied, grinning with a predator's confidence. "It's not just power, Zoldyck. It's essence. When the world was young, I was Augus, warrior of greed… one of the Eight, sworn to a god named Chakravartin. Fought, bled, died… and here I am again, flesh and bone, still swinging this blade."
Zeno's brow furrowed, a rare crack in his composure. "Augus. The Augus? The name's in those old stories… some brute who carved through armies drowned in his excess. You're saying that's you?"
"The very same," Augus said, his grin widening. "Reborn, maybe. Human now, sure. But the greed's still mine, and the mantra with it. Chakravartin's gone, the cycle's broken, but pieces linger… like me. Like this." He raised his cup, the liquor sloshing, and drained it in one gulp.
Zeno set his cup down, his mind churning. The legends painted Augus as a figure of mythic excess… a warrior driven by an insatiable hunger for fight, wielding a blade as long as a tall man.
The parallels were uncanny: the sword, the power, the towering build. Yet to accept this meant rewriting everything Zeno knew about strength, about the world itself.
He'd faced Nen masters, monsters, and madmen, but a relic of an ancient age? A warrior tied to a lost god's mantra? It stretched belief to its breaking point.
"You're either the best liar I've met," Zeno said at last, his voice edged with skepticism, "or the oldest thing still breathing. If this mantra's real, why haven't I seen it before? Why's it hiding in a junkyard with you?"
Augus shrugged, pouring himself another drink. "It's not hiding. It's waiting. Most can't handle it… burns 'em out, body and soul. Me? I was made for it. And this place?" He gestured to the ruins around them. "Suits me fine. No rules, no masters. Just me and the fight."
Zeno stared into his cup, the dark liquid swirling like the questions in his head. Augus's tale was absurd, impossible, yet the power he'd faced wasn't.
The tale of mantra, a power older than Nen, tied to a lost age of gods had stretched his skepticism thin, but Augus's next revelation tipped it further into uncharted territory.
Augus leaned forward, his scarred face lit by the flicker of a distant fire, his ancient sword resting beside him like a silent sentinel.
"This power," his voice, a deep, resonant growl, "I didn't find it. Didn't forge it. I was born with it."
He leaned forward, his scarred face splitting into a grin as he watched Zeno's reaction. "Greed's been mine since I took my first breath, etched into my soul, tied to this blade. It's not some trick you learn, Zoldyck. It's what I am."
Zeno's hand froze around his cup, the liquor sloshing slightly as his composure cracked. Born with it? The idea hit him like a physical blow, rattling the foundations of everything he understood about power.
Nen was cultivated and honed through years of discipline and will… Zeno, his father, Zigg, and his grandfather, Maha, had spent decades mastering it.
Even Isaac Netero's monstrous strength was the fruit of relentless effort.
But Augus, this brute who'd shattered his Dragon Head with a flick of his sword, claimed his strength was innate, a birthright.
Zeno's mind reeled, his pulse quickening as he processed the implications.
"Born with it," Zeno repeated, his voice low, almost a whisper.
He deliberately set the cup down, masking his shock behind a steely gaze.
"You're telling me that… energy that mantra came with you into this world?"
Augus nodded, his grin widening. "Yes, and I'm not alone. There are seven more out there… seven other mantras, each waiting for its holder…Violence, Melancholy, Pride, Sloth, Vanity, Lust and Wrath… Eight in total, with me and my Greed. They're not tools, Zoldyck. They're fates. They pick their own, born into 'em like I was."
Zeno leaned back, his fingers drumming against his knee as he absorbed the list. Wrath. Violence. Melancholy. Pride. Sloth. Vanity. Lust.
The names conjured images of forces untamed and unpredictable, each a mirror to some primal shard of the soul.
He'd heard whispers of mantra in old tales legends of a god named Chakravartin and his divine energies… but to think they existed, not as myths but as living powers bestowed at birth, was staggering.
Augus wasn't just a warrior; he was a relic of something ancient, something Zeno couldn't fathom.
"You're serious," Zeno said at last, his tone laced with disbelief. "Seven more like you, out there somewhere, carrying these… mantras from the moment they're born?"
"Could be," Augus replied, shrugging as he poured another drink. "They don't all wake up. Some live and die, never knowing what's in 'em. Me? I knew early. This blade…" he tapped the sword's hilt, its faint hum answering his touch… "It's been with me through it all, life after life. Greed doesn't let go."
Zeno's mind raced, piecing together the impossible. 'If Augus was born with Greed, then the others… could be anywhere, dormant or active, in kings or beggars, assassins or saints.'
The thought was both thrilling and unsettling, a glimpse into a world far vaster than he'd imagined.
He took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn steady him, then met Augus's gaze with a newfound respect.
"Thanks for the drink," Zeno said, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity. "And for the lesson. You're a rare one, Augus… stronger than me, maybe stronger than anyone I've known. That's not something I admit often."
Augus chuckled, a deep rumble that shook the air. "High praise from a Zoldyck. What's next, old man? Gonna cry about it?"
"No," Zeno replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm thinking we could use each other. Partners, maybe. Your strength, my resources…we'd be unstoppable. Profit, power, whatever we want."
Augus tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Partners? Hah! I don't share well… Greed, remember? But…" He paused, draining his cup in one gulp. "You're not boring, I'll give you that. I'll think it over. World's big enough for us to cross paths again."
