ズﾉﾚﾚひムの刀
͓̽F͓̽a͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽t͓̽a͓͓̽̽s͓͓̽̽y͓̽ ͓̽K͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽u͓͓̽̽G͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽n͓̽
Killua has died once already.
In every history book, there's a chapter of the infamous Killua Zoldyck: The face of the cover is blurry, as if the artist was unsure...
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The scent of the dead lights the archmage's nerves on fire, and decay blows in ashen speckles, wandering vacantly in the wind, burning the eyes. Fire, fire, fire everywhere, and severed bricks of a once beautiful, enchanted city lay strewn. A city that was the center of magic itself with starlit pathways of uneven stone and mana encrusted archways— where flowers bloomed arcane buds and children played with their floppy hats and wooden wands, dancing around the bustling streets and waving carelessly, bright smiles stretching their plump cheeks. Owls delivering scrolls, seldom shedding a feather or two that the common folk would forage and craft into a quill, and merchants sold their novelty goods of glistening crystals, silken robes, and sandy potions that shifted like the salty waters of the narrow sea.
There are no longer any screams; instead, only the distant crackling of flames.
"It's hopeless."
This sight. He never wants to see it again.
He falls to the dirt in despair, crushing a skeleton the size of a child in a mind-numbing snap beneath his knees. Blood stains his pants and burnt bones sink into the dry soil. "No," he croaks out.
The world grows as silent and still as the dreary shadowlands, melancholic gray with tints of orange torched like a pathway to hell. One droplet of rain. Two. Seconds later water gushes from disturbed clouds sent by the enraged, vengeful gods that sentenced him to this fate, and no matter how many times he attempts to change this ending, he always winds up here, atop this murky hill of unchanging death.
He'll always remember his sister's smile as she murmured her final words upon this accursed soil, blood oozing from her head and pooling in a scarlet, metallic puddle on the shriveled ground, accepting of this gruesome outcome.
"No, stop."
Tears begin streaming uncontrollably down his icy cheeks. Quivering hands needed to grab something, control something, but in the end, all of his power amounts to nothing. They crawl up his shoulders, grip his robe, and finally cover his ears to silence the inner screaming of his mind.
"I'm tired of seeing this!" His voice cracks into a plea, a yell, and finally into a cry of insanity. "I'm sorry. Stop showing me this sight! Over and over again, I'm tired of seeing this hill!"
The sky bursts in half with a loud boom.
He stares with his mouth shocked open at the twisted nether above. Rifts of demonic goo mix with the dust of the galaxy in one ruptured, rigid bolt. The atmosphere is shattered like glass, the protective aura of this world broken and now vulnerable to whatever lurks in the abyss.
This is the day he lives over and over again– this day that marks the start of the end of the world. No matter how many times he enslaves himself to this chromatic anomaly, his fate remains cursed to this one moment, this one moment that marks the final grain of blackened sand in his life's pitiful hourglass.
Blood leaks from the crevices of his mouth.
"It's... all my fault," he hiccups as droplets of scarlet splatter on his netherweave cloak.
He stares at his trembling hands in demise.
"I-... I should have never roamed this planet."
A/N: This has been such a big project-- my longest yet! I'm posting it for the event The HxH BigBang 2023. Special thanks to my beta reader: Kessya (found on A03) and my two artists: raptorkendo & syl_pavl76 (found on Instagram). Though, the chapter cover art(s) are done by me. This will be updated every Tuesday. I hope you all enjoy the story! <3