Zeno rose, brushing dust from his cloak, his expression unreadable. "Fair enough. You know where I'll be… Kukuroo Mountain is hard to miss. Don't take too long deciding."
Augus waved him off, already reaching for the flask. "Get outta here, Zoldyck. And tell your Mafia pests this junkyard's mine. Next time, I won't pour you a drink first."
Zeno turned, his silhouette fading into the shadows as he left the ruins behind.
Augus's words echoed in his mind. He was born with a mantra, and seven others were waiting in the world.
The revelation shifted the ground beneath him, a challenge he couldn't ignore.
For now, he would return to his family, to Silva and the newborn he had yet to meet.
But the encounter with Augus had lit a spark in him, a hunger to understand and conquer the mysteries still out there.
A month had passed since Zeno's return from Meteor City, and his encounter with Augus still shadowed his thoughts.
The night was quiet at the Zoldyck estate, save for the faint rustle of wind against the stone walls.
In their private quarters, Kikyo lay restless beside Silva, her breathing uneven, her hands resting on the swell of her belly.
Nine months of pregnancy had worn her down, her youthful frame taxed by the life growing within her.
She stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips as the baby kicked… a sharp, insistent jolt that pulled her from uneasy sleep.
Silva woke instantly, his assassin's instincts snapping him to alertness.
He turned to her, his silver hair tousled from sleep, his pale eyes searching her face in the dim glow of a bedside lantern.
"Kikyo," he said, his voice low but laced with concern. "Are you okay?"
She shifted, propping herself up on an elbow, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
Her face flushed, a mix of exhaustion and something more profound—unsettled. "I'm fine," she murmured, though her hand pressed against her stomach as the baby kicked again.
"Just… tired. And I had a dream."
Silva frowned, sitting up beside her. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle despite the calluses of a killer's hands. "A dream? What did you see?"
Kikyo's gaze drifted as if peering through the walls into some distant place. "Someone was there," she said softly, her voice tinged with awe. "A figure… tall, radiant, like a deity. It spoke to me clearly, as you're speaking now. It told me to name our son Asura!"
Silva's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his usually stoic features. "Asura?" he echoed.
The name felt heavy on his tongue, ancient and unfamiliar, like a word from a forgotten tongue. "Who was this… someone? What did it look like?"
She hesitated, her eyes meeting his with wonder and uncertainty. "It was hard to see clearly… like looking into light itself. But it had power, Silva. A presence that filled everything. Golden, maybe, with eyes that burned. It wasn't human… not entirely. It said 'Asura' like a command, like a name already belonged to him." She nodded toward her belly, where their son stirred.
Silva leaned back, his mind racing, Asura! He'd heard the name before, buried in old tales his father had dismissed as fanciful stories of a wrathful warrior, a force of destruction and defiance tied to gods and ancient wars.
A deity in Kikyo's dream naming their child after such a figure? It sent a shiver down his spine, though he masked it with a steady breath. "An ancient name," he said at last. "Why would it choose that for our son?"
Kikyo's lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "I don't know. But it felt… right. Like he's meant for it, he's been kicking harder lately… like he's fighting already."
Silva placed his hand over hers, feeling the subtle movement beneath her skin. The baby's strength was undeniable, a fierce little life that seemed to echo the name from her dream.
"Asura," he tried again, quieter this time. "If that's what you saw, then that's what we'll call him. Dream or not, it suits him."
She nodded, leaning into him, her exhaustion softening into trust. "You're not scared? A deity telling us what to name him… it's strange, even for us."
"Scared?" Silva chuckled, though it was more thoughtful than amused. "I've seen stranger things lately. My father returned from Meteor City with stories of his own… powers older than Nen, men born with them. Maybe this is part of it. Maybe our son's tied to something bigger."
Kikyo's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't press him.
Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder, her voice a whisper. "Asura Zoldyck. Sounds like trouble."
"Sounds like us," Silva replied with a rare warmth. He held her close, the name settling between them like a promise… or a warning.
Outside, the mountain loomed in silence, oblivious to the destiny taking root within its walls.
The morning sun crept over Kukuroo Mountain, its pale light filtering through the narrow windows of the Zoldyck estate.
In the private chamber where Zeno often held court, the air was cool and still, the walls adorned with the silent trophies of a lifetime of kills.
Silva stood before his father, his posture rigid but his voice steady, recounting the night's strange events.
Zeno sat in his high-backed chair, his weathered hands steepled, his storm-gray eyes fixed on his son with an intensity that belied his calm exterior
"Kikyo had a dream," Silva began, his silver hair catching the light as he spoke. "She woke up shaken, said a figure appeared to her, radiant, like a deity. It told her to name our son Asura. She felt it was real, Father, not just some fancy of sleep. The baby's been restless like he's already fighting to match the name."
Zeno remained silent, his expression unreadable. The lantern on the table flickered, casting shadows that danced across his lined face.
Asura! The sharp and ancient word hung in the air, stirring memories he'd buried beneath decades of pragmatism.
He thought of Augus, tall, brutish, wielding that crimson mantra in the junkyard of Meteor City.
The warrior's tales of an age ruled by gods, of eight primal energies choosing their bearers, echoed in Zeno's mind. Greed had claimed Augus at birth, he'd said. Wrath, Violence, Melancholy, Pride, Sloth, Vanity, Lust… seven others waited out there, fates bound to souls yet unknown.
And now, a dream of a deity naming his grandson Asura? The coincidence gnawed at him.
Silva shifted, his patience thinning. "You're quiet, Father. What do you think?"
Zeno's gaze flicked up, piercing through the silence. "Asura!" he muttered, testing the name as if it carried a hidden weight. "Old stories call him a warrior of wrath… a rebel who defied gods and tore through armies. I thought they were just legends… until a month ago."
Silva's brow furrowed, sensing the shift in his father's tone. "Meteor City. The man you fought… Augus. You've barely spoken of it. What does this have to do with him?"
Zeno leaned back, his fingers tapping the armrest, a rare sign of restlessness. "Augus told me things," he said at last, his voice low and deliberate. "About mantra… a power older than Nen, born into its holders. He's got Greed and says he's had it since he came into this world. There are seven more out there, each one tied to a piece of the soul. Wrath's one of them." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "And now your wife dreams of a deity naming your son Asura… a name tied to wrath in every tale I've heard. You tell me if that's chance."
Silva's jaw tightened, his mind racing to connect the threads. "You think… what? Is our son caught up in this mantra? That he's one of these holders?!"
"I don't know," Zeno admitted, a rare crack of uncertainty in his gravelly voice. "Augus was born with his. If this dream's true, maybe your boy's marked too. Or maybe it's just a dream, and we see shadows where there's none."
He fell silent again, staring past Silva, lost in thought. Augus had been a wall he couldn't break… a living relic of a forgotten age.
Could his grandson, not yet born, carry a spark of that same ancient fire?
Silva crossed his arms, his tone firm but edged with unease. "Kikyo believes it. She says the name fits him already. I'm naming him Asura either way… dream or not, it's strong. But if you're right, this ties to what you saw…"
"Then we watch him," Zeno cut in, his gaze sharpening. "If he's got something in him… mantra, wrath, whatever it is… we'll know soon enough. A Zoldyck with that kind of power?" A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Could be a blessing. Or a curse."
The room settled into a heavy quiet, and the father and son were bound by a shared question neither could answer.
Zeno's thoughts lingered on Augus's words… seven mantras, seven bearers… and perhaps a hint of one in his own bloodline.
Time would tell if Asura Zoldyck was merely a name… or a destiny.
Days slipped, each one heavier than the last as Kikyo's pregnancy neared its end.
The Zoldyck estate, usually a fortress of cold precision, buzzed with an undercurrent of anticipation and unease.
Kikyo, now in her ninth month, felt the weight of her child like a storm brewing within her.
The kicks had grown fiercer, more insistent, but in the past week, something stranger had emerged.
Wild, red energy pulsed from her belly. It was faint at first, then stronger, untamed, and chaotic, like a flame licking at the edges of her senses.
It wasn't Nen; she knew Nen and had trained in it under Silva's guidance.
This was different, primal, leaving her breathless, caught between awe and dread.
Silva was gone, dispatched on a mission that had pulled him from her side at the worst possible time.
She lay in their quarters, her hands pressed to her swollen stomach, feeling the surges of that crimson power ripple through her.
Sweat beaded on her brow, her dark hair clinging to her face as she gritted her teeth against the sensation.
"You're impatient, aren't you, Asura?" she whispered, her voice strained but steady.
The name from her dream felt truer now, a tether to the force stirring inside her.
Zeno Zoldyck paced the shadowed corridors down the hall, his sharp senses attuned to the disturbance radiating from Kikyo's room.
He'd felt it too… that red energy, wild and fierce, echoing the power he'd faced in Meteor City.
Augus's words haunted him: 'Wrath's one of them… born into its holder.' The memory of that crimson mantra, shattering his Nen like glass, prickled at the back of his mind.
Now it was here, in his home, in his grandson. He stopped, his hands clasped behind his back, and turned to the medic butlers hovering nearby, silent, efficient figures trained to serve the family's every need.
"She's close," Zeno said, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness. "The baby's coming… tonight, maybe sooner. That energy you're feeling? It's him. Get everything ready. I want her watched every second."
One of the butlers, a gaunt man with a surgical mask, bowed slightly. "Sir, we've prepared the birthing room. But this… power… it's unsettling the staff. Is it Nen?"
"No," Zeno snapped, his eyes narrowing. "It's not Nen. It's something else. Don't question it… do your job. She's strong, but this isn't normal. If anything goes wrong, you answer to me."
The butler nodded hastily and retreated, signaling the others to move.
Zeno lingered, his gaze drifting toward Kikyo's door. He hadn't warmed to her, still saw her as the junkyard girl who'd ensnared his son, but this changed things.
That energy, so like Augus's mantra, pulsed with a rawness that demanded respect.
If it was Wrath, as he suspected, then the child she carried wasn't just a Zoldyck. He was something more, something ancient, reborn in their bloodline.
Kikyo clenched the sheets inside the room as another wave hit her… a contraction now, sharp and accurate, laced with that red energy.
She gasped, her vision blurring as the power flared, wilder than before. "Silva, you bastard," she muttered through gritted teeth, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the pain. "You should be here for this."
A knock sounded, and the door creaked open. Zeno stepped in, his presence filling the space like a stormcloud.
Kikyo glanced up, her defiance undimmed even in her exhaustion. "What, come to glare at me some more, old man?"
Zeno ignored the jab, his eyes fixed on her belly. "I felt it from the hall. That's no ordinary child. You're sure about the name… Asura!?"
She nodded, wincing as another contraction rippled through her. "Damn right. It's him. I can feel it… wild, angry, like he's already fighting to get out."
Zeno's smirk was faint but unmistakable. "Good. He'll need that fire. The medics are ready. You hold on, girl. This one's special."
Kikyo laughed, short and sharp, before the pain cut her off. "Special? Tell me that when I'm done pushing him out."
Zeno turned to leave, pausing at the threshold. The red energy pulsed again, a silent roar that sent a shiver down his spine.
Silva might miss the birth, but Zeno would witness it as a new Zoldyck, born of fire and fury, ready to shake the world.
The birthing room in the Zoldyck estate was a storm of chaos and blood.
Kikyo's screams tore through the air, raw and guttural, as the final push brought her child into the world.
The red energy that had pulsed from her belly surged one last time, wild and untamed, flooding the room with an oppressive heat that made the medic butlers flinch.
Then, silence… broken only by the sharp cry of a newborn. Kikyo's head lolled back against the sweat-soaked pillows, her body slackening as unconsciousness claimed her.
Blood pooled beneath her, a vivid crimson that stained the sheets and floor, her strength spent in the brutal act of giving life.
The lead medic, a wiry woman with steady hands despite the chaos, moved swiftly.
She cut the cord with a practiced snip, her mask hiding her expression as she assessed Kikyo's condition.
"She's bleeding heavily," she barked to her assistant, her voice taut. "Get the clotting agents… now! We're losing her!"
Zeno stood at the room's edge, his arms crossed, his storm-gray eyes unblinking as he watched the scene unfold.
The air still thrummed with that red energy, fainter now but undeniable… a signature he'd felt once before, in the junkyard with Augus.
His gaze shifted as the medic lifted the newborn from the mess of blood and cloth, cradling the squalling infant with care.
The baby's cries were fierce and piercing, demanding the world to acknowledge his arrival.
The medic approached Zeno, her steps hesitant under his imposing presence. "Sir," she said, holding out the child. "Your grandson."
Zeno uncrossed his arms and took the baby, his rough hands surprisingly steady as he cradled the tiny form.
The boy was striking. His stark white hair, glistening like fresh snow, framed a face with tanned skin that seemed to glow with an inner fire.
But it was his eyes that stopped Zeno cold: red pupils, bright and blazing, staring up at him with an intensity no newborn should possess.
They weren't just colored… they burned, twin embers of that wild energy now quieted but alive within him.
"Asura," Zeno murmured, the name slipping from his lips like a confirmation.
The boy's cries softened as if he recognized it, his tiny fists clenching.
Zeno's smirk was faint but tinged with something rare: pride, perhaps, or awe. "You're a fighter already, aren't you?"
He glanced back at Kikyo, where the medics worked frantically to staunch her bleeding.
Tubes and bandages cluttered the bed as they fought to stabilize her, their movements precise but urgent.
"How is she?" Zeno asked, his voice sharp, though his eyes never left the child.
The lead medic didn't look up, her hands pressing a compress against Kikyo's abdomen.
"Critical, sir. She's lost too much blood. We're doing everything we can… she's strong, but it's touch and go."
Zeno nodded, his expression hardening. He'd never liked Kikyo… saw her as a reckless choice for his son, but she'd proven her mettle tonight.
If she survived, she'd earned a grudging respect. If not… well, the boy in his arms would carry her fire forward.
He shifted Asura, holding him up to the dim light. The red pupils glinted, unyielding, a mirror to the mantra Augus had described.
'Wrath!' Zeno thought. Born with it, just as Augus had been born with Greed. The realization settled over him like a weight… this wasn't just a grandson.
This was a force, a Zoldyck marked by something ancient and unstoppable.
"Rest now, little one," Zeno said softly, his voice a low growl. "You've got a hell of a life ahead."
He turned to the medic, who was still hovering nearby. "Clean him up. And tell Silva to get his ass back here. His son's waiting."
The medic bowed and took Asura, her hands trembling slightly as she carried him away.
Zeno remained, watching Kikyo's shallow breaths, the room thick with the scent of blood and the echo of a birth that felt less like a beginning and more like a reckoning.
Deep within its oldest wing, where the air grew thick with the weight of time, Zeno sought out his grandfather, Maha Zoldyck.
The ancient assassin sat in a chamber lined with faded tapestries, his frail form hunched in a high-backed chair that seemed to swallow him.
Yet his eyes… sharp, cold, and piercing betrayed a mind still as lethal as it had been in his prime.
Maha was a living legend, a relic of the family's bloodiest days, and Zeno approached him now with a rare unease gnawing at his gut.
Zeno stood before him, Asura's birth still fresh in his mind, the image of those red pupils burning behind his eyes.
"Grandfather," he began, his voice steady but deliberate. "Silva's son... my grandson... was born last night. Kikyo barely made it, but the boy… he's different. White hair, tanned skin, and eyes like fire—red pupils that don't belong on a newborn. There's a power in him, wild, like what I felt in Meteor City with that man, Augus. I think it's mantra. Wrath, maybe. Born with it, just like Augus was with Greed."
Maha's gaze lifted slowly, locking onto Zeno with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.
At first, he said nothing, his silence a blade pressing against Zeno's resolve.
When he finally spoke, his voice was a dry rasp, each word deliberate. "Mantra, you say. Augus. Tell me more of this encounter."
Zeno recounted the fight… the towering brute with his ancient sword, the crimson energy that shattered his Nen, the tales of eight primal forces choosing their holders.
"He was stronger than me," Zeno admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. "Maybe stronger than Father, maybe even you! I've never faced anything like it. And now, this boy… Asura… feels tied to it. I'm worried, Grandfather. Not just for him, but for what it means."
Maha's fingers tightened around the armrest, his knuckles whitening despite his frail frame. "Worried," he echoed, a faint sneer curling his lips. "You should be. This Augus… he's no mere man. If he carries a mantra, he's a remnant of something we can't control. And if this child, this Asura, has it too…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "He shouldn't stay with the family."
Zeno blinked, shock breaking through his usual composure. "What? You're saying we should cast him out? My grandson… Silva's son!?"
"Yes," Maha snapped, his voice cutting like a whip. "Augus is far more dangerous than you realize, Zeno. Mantra isn't just power… it's a curse, a chain to chaos. Greed drives him; you saw that. Wrath in this boy? It'll consume him, twist him, maybe destroy us all. The Zoldycks thrive on control… our Nen, our discipline. This is beyond that. If he stays, he could be our ruin."
Zeno's jaw tightened, his hands clasping behind his back as he wrestled with the words. "Or he could be our strength," he countered, his tone firm.
"A force like that, born into our bloodline? We could harness it, shape it. He's a Zoldyck, Grandfather… not some stray we abandon. If he's got Wrath, I'll teach him to wield it, not let it wield him."
Maha's laugh was a dry, brittle thing devoid of humor. "Harness Wrath? Do you think you can tame what's older than our name? Augus humbled you, and he's just one. This boy could grow into something worse, something that turns on us. I've seen power corrupt, Zeno. I've buried it. You want to gamble our legacy on a child's temper?"
"I'm not gambling," Zeno shot back, his voice rising despite himself. "I'm building. We've faced threats before. Asura's ours, curse or not. I won't throw him away because of what he might become."
Maha leaned forward, his frail body belying the menace in his stare. "Might? Those red eyes aren't a 'might,' boy. They're a warning. Keep him if you must, but mark my words… mantra doesn't bend to will. It breaks it. And when it does, don't come crying to me."
Zeno held his grandfather's gaze, the air crackling with their unspoken history.
Maha's caution was rooted in a century of survival; no one ever survived against him except Issac Netero, but Zeno saw potential where he saw peril. Asura was a Zoldyck… his blood, his responsibility. The red energy, the mantra, the name… they were threads of a destiny he'd face head-on, not flee from.
But his grandfather's warning about Asura's mantra still hung between them, a grim prophecy of chaos that Zeno refused to embrace fully.
Maha's eyes glinted in the shadows, his frail form belying the sharpness of his mind. He leaned forward, a slow, sly smile creeping across his weathered face… an expression Zeno knew meant trouble.
"If you're so sure of this boy," Maha rasped, his voice cutting through the silence, "let's test it. You say he could be a force for us? Fine. Send him to that man… Augus. Let him raise the child in his junkyard, teach him everything: the sword, the mantra, the wrath. Make him stronger than Augus himself. But—" He raised a bony finger, his smile widening. "Don't tell him who he is. No Zoldyck name, no family ties. Not until he passes the Hunter Exam and defeats Augus in combat. Only then does he come back to us."
Zeno's face darkened, his hands tightening behind his back. The idea struck him like a blade to the gut… absurd, reckless, and utterly against his instincts. "You want me to hand my grandson to a stranger?" he said, his voice low and edged with disbelief. "Augus isn't some nanny, Grandfather. He's a brute… a killer who nearly took me apart. And you'd trust him with Silva's son?"
Maha's laugh was dry, crackling like twigs snapping underfoot. "Trust? No. Use? Yes. Augus knows mantra… lived it, breathed it. If this boy's got Wrath, who better to shape it? Do you want him strong? Let him learn from the strongest. Keep him away from us until he's proven he's not a curse. If he beats Augus, he'll be a weapon… an heir worthy of this family."
Zeno's jaw clenched, his storm-gray eyes boring into Maha. "And if he can't? If Augus breaks him… or worse, turns him against us? He's a Zoldyck, not some experiment to toss into the wild."
Maha's smile didn't falter, his gaze unyielding. "He will, Zeno. Trust your grandfather. I've seen boys forged into men through worse than this. If he's got the fire you think he does, he'll outgrow Augus. He'll return to us… not just a Zoldyck, but a force we can wield. And if he fails…" He shrugged, a cold indifference settling over him. "Then he was never ours to begin with."
Zeno paced a step, his boots echoing against the stone floor.
The plan gnawed at him… practical in its ruthlessness, yet it grated against every fiber of his being.
Asura was his blood, Silva's son, barely a day old, and already they were plotting his exile.
He thought of Kikyo, still unconscious and bleeding, of Silva, away on an assassination mission, oblivious to the storm brewing over his child.
To surrender Asura to Augus… a man he'd fought and failed to beat… felt like a betrayal.
Yet his grandfather's logic lingered: safety for the family, a crucible for the boy.
If Asura survived, he'd return unstoppable. If not, the threat would end far from their walls.
"I don't like it," Zeno said at last, his tone hard but resigned. "He's ours to raise, not Augus's. But if it's for the family's safety… if it keeps this mantra from tearing us apart… I'll consider it only if Kikyo lives. She gets a say in this."
Maha waved a dismissive hand, sinking back into his chair. "She's a mother, not a strategist... So do what you must, but mark my words; that boy's wrath needs a master, not a cradle. Augus is the fire to temper him. You'll see."
Zeno turned, he strode toward the door. "If I do this, it's on my terms. Augus won't know who he's raising… not yet. And if he steps out of line, I'll bury him, mantra or not."
"Fair enough," Maha called after him, his voice fading into a chuckle. "Just don't cry when the boy comes back stronger than you."
Zeno didn't respond, his silhouette vanishing into the corridor. The weight of Maha's idea pressed on him… a gamble he loathed but couldn't dismiss.
The birthing room had settled into an eerie calm, the chaos of Asura's arrival replaced by the sterile hum of medical equipment.
Kikyo lay unconscious on the blood-stained bed, her breathing shallow but steady as the medic butlers worked to stabilize her.
The lead medic, a wiry woman with a surgical mask, adjusted an IV drip, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion… or fear.
Nearby, the newborn Asura had been cleaned and swaddled, his red pupils hidden behind closed lids, his cries silenced for now.
Zeno Zoldyck stood apart, his imposing figure a dark silhouette against the flickering lantern light. His mind was made up after his tense exchange with Maha.
He turned to the medics, his storm-gray eyes cold and unyielding. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice a low growl that brooked no dissent.
"When Kikyo wakes, you tell her the baby didn't make it. Dead at birth. The same goes for Silva when he returns. Not a word about Asura… nothing about his eyes, his power, or that he's alive. You understand?"
The lead medic froze, her hands hovering over Kikyo's bandages. She pulled her mask down slightly, revealing a pale, sweat-slicked face, her eyes wide with alarm. "Sir… you want us to lie? To the mistress? To Master Silva?"
Zeno stepped closer, his presence looming like a stormcloud. "Yes. And if you breathe a hint of the truth… if I hear so much as a whisper from her or my son that you disobeyed… I'll have your heads. All of you."
His gaze swept over the three butlers in the room, each shrinking under his threat's weight. "This isn't a request. It's an order."
The assistant medic, a younger man with a nervous twitch, swallowed hard. "But… Master Zeno, if they find out… if they ask us directly—"
"They won't," Zeno cut in, his tone sharp as a blade. "Not if you do your job right. Are you scared? Good. Hold onto that fear; it'll keep you quiet." He paused, letting the silence press down on them, then added, "And if you're wondering if I'd know… don't. I've got eyes everywhere."
The lead medic exchanged a glance with her team, her voice trembling as she spoke. "We… we understand, sir. We'll say the child didn't survive. But what happens to him… the boy?"
"That's not your concern," Zeno snapped. "He's alive, and he's mine to handle. You focus on keeping Kikyo stable and your mouths shut."
The assistant medic hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. "And if we slip? If someone guesses?"
Zeno's smirk was cold, devoid of humor. "You won't. Because I've already taken care of that."
He raised a hand, gesturing toward the doorway, from which a figure emerged from the shadows…
Tsubone, the Zoldyck family's towering, stoic butler. Her massive frame filled the threshold, her face impassive, her presence a silent promise of enforcement.
"Tsubone's watching. If any of you break this secret… if a single word gets out… she'll kill you before you finish the sentence. No questions, no mercy."
Tsubone bowed slightly, her deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "As you command, Master Zeno. Their silence is assured."
The medics paled, their nods quick and jerky as fear cemented their loyalty.
The lead medic clutched her clipboard, her knuckles white. "We won't say anything, sir. We swear it."
"Good," Zeno said, turning away. "Get back to work. Kikyo lives, or you'll wish you hadn't." He strode toward the swaddled Asura, lifting the boy into his arms with a gentleness that belied his harsh words.
The infant stirred, his red pupils flickering open momentarily, locking onto Zeno's gaze. "You're a secret now, little one," he murmured, too low for the others to hear. "For your sake… and ours."
He left the room with Asura cradled against his chest, Tsubone following like a silent guardian.
The medics returned to Kikyo, their movements mechanical, their minds racing with the burden of the lie they'd carry.
Zeno's plan was in motion, hatched from Maha's ruthless suggestion.
Asura would vanish from the family, his existence erased until he could prove himself under Augus's brutal tutelage.
Kikyo and Silva would mourn a child they'd never lost, and the Zoldycks would endure, shielded from the wrath simmering in their bloodline.
The corridor outside the birthing room stretched long and shadowed, its stone walls swallowing the faint echoes of Kikyo's labored recovery.
Zeno Zoldyck strode forward, Asura cradled in his arms. The infant's white hair was stark against the dark fabric of his cloak.
The boy was silent now, his red pupils hidden behind closed lids. A deceptive calm masked the wild energy Zeno knew simmered within.
Behind him, Tsubone followed her massive frame. She was a steady presence, her footsteps heavy yet measured.
She was the family's rock, unflinching, loyal, a bulwark against any threat.
Yet, as they moved deeper into the estate, a soft, unexpected sound broke the silence: a stifled sob.
Zeno stopped, turning to face her. Tsubone's broad shoulders trembled faintly, her head bowed, and tears glistened on her weathered cheeks, trailing down to drip onto the floor.
Her hands, usually so steady, clenched into fists at her sides. For a woman who'd served the Zoldycks through decades of bloodshed without faltering, this was a crack in her armor… a rare, raw glimpse of the heart beneath her stoic exterior.
"Tsubone," Zeno said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the quiet. "What's this?"
She raised her head slowly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as they fixed on the bundle in Zeno's arms.
"Master Zeno," she rasped, her deep voice thick with emotion. "That child… little Asura… to send him away like this, to lie to Mistress Kikyo and Master Silva… it's too cruel. He's barely born, and already we're tearing him from his family."
Zeno's gaze softened, just for a moment, a flicker of something human breaking through his hardened resolve.
He shifted Asura's weight, the boy's tiny form warm against him, and met Tsubone's eyes.
"He'll be okay," he said, his tone steady, almost gentle… a rarity from a man who wielded words like weapons. "Asura's strong… stronger than we know. This isn't abandonment. It's protection… for him, for us. He'll go to Augus, learn what he needs to, and one day, he'll return."
Tsubone wiped her face with the back of her hand, tears leaving faint streaks on her skin.
"And if he doesn't?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "If that man breaks him… or keeps him? He's just a baby, sir."
"He won't break," Zeno replied, his confidence unshaken. "Not with that fire in him. Augus will raise him, teach him the mantra… Wrath, all of it. And when he's ready… he'll return to us. Not as a child, but as a Zoldyck worthy of the name. I'll make sure of it."
Tsubone nodded slowly, though her tears didn't stop. "You believe in him," she said, more to herself than Zeno. "I've never seen you like this, Master… not even with Master Silva."
Zeno's smirk was faint, tinged with something bittersweet. "Maybe he's different. Those red eyes… they're a promise, Tsubone. I felt it when I fought Augus, and I feel it now. He's ours, even if we have to let him go for a while."
She straightened, her composure returning like a mask sliding into place, though her eyes still glistened. "Then I'll do my part," she said, her voice firming. "No one will hear the truth from me. I'll silence anyone who tries. For the family… and him."
"Good," Zeno said, turning to resume his walk, Asura secure in his grip. "Dry your tears, Tsubone. He's not gone yet. And when he returns, he'll need us… all of us."
Tsubone followed in silence, her steps steady once more, though her heart ached with the weight of the secret she'd carry.
Zeno's words echoed in her mind… a vow that Asura would return, a hope she clung to as they prepared to send the boy into an uncertain fate.
The mountain loomed around them, its cold embrace hiding the pain of a family divided, if only for a time.
Meteor City sprawled beneath a sky choked with haze, its jagged expanse of rust and ruin a stark contrast to the pristine heights of Kukuroo Mountain.
Zeno Zoldyck navigated the debris-strewn streets with purpose. Asura was cradled in his arms, the infant swaddled in dark cloth that hid his white hair and red pupils.
The wild energy that had marked his birth was dormant now, a quiet ember waiting to ignite.
Zeno's cloak billowed in the dry wind as he approached the heart of the junkyard, where Augus held court amid the wreckage of their last encounter.
The towering warrior stood atop a pile of twisted metal, his ancient sword planted in the ground beside him, its blade catching the dim light.
Augus's scarred face split into a grin as he spotted Zeno, but the expression faltered when he noticed the bundle in the assassin's arms.
He leaped down, landing with a thud that shook the earth, and strode forward, his massive frame dwarfing Zeno as he peered at the child.
"Well, well," Augus rumbled, his voice a deep growl laced with amusement. "Back so soon, Zoldyck? And with a brat? Don't tell me you've gone soft."
Zeno's eyes narrowed, his grip on Asura tightening slightly. "This isn't just any child, Augus. He's my grandson… Silva's son. Born a few days ago. And he's one of yours."
Augus blinked, his grin vanishing as confusion creased his brow. "One of mine? What the hell are you—" He stopped, leaning closer, his sharp gaze catching the faint glow of red beneath Asura's half-open lids.
The air shifted, a flicker of that wild energy pulsing from the boy, and Augus's breath caught. "No… you're kidding me. Mantra? In him? This tiny thing?"
"Wrath," Zeno said, his tone clipped but certain. "Born with it, like you were with Greed. I felt it when he came into the world… red, wild, like yours. His mother nearly bled out, birthing him. His name's Asura."
Augus stepped back, running a hand through his tangled hair. His laughter erupted in a booming roar that echoed through the junkyard.
"Asura! Hah! Wrath in a baby Zoldyck? I can't believe it… another one, right under your nose!"
His amusement faded, replaced by a wary glint. "Wait. Why bring him here? You're not dumping him on me, are you?"
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Zeno replied, unfazed. "Here's the deal; you take him. Raise him, train him… everything you've got. Make him stronger than you. He stays until he beats you in a fight and passes the Hunter Exam. Then he comes back to us."
Augus stared, incredulous, then laughed again, softer this time. "You're serious? Do you want me to play nursemaid for your grandkid? I'm no teacher, Zoldyck… I'm a killer. And you think I'd agree to this?"
Zeno shifted Asura to one arm and reached into his cloak, pulling out a heavy satchel that clinked with the unmistakable sound of coins.
He tossed it at Augus's feet, the bag spilling open to reveal a fortune in gleaming gold bars… enough to buy a small army or a junkyard king's loyalty.
"You'll agree because I'm paying you. A lot. More than the Mafia ever dreamed of throwing at you. Take care of him, Augus. He's your responsibility now."
Augus crouched, scooping up a handful of a single gold bar, his grin returning as he weighed them in his palm.
"Greed's my vice, Zoldyck… you know that. This'll do." He straightened, his gaze shifting to Asura, a spark of intrigue in his eyes.
"Wrath, huh? Fine. I'll raise the little monster. Teach him to channel that fire. But if he's gonna beat me, he's got a long road ahead… I don't go down easy."
"He won't need easy," Zeno said, his voice cold with conviction. "He's a Zoldyck. And one day, he'll come for you. Don't tell him who he is… not his family or name beyond Asura. That's the rule."
Augus shrugged, hefting the satchel over his shoulder. "Secrets, huh? Suits me. It keeps it interesting. Hand him over, then… let's see what this Wrath's made of."
Zeno hesitated momentarily, his sharp eyes lingering on Asura's face… the white hair, the tanned skin, the promise of those red pupils.
Then he put the boy in Augus's massive hands, the warrior's rough grip surprisingly careful. "Don't screw this up," Zeno warned, his tone a quiet threat. "He's more than you think."
Augus chuckled, cradling Asura like a fragile weapon. "Oh, I'll bet he is. Get lost, Zoldyck. Your kid's mine now."
Zeno turned, his cloak swirling as he walked away, the junkyard swallowing him into its haze.
Augus stood alone, staring at the infant in his arms, the weight of gold and destiny settling over him. "Asura, eh?" he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "Let's see how loud you roar, little one."
The deal was struck, and the weight of Zeno's gold sat heavy in the satchel slung over Augus's shoulder.
Meteor City's junkyard sprawl receded behind him as he cradled Asura in one massive arm, the infant's white hair peeking out from the dark cloth swaddling him.
The gold bars clinked with each step, a fortune that sang to Augus's Greed… a mantra that thrummed in his veins as surely as Wrath pulsed in the boy.
But the junkyard, with its rust and ruin, wasn't the place to raise a child, let alone train one into a force capable of surpassing him.
Augus needed space, seclusion, and a forge to temper this spark of fury.
His mind settled on a destination: the Republic of East Gorteau.
He'd heard of it… a nation on the edge of civilization, its borders fringed by dense, untamed forests, its people ruled by a dictator's iron grip.
Perfect, Augus thought, a grin tugging at his scarred lips.
A land where strength mattered more than laws, where he could carve out a corner free from prying eyes.
With Zeno's money, he'd buy more than supplies… he'd claim a dojo, a place to train Asura away from the chaos of Meteor City and the reach of the Zoldycks.
'Let the old man think I'm still holed up in this dump,' he mused. 'By the time he checks, the kid'll be a storm he can't control.'
Augus set out, his towering frame cutting through the haze as he left the junkyard behind. The journey was long… across borders, through backroads, the satchel of gold bartered for passage when brute force wasn't enough.
Asura slept through most of it, his tiny form untroubled by the jostling, though Augus felt the faint pulse of that red energy now and then, a reminder of the Wrath he'd been tasked to raise.
Weeks later, he arrived in East Gorteau, the air thick with humidity and the scent of pine.
Near the forest's edge, he found what he sought: an abandoned dojo, its wooden walls weathered but sturdy, its yard overgrown with weeds.
The structure sat isolated, flanked by towering trees that whispered in the wind, a natural barrier between him and the world.
With Zeno's wealth, he paid off local officials to ignore his presence, their greed matching his own.
The dojo became his domain, a rough sanctuary where he'd forge Asura into something unstoppable.
Augus stepped inside, the floor creaking under his weight, and set Asura on a makeshift bed of blankets atop a worn mat.
The boy stirred, his red pupils flickering open momentarily. He locked onto Augus with that eerie intensity.
"Home sweet home, kid," Augus rumbled, his voice a mix of amusement and challenge.
"You're stuck with me now. Let's see what that Wrath of yours can do when it grows teeth."
He slung the satchel onto a table, the remaining gold glinting in the dim light filtering through cracked windows.
Outside, the forest loomed, its shadows stretching long and deep… a fitting backdrop for the years ahead.
Augus gripped his ancient sword, planting it on the dojo's floor like a marker of his claim. This was no longer just a hideout; it was a proving ground.
Asura would train and grow here until his mantra was strong enough for him to challenge his mentor… and win.
"Zeno's got high hopes for you, little monster," Augus muttered, glancing at the boy. "Let's ensure you don't disappoint him… or me."
The Republic of East Gorteau swallowed them into its wild embrace, the dojo a silent witness to the pact between Greed and Wrath.
Augus settled in, ready to raise a child who'd one day shake the world… or burn it down trying.
Note:
I'm sorry for making it so long, words got away from me! If you'd like the next chapter to be this long too, I'd love to hear it in your reviews!
Thank you for reading!
To be continued...